Busted at Checkpoint Charlie

Thirty years ago this weekend I was arrested in East Berlin for trafficking in the black market. That makes it sound more exotic than it actually was. Here’s how I recounted the experience in a letter to friends at the time:

               

How your faithful (but gullible) servant was arrested this past weekend by the East German Polizei.

              My first mistake was in changing my original plans, which had me visiting West Berlin museums on Saturday, theatre Saturday night, the zoo and aquarium Sunday morning, more theatre Sunday afternoon and night, and East Berlin on Monday. Of course the weather was typically miserable – gray, cold, and wet – and through some convolution of logic, I woke up Saturday morning thinking that the dreariness would be appropriate for a walk along The Wall and into the East (it didn’t strike my shriveled brain that it was even more appropriate for staying inside museums). So I switched my Saturday and Monday plans around and headed off across the border. And it was somewhat appropriate to be cold and wet while walking through the bleakness of East Berlin – there is definitely a perceptible difference between the opulent consumer society of the West, and the meager subsistence society of the East (most of the buildings stark and uniform, relatively few people on the streets, but a lot of people lined up outside stores waiting to get in to buy what looked like not a lot of anything). My second (and monolithic) mistake was being conned by a communist black marketeer who wanted to give me 190 DDR Marks for my 150 D-Marks (other mistakes were letting him know how much money I had and not knowing that the going black market rate was at least three-to-one). At first I balked, knowing in the functioning corner of my brain that this was highly illegal; but soon the greater proportion of my sense (i.e., lack of it) overtook me, and I succumbed to his haranguing (he kept assuring me it was okay, said he was a student and could buy more books with D-Marks (oh boy!), etc.). I immediately realized I had been duped, and began to think of ways to get back to the West without being caught (hiding the money would help because I couldn’t do anything with it if I did get it across the border, buying things wouldn’t help because they’d have to be declared – and above all, I’d have to account for not having the D-Marks I entered the East with (declared at crossing)). So I had little choice but to just see what would happen if I tried to go through as if there were no problem. And what happened was the guard asking for the bank receipt for the money (bank receipt! – that was the rub my friendly conman failed to mention in out deal). And when I couldn’t produce one, I was immediately informed that I had broken a DDR law and was shuffled quickly off to a small room with a table and chair, where I was searched and questioned for about 45 minutes by another officer. Then I was taken to another room for more questioning (this was all in German, making it strange, and probably very inaccurate) while the officer typed up my “statement.” I was told I wouldn’t get my Marks back (which I had assumed), and further that I would have to pay a “fine” of the 80 US dollars I also had with me (how convenient that the fine was covered with just the amount of money I had left!). I protested briefly, but had little choice (I could have gone to jail for the night and wait for a Russian authority who would later call for someone from the American consulate – not much of a choice). All of this took almost three hours. I don’t think they ever considered that I was into the black market – I was obviously just a dumb asshole who got took. And so the government used the occasion to take me again. So I lost 150 D-Marks and 80 dollars – about 150 dollars total. A stiff price for being stupid. But as the years go on, and as I tell the story over and over, I hope to regain some of my loss by embellishing the tale (what you have here is but the mundane truth) to include rubber hoses, large Prussian women wearing jack-boots and brandishing whips, having my genitals threatened with glass tubing, etc. If all goes well, it shouldn’t be long before I can sell my story for a movie or TV mini-series (“Horror at the Border” or “Escape from the East!”).

              The Big Irony in all of this, is that when I went out to see the W. Berlin museums on Monday, I found them all closed. Life is most exciting when it abuses.

One thing left out of this account is that when “I protested briefly,” I demanded to see someone from the American consulate. One of the officers went into another room for a few minutes, returned, and said that if I wanted to see someone from the American consulate, I would have to remain in jail until at least Monday. Also, they had decided to tack on an addition to my fine, 40 DDR Marks (I have the receipt framed and on the wall of my study), that they wanted me to send them in US dollars when I got back home. When I went through Checkpoint Charlie, I told my story to the U.S. guards, and they told me definitely not to pay any more money (which I had already figured out). They also told me I had no recourse for any restitution and was lucky just to get back across the border (which I had also figured out). I can’t recall if they actually told me I was a stupid asshole, or if they just made it clear through insinuation and gesture.

Checkpoint Charlie, looking toward the East, about the time of my arrest.