I Was a Teenage Illegal Alien

The biggest surprise of my life was on April Fool's day, 1970. My parents chose that day to reveal to me that we were going to Okinawa for two years. I was stunned. And when it turned out NOT to be a prank, I went absolutely giddy. After spending two years in Alaska earlier in my life, I was fully aware that we were going to be transplanted and heading into a great unknown.

My favorite toy in Alaska was a little Pan Am 707 jet. As the years went by, I longed to take a ride on a jet airplane. Moving to Okinawa meant that my dream would come true.

Once the travel bug bites, the sickness just gets worse. After being on Okinawa a short time I decided it was time to travel again and so I went to a little travel agency at the Plaza House shopping center and discussed my agenda with a very nice lady while my mom was shopping at another store.

Somehow I convinced my parents to take a little weekend trip to Ishigaki island. It was close to Okinawa, we could travel by air (the airplanes are shown in the previous post below) and most of all it would establish my credibility as a 13 year-old travel agent.

The trip went well. My dad enjoyed himself and that was the main objective: to loosen up Dad for a greater possibility of future trips.

The second trip didn't go well at all.

Taipei, Taiwan was the next destination. My parents went along with the idea and were impressed that I had looked into things such as what immunizations we would need. The shots we had to get needed to be done a couple of weeks before the commencement of travel. I wasn't crazy about that part but off we went with our yellow "shot books" to a base hospital.

Our shot books already had several stamps and certificates inside because of all the shots we got before leaving home. At the hospital, somebody must have filled the stamp pad with new ink because their certifying stamp was a bloody mess and was barely legible.

On departure day, the Kadena AFB MAC counter agent scrutinized our shot records for some time. He said we couldn't go because the date stamp was illegible. He couldn't verify the date that the shots were administered. They were too blurry. We went back and forth for some time, showing him our arms and the big purple bruises the shots had created two weeks earlier. He seemed immovable in his resolve to keep us on Okinawa.

Then somebody got the bright idea to call the hospital and verify the information. They had started boarding the flight so all my hopes were on this brilliant plan.

It worked! At the very last moment, the hospital verified the date in the shot book and the MAC agent took our bags, checked us in and off we went, boarding passes, shot records, passports and carry-on baggage in hand.

The flight from Kadena to Taipei was fairly short. It was such a rush to be taking off in another plane. After reaching cruising altitude, I pulled out a magazine and was surprised to find a whole lot of information about Taipei including important details about required immunizations and how to get a visa.

Visa? Visa? We had our passports. Surely that's all we needed! They were green official U.S. government passports. I kept reading. Forwards, backwards and side to side. I can only describe the thought that went through my mind in terms I use today. My reaction was "oh shit!" I had royally screwed up.

Actually, three people screwed up. I screwed up by not doing enough research but I was only 13 so I had an excuse.

The MAC agent at Kadena was so focused on the immunization issue that he forgot to do the rest of his job. We never should have been allowed to get on that plane. He screwed up.

My dad screwed up because, well, he's the dad and everything is his responsibility. This part worried me because I knew he was going to have to take the hit for this and it was going to make him hate me even more. I knew I was going to pay for this one big time!

So after crapping my pants and dropping my jaw to the floor, I tried to quietly recover from the effects of my discovery. My heartbeat, however, was beating like it was in an Edgar Allen Poe story. I just didn't know what to do.

After landing at the base in Taipei, I dawdled and hesitated getting out of my seat so that everybody else would get off first. Then as we walked into the building, everyone holding their passports and shot records out for inspection, I created another diversion claiming to want to see a big 747 take off in a couple of minutes. Mom and Dad obliged me, knowing how much I enjoyed watching planes. I never once let on that I knew we were going to be in big trouble.

Finally it was our turn to go inside. We were the last three people. I was behind my mom, probably hiding behind her dress and big hair.

This is where my memory blurs a bit, possibly to keep me from remembering something painful. But I do remember being escorted into a small room by two Chinese military guards holding guns with knives sticking out the end. The room was unlit but had a large window looking out toward a larger waiting room.

As our eyes adjusted we realized we were in a children's play room. There were some beanbag chairs and sort of a rocking horse thing with springs. An adult would not have been able to find a comfortable place to sit. The lights didn't work. There wasn't a water fountain or rest room. And we were held in there for a very long time, the guards with the guns and knives standing outside the closed door.

The atmosphere in that room was tense. I could see the blood vessels in my dad's head getting larger as he went to the window, surveying the scene outside. Again, my memory is hazy but I know I was compelled to confess that I had screwed up and only learned about the visa requirement after we were in the air on our way.

There wasn't a clock to measure time but it seemed we were in there for hours. And we didn't know what they were planning to do with us. Sending us home seemed like the most optimistic option.

Then my dad realized that he had a personal friend who worked somewhere in the local government and he wanted to contact him for help. I guess if they weren't going to torture or kill us they would surely just send us back to Okinawa on the next flight. The next flight, though, wasn't for another day. That's what made being locked in that little room so terrible. Plus, none of us had ever been held captive by guards with guns and knives before. It seemed so "Mission Impossible" but we had no fancy gadgets or rubber faces to help us out of our predicament.

