Once I was off the ship the atmosphere of the occasion began to catch
up with me and I stood confused, saying idiotic things as Belle, Pat and
Bill showered·me with an embarrassing show of interest about the voyage. It
was later to dawn on me that Belle and Pat were fundamentally on different
sides of the then current New York feud and it says one thing for TAFF that
they were able to sink their differences to show me the hospitality they
did: Bill at that time had just moved from Detroit to pick up some cash
working at Cushman's Bakery in New York and although he has since shown a
certain irresponsibility with Berry Fund accounts he was at all times during
the subsequent trip to the SolaCon a rock of dependability. Bill and I pick-
ed up my two cases and took them over to the long line for customs inspec-
tinn. I was immediately told to take the cases back to the sign marked with
my surname initial. I did so while the others marked my place in line, We
then settled down to a long wait. Pat told me that Dick was waiting outside
the customs sheds with Marie,Louise, their two month old daughter who is
known to everyone as "Poops." Evidently Dick hadn't been able to get hold
of a pass to the sheds. Time passed and Pat was suddenly paged over the
loudspeaker system and she went off to the gate to find that Dick was want-
ing to get off to work. Pat returned with Poops, a fortuitous move which
should be Standard Procedure For Fans Visiting the USA. After a short while
Pat's arms began to ache from holding the baby, and after poor Poops had
been handed over to Bill and back to Pat a kindly police guard took us out
of line and to the head of the queue. I didn't think that this was cricket
of course, but then I'm used to playing rugby, a game which one plays not
only against the opposing team but against the referee also. And in any
case, this was America where cricket isn't quite the religion it is in York-
shire. I've often wondered since whether I'd ever have got to the front of
that line if that cop hadn't come along, though perhaps the questions I kept
asking him, like "Is your revolver really loaded?" had something to do with
it. Having kept my mouth closed at the right time, however, I found myself
ushering a portly customs official over to my waiting cases.

    I told him I had a camera and a typewriter for personal use and that I
wasn't bringing into the country any women for immoral purposes, a gag which
tickled him so much that he told me to hurry and get the hell out of there.
I picked up my cases and walked out through the gates. Then I turned round
to look for Bellİ, Pot and Bill. They were nowhEre to be seen.