A cloud of steam shrouds the midnight train to Zurich. From the door of the car a ray of light beckons. John slowly scans the station. Thinking the coast is clear, he walks toward the car. With each step his heart lifts.

“Halfway there,” he thinks. “Just a few more feet and I’m home free.”

Suddenly a man steps out of the steam, blocking John’s path. The music turns sinister. The man’s dark fedora is pulled low over one eye. His right hand is tucked deep into the bulging pocket of a gray overcoat.

“Papers please,” he hisses,  music builds to a crescendo and then the screen fades to black.

Not interested in a copper skillet, or a Fuller Brush, I pick up my phone and check my Facebook. In a few minutes, about the time Willem Devane is hawking gold, I see B.C.’s post.

My friend B.C. is an avid fisherman. Fly fishing of course. He travels the country searching for new streams. This week he was off to test the waters in Idaho. His post says that his trip has taken a turn for the worst. Seems he misplaced his driver’s license, probably back at the airport. Unfortunately, without a license, he can’t rent a car. Without a car, he can’t fish.

“That stinks,” I mutter, as the movie returns.

The music swells as the interior of a car rental office slowly appears. Who’s that is standing in line? It’s B.C., he must be eager to hit the streams – he’s already wearing his fishing vest.  His hat is studded with flies and lures. In one hand he holds a fly rod and in the other his waders.

Eventually, the clerk finishes with the first customer. “Next,”  he yells. B.C. steps forward.

At that moment a hand taps the clerk on the shoulder. “I’ll handle this one,” says with a deep guttural voice. The voice is vaguely familiar. The clerk steps aside and the store manager approaches the counter. He is wearing a hat. A black fedora pulled low over one eye. His right hand is tucked deep into the bulging pocket of a gray overcoat.

”Zo, Herr C. what brings you to Idaho?” The man hisses.

“Just some fishing,” B.C. says, waving his fly rod.

“Is that zo?” The music builds. A sinister smile crosses the manager’s face.

“Papers, please?” he hisses.

Decades ago, when I was but a lad, Mr. Saucerman taught US History. One day, while discussing freedom, he compared the ease of travel in Europe to travel in the US. Of course, this discussion was before the European Union, back when you needed a passport to travel from country to country.

“In the US, however,” Mr. Saucerman explained, “you can travel from coast to coast with no papers at all.”

I fear that is no longer true. Today we need our driver’s license, our ID, for nearly everything.  In the last month, I needed to show my ID to check into a Holiday Express, to pick up pills at the pharmacy, and to purchase spray paint at Wal-Mart. It wasn’t long ago that I had to show an ID to buy whipped cream in a can.

You need an ID to rent a car, board a plane, cash a check, or buy a beer. A couple of years ago I had to show an ID to rent a beach umbrella. That little piece of plastic is indispensable.

B.C.’s plight reminded me that my license expires this year. When I go to renew it, I will need to document that I am indeed me. So, I will show them my Federal Passport. Since my passport is sufficient to get me into and out of most countries, I figured that would be enough, but I was wrong. A passport alone is not enough. No, to renew my license to drive a car, I must also provide a document to verify my Social Security number, and two papers to prove that I am an Indiana Resident.

What idiotic bureaucrat dreamt up this idea?

So, Mr. Saucerman, I’m afraid you were incorrect. In the United States we cannot travel from coast to coast with no papers at all. We can’t even buy a can of whipped cream, without a license.

Next time you venture out to explore the home of the free, don’t forget your license. You can never know when you’ll hear, “Papers, please.”

David Dahl

P.S. My friend had to abort his fishing trip. The good news is that he was reunited with his license. The TSA had it when he returned to the airport.

Check out my book Olivia’s Story Protector of the Realm, or my other works.