Page 4 - December 2018

We passed over a snoozing Seattle around 6 a.m.
It could Only have been a gift from Santa
by Christopher Hope
In the early 1970s I was copilot on a 4th Military Airlift
Squadron Air Force C-141 jet transport at Yokota Air
Base, near Tokyo. One winter we spent two weeks
shuttling people and cargo all over Japan, South Korea,
and southeast Asia, and when the work was done, we
really wanted to get home for Christmas. But unless we
could be assigned to an aircraft heading east to Seattle,
that was not going to happen.
Then, good news: The day before Christmas, a mission
was going east, to Norton Air Force Base in San
Bernardino, California. It was leaving at 10 p.m., so we’d
miss Christmas Eve, but by crossing the international
dateline, we would be home on Christmas Day to deliver
the goodies we had bought in Japan—if we could hitch a
ride from Norton to Seattle.
As we headed for the airplane, we passed through an
empty terminal, where we spotted a seven-foot, fully
decorated, live Christmas tree. “Wouldn’t that look great
in the cargo bay,” I thought. “We could linger at the tree “Light’s off, thanks.”
with our coffee and look forward to playing Santa
Claus.” While the loadmaster made final checks of cargo
placement, I found a spot for the tree, with its garlands
of fake holly and strands of gold and silver balls.
While refueling at Elmendorf Air Force Base at
Anchorage, Alaska, we went through U.S. Customs and
Immigration, where officials checked our passports and
sent us on our way. The cargo got a permit to proceed—
it could legally be flown to another point, where it would
be inspected by a Customs agent.
Somewhere over northern California came the first
hint of a problem. “Uh, Pilot, this is Load. Do you
have the cargo manifest and the Customs papers?”
“Load, Pilot. No, why would I have them?”
“Copilot, Load. Do you have them?”
“Load, Copilot. You have them somewhere back
there.”
“I’ve looked everywhere.”
Landing without the paperwork could be a serious
matter. We could be accused of smuggling—
bringing in cargo with no proof of having passed it
through Customs.
Finally, we figured that we must have left the
paperwork somewhere at Elmendorf. We made a
call, and sure enough, the papers were on a
clipboard on a counter.
We compromised with the agencies involved. We
could continue to San Bernardino, where we would
be met by all concerned and allowed to leave
because we had cleared Customs in Alaska. The
aircraft would be impounded with cargo on board
awaiting the paperwork, and Agriculture would
make a new inspection. And we learned there was a
flight north that would wait for us for an hour.
The mountains northeast of Los Angeles hove into
view. The air was bumpy, as it often was coming
across the foothills. And it was not unusual for one
of the two passenger doors to get bumped out of its
fully locked position. So when the “Door Open” light
went on, we weren’t too surprised. “Load, Pilot. Can
you check doors please?”
“I’m on it.” And after a minute: “How’s that?”
Gear down, cleared to land, back on the ground.
Taxiing in, however, brought an unpleasant
realization. We had to undergo another Agriculture
inspection, and they were serious about not bringing
foreign plants into California. And here we were
with a live Christmas tree. By the time we explained
and had the airplane fumigated and who knows
what else, our ride north would be long gone.