Dad bravely knocked on the door and opened it which startled the guards a bit. I didn't overhear the conversation but one of them took him away. I really didn't expect to ever see him again at that point.

But after he'd been gone for quite a while he returned with a positive outlook. He didn't share the details but we were able to gather our things, quickly leave the room, pick up our luggage and leave the air base by cab for a hotel downtown.

On the way to the hotel, Dad explained that his friend was able to speak to a General Fung, an important government figure who understood our dilemma and gave us permission to enter Taiwan as long as we, and this is the important part, as long as we wrote a letter thanking him for his kindness, detailing the beauty of the country and describing the pleasures of our trip.

Really. That's all? That's great news! It seemed extremely, extraordinarily odd but hey, we can do that!

We went to a lot of places, shopped, traveled a bit and even changed hotels. We were only there a couple of days but we managed to get around. And so did the strange guy with the camera that seemed to follow us everywhere. By the time we got to the National Palace Museum, we were waving to him and even posing for him. He was so obvious about following us we decided to just go with it. It helped make the fact that we were being followed and photographed less creepy and more fun.

My dad got a typewriter from somewhere; maybe the hotel office, I don't know. But I remember the three of us in the hotel room trying to help him compose that "thank you" letter.

"Dear General Fung" it started. "Thank you so much for allowing us to enter the country and visit the many beautiful, interesting and historical sites Taiwan has to offer."

I don't remember the real content of the letter but that was the gist of it. And it took a lot of work to come up with a letter of sufficient length so that we would please General Fung and have no more problems. The thing was, though, we weren't sure what we were supposed to do with that letter. I think Dad understood that we were to mail it back to him once we got home.

What a strange trip. And on our last day, the man who had been photographing us contacted us at our hotel. We met him in the lobby, a little apprehensive about the situation. We don't know why he followed us, if he was working for someone or just what the deal was but when we met him, he showed us the photos he'd been taking and we were aghast at what we saw. He had been taking pictures of us long before we noticed him. And now he was trying to sell them to us! Well, my dad thought he'd just better buy a few, at least, just in case - in case - well, he didn't know why. It just seemed like a very good idea.

When we left we tried getting on MAC flights but they were too full and since we were flying on a stand-by basis, it didn't look like we were going to get on. So Dad decided we would buy tickets on Japan Air Lines and fly into Naha. I'm sure he just wanted to get the hell out of that country by then. So we took a cab to the commercial side of the airport and proceeded to buy tickets and check in.

That's where the trouble started again. Yes, we had legitimate tickets and reservations. Yes, we had passports. But the passports didn't have an official entry stamp in them. This, as world travelers know, presents a problem. It can be a big issue. All we had to offer was a typed letter to General Fung thanking him for letting us into the country. Nice but no dice.

That just wasn't going to fly with the JAL people. Talk about "aghast!" They had the most serious, incredulous expressions on their faces. Some laughed. We were embarrassed and we'd had just about all we could take. We were, in essense, quarantined at the check-in station while a big discussion ensued between various JAL agents. They made phone calls. My dad tried to explain but it just sounded SO stupid that he just gave up. And to my horror, a friend from Pacific Middle School checked in with her family while all this was going on. She was looking at me like we were some kind of criminals. Everybody was.

Soon it was past departure time. The plane was being held, presumably for us, and finally, to our relief an agent who had been on the phone for some time, hung up and came running over to say we could go. He kept the letter, checked our bags and off we went. Just like that.

The passengers already on board knew the plane was late and as we made our way to our seats we were acutely aware of their curious faces glaring our way wondering, I'm sure, what kind of problem we had.

The plane finally departed and to say the least, it was a relief to be going home. It was a lovely airplane with beautiful Japanese flight attendants serving snacks, beverages and even a warm moist towel to freshen up with.

There was just one more issue, though. And that was the contraband which was packed away inside my luggage. I still don't know what gave us the courage to smuggle banned items in our luggage. We'd purchased bootleg records (of dubious quality) for just a few dollars and a few books including a dictionary and thesaurus, also just for a measley few bucks. And my mother decided to bring along a big bag of mangoes that she coddled much like a precious sleeping baby. This too was prohibited, as we would soon learn.

And so I was back in the air taking another ride on a big ol' jet plane. It couldn't be better for a 13 year-old kid. I loved every moment of the flight but as we arrived, I started getting nervous about the immigrations and customs problem. I had become a smuggler in addition to an illegal alien on this trip and was about to do my best at getting my contriband past the inspectors.

But that's the subject of the previous story titled "I Was a Teenage Smuggler." That's a story all by itself. And it's just one of many from that exotic, exciting two years I spent living in the Far East. General Fung, if you're still out there, thanks again. We really did enjoy our trip and we sincerely appreciated your influence getting out of that makeshift Taiwanese prison.