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wherever you get your podcasts. Okay, so I have an uncle. When I was a kid, he was always finding free stuff, free jewelry. Free wallets full of cash and somebody else's ID. Free cars. But this magical, marvelous Detroit summer afternoon, I'm hanging out at my grandmother's front porch with my cousins. My uncle rolls through. Come here. Calls us over to his color supreme. Pops open the trunk. And there.
Packed into the back of the car are cartons and cartons and cartons of ice cream, strawberry, chocolate, vanilla. What? He hands us these. Tiny wooden spoon things. Y'all better move quick. It's about to melt. This cannot be happening. We don't ask no questions, lickety-split. We start snatching spoons and cartons and devouring ice cream until we catch the brain freeze. Then we gobble some more. Neighborhood kids come running.
And their parents come running too. Ice cream for everybody. Strawberry, chocolate, chocolate, strawberry. I don't even like vanilla. But it's the principle of the thing. Principalities. So I stuffed that into my mouth as well. Fingers, faces, foreheads, laughs are sticky. We keep gorging our yaps with the urgency of poor kids who know that every good thing will soon be snatched away.
It's blazing. Michigan summer hot outside. The ice cream turning more into ice cream soup. But we keep going. We have to keep going. I need to keep going. Take a short nap, stagger back, sugar drunk, no spoons necessary, drinking ice cream straight from the carton until finally, finally, we're just staring at each other. With glazed eyes and fat grins, granny comes out talking about, now see, I'll teach you. Too much of a good thing. Huh? Too much of a good thing.
This makes no sense to me then. And truthfully, all these many years later, it makes no sense to me now. So. We've decided to explore this concept of too much good. From KQD in San Francisco, Snap Judgment proudly presents the Gay Frog Hack Hour. My name is The Washington, and every kid knows what really goes well with ice cream is more ice cream when you're listening to Snap Judge.
Eric and his husband, David, are living in a two-bedroom Baltimore apartment. Eric writes a humor column for a big magazine. David pastors a local church. When the pandemic hits and both start working from home, their two-bedroom starts feeling a whole lot less spacious. Now let Eric take it from here. Snap Judgment.
David and I have been married for about four years at that point. I always tell people that we are complete opposites. He's white, nature-loving Eagle Scout from the West Coast. I am a black. from downtown Baltimore, and I don't go outside. I identify as Vanessa Huxtable. So it's early 2020. Suddenly the pandemic had sort of upended everything. As the months were on, spring became summer, I felt trapped in my own apartment. And...
Sort of out of the blue, one day, David slid his phone over to me and said, I've been looking at Zillow, and there's a house in this area called Phoenix, Maryland, way, way out in the county. And I say, okay, do you want to take a look at it? And so we strapped on our homemade masks and we met a realtor out at the house. And I realized I had done...
no research about how you look at a house. So I just turned the faucet on and the water worked. I was like, well, okay. Three bedrooms upstairs, low ceilings, built about 100 years before. Three quarters of an acre of land. I remember stooping down and putting my hands in the grass. And I remember saying through my mask, the grass is so soft.
The yard, I think, was the selling point for David also. David says, maybe we can line the fences with Heather. Back there, I can put in a moon garden. And I said to him, do you want to put an offer in? And so we did. They accepted the offer and we moved in. We're a couple that is sort of always communicating, always chit-chatting. I talk a lot, and he talks a lot. But it was kind of surprising how quiet it got in the house.
I assumed that when you buy a house, you're just doing everything together. And without knowing it and without intention, I think we staked out our zones. I was... on Zoom for six, eight hours a day. And he would go into the church. I busied myself with, like, paint swatches. And then he would come home and... He was just tearing up the ground everywhere, tilling and amending the soil. We were very much in our own worlds. And that was strange.
I had a lot of questions about what was going on for him, and he had a lot of questions, I think, about what was going on for me. But the silence just started to grow. The silence begat more silence. It's late winter, and David announces excitedly one day, we're past the last frost. He goes out with a shovel in his hand, and he starts digging.
And I look at the little map that he's drawn for our ideal yard, and I see that he's digging in the space where he had thought that we would put in a pond. This was not a small pond. This was a pond that was probably about 20 feet across and 10 feet up. It was lima bean shaped and dug into the slope of the hill. He calculated that it would hold about a thousand gallons of water.
He went to Lowe's, and they dropped off a backhoe in our driveway, and he happily started digging up huge amounts of dirt from our yard. One day I got off a Zoom call and I could hear the shoveling going on out in the yard. And I turned to the window and I looked out. And I saw him down there in this ever-widening hole. And in that moment, I remember thinking.
God, how far apart we are. Eventually, David finishes the pond and he fills it with a thousand gallons of water and he put in the pond plants. David found a toad somewhere in the yard and he brought it over to the pond. And it was beautiful. And then one night we were sitting by the pond and we see the toad has a friend. It's a little... Green tree frog. I was like, okay. Arnold Lobel story. I got it. The tree frog has like a little trill, you know. Fine. Cute. Mating call.
We're sitting by the pond one night and we hear from two houses over the sound of another tree frog. and the sound of the tree frog is getting closer, and our tree frog is responding. So it's trill, trill, trill, trill. And it's kind of nice. You know, they get closer and closer and closer, and finally there's two tree frogs trilling at each other in our pond.
And I said, oh, David, these frogs are falling in love. That's very cute. And David, who knows everything, said to me, well, actually, it's only the male tree frogs that make any noise. And we looked in the pond, and we did not see any female tree frogs. There's these two male tree frogs singing love songs to each other, like Liberace and Elton John. And I said, oh, God, David, this is so beautiful. You've created a little amphibian gay bar.
May turns to June. And as we all know, June is Pride Month. And apparently one of the major locations for Pride Month was our yard because this amphibian gay bar became popular. Frogs would come in from the tree line down our yard and fill up the pond. Hundreds of frogs. All of them seemingly male because they were all trilling these mating calls at each other. Just a bunch of gay frogs screaming.
They're clacking their fans. They're talking about how much they love Miss Piggy. Gay frog happy hour would start right before sunset. Golden hour. Used to be my favorite time of day. It became a time that I dreaded because... you would start to hear the sound growing and growing and growing. I don't know if you understand what an eastern tree frog sounds like, but it's just this sort of like...
Like, very long, very loud, very high-pitched. And this is the sound of queerness. I hated it. I hated it so much. And the gay frog happy era would go on well into the night. Though on the nights when the gay bar was really popping, it was so noisy. that you could hear it in the house with all the windows closed and the air conditioning going. And I love a queer space. When we first met, David was running an LGBTQ gathering group in...
his church, and I was working as the program director of the LGBTQ Community Center. So everything about our lives was about getting gay people together. I didn't want the Frog Gay Bar not to exist. I don't know why they have to rub it in my face. I'd lived in the suburbs for a year and I was already a NIMBY. Literally, not in my backyard. David loved the frogs.
David loved the sound of the frogs. He said it was relaxing to him. This was the dream that apparently David had been working toward. It reminded him of home. It reminded him of growing up. I couldn't sleep. I would stay up all night. Four o'clock in the morning, while frogs are screaming at you, is a great time to think about the questions of, am I in the right place? What's going on in my marriage?
I couldn't help but wonder if the ways that we had changed over the course of the pandemic had even next to each other in bed pushed us further and further apart. I tried to play it off as a joke to David. I was like, these horny gay frogs are ruining my life. And he said, well, you should try to enjