A Memorable Errand

The Douane Episode—That’s douane, by no means to be confused with Pappy’s given name. It means customs, in the sense of border guards. They were just getting started on the alleged integration of Europe, and it only confused matters at the historical borders, as Elder Mitt Romney and I found out. One day, Pappy called Mitt and me to his office and assigned us to take the Mission’s Peugeot to Belgium to pick up a load of copies of the Book of Mormon, inasmuch as our supply had run short in Paris.1 On the way up, we shared in Seraing the sweet, memorable experience I’ve written up as Episode 1968 of the classic Big Mike Story. I’ll let it stay there, for the sake of that tale’s integrity. Then we slept on the pews of the Liège chapel (new since my last time there, in 1963). In the morning, we proceeded to Mons (or was it Charleroi?—I’m not sure) picked up our load of books, and headed back to Paris. At the French border, we found a long line of trucks and cars, waiting for official permission to pass from the Kingdom of Baudouin I, King of the Belgians, to the territory of the French Republic. Everybody was hot, impatient, and distressed. Be it acknowledged that always and everywhere, customs agents enjoy a reputation for surliness, doubtful competence, and arrogance. In 1968, the douaniers de la République were by no means at pains to improve their image. Many hailed from North Africa; their French wasn’t much better than that of us missionaries, and they relished every opportunity to exercise unrighteous dominion, especially over (fellow) foreigners. I sat in the car, sweaty and impatient like everybody else (cars, particularly workhorse vehicles like our Peugeot) still didn’t typically sport air-conditioning), while Mitt dealt with our particular Algerian. Took a lot longer than I’d have expected, given Mitt’s proven charm. But then, what’s that saying about the immovable object? Eventually, Mitt returned to the car, rumpled and upset, and reported that this official was threatening to jail us, to confiscate our books, and to fine the Church unspecified but scary amounts of money for pretending that our importation and distribution of the Book of Mormon wasn’t a commercial enterprise. “So I told him,” quoth Mitt, “I was going back to the car to get le fils du Président!” That’s me. Wow! We returned to the official’s lair together, where it was just as Mitt had said. I don’t remember much about the ensuing conversation, except that the douanier made it a point to declare himself communiste and very much a disbeliever in tout ça. I did say that he’d do as he pleased with us and with the books, but that “...je n’admets pas que vous preniez l’argent, car c’est l’argent du Seigneur!” We and our books were shortly on our way, bearing to Valerie a box of once-luscious gaufres Liégois, by now, like us, rather limp and weary. Mitt has indicated that he might have some further details to contribute. I’m going to try to get this to his attention, although he’s awfully busy, these days. 1All the Church‘s French-language printing was still being done in Liège, in those days.

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