Border Crossings: a kid's eye view

In the summer of 1954 I first crossed the Canada-US border with my family on summer vacation. (I believe that is American usage; at that time I would have said "summer holidays.")

I was eight years old and my brother was four. Both my parents had been Stateside before, my father several times for studies and conferences. This was a two week stint that would take us from our home in Calgary to Saint Mary's Lake Montana (first night out), then east to the Fort Peck Dam and Williston ND and back into Canada through my birthplace of Weyburn, Saskatchewan.

I had crossed provincial boundaries before: from Alberta to British Columbia, and from Alberta to Saskatchewan. Both had been by train, and were simply mentioned in passing: "We're back in Alberta now."

The closest to a border checkpoint I'd ever been through was visiting Banff National Park, where we had to roll down car windows to buy a National Parks sticker for the inside of the windshield, and answer if we were carrying any firearms. Since no one in our family was a hunter, the answer was always No.

At a later stage of eco-consciousness, the question broadened "Do you have any cats, dogs or guns?" The answer was still no. Though we sometimes had pets, we didn't take them on holidays.

But now we were crossing into the United States by car through two roadside check stops: one as we left Canada, one perhaps two hundred feet (sixty-five meters) on, just over the line.

I recall the Canadian customs official asking us one or two questions, but I can't recall which. He was uniformed, but I don't believe he was wearing a hat.

The American customs officer was. Actually, there were two of them, both wearing police style hats with shiny plastic visors. One asked the questions. He was cheerful and wore glasses.

One of his first questions must have been the purpose for our trip, as I remember my dad answering "for holidays." I believe the officer also asked the duration of our trip.

Then came the question I really remember: "Do you have any Canadian liquor in the car." The answer was No, both that day and because my parents were abstainers. Since we never had alcohol around the house, the mention of it fascinated me.

On our homeward trip we crossed back into Canada at Portal ND (the Canadian side is called North Portal). This was a smaller border crossing. It was open only in the daytime, and it didn't have customs officers waiting outside to meet us.

Dad parked and went into a roadside building while the rest of us waited in the car. From a distance of perhaps 30 feet (10 metres) and behind a closed door, there was no way to tell what was going on inside. I wondered if it was the same as at our first crossing.

When Dad came through the door onto the parking lot, I shouted through the back seat car window, "Did they ask if we had any liquor in the car?"

My parents were not pleased. My mother said, "Do you want to have us stopped at the border all night?".

I couldn't see what the problem was. They had asked us about liquor at the first border crossing, and it seemed to me they should ask about again here. I wanted to see if they had.

By the end of the 1960's, drugs would be a concern. In a new century, it's terrorism. I wonder if other curious kids have actually got innocent parents in trouble ...

It was free trade in booze that led to border patrols and the formation of the North West Mounted Police (now RCMP) in 1875. The would-be Millennium Bomber upped the ante at the border at Port Angeles, WA on New Years Eve 1999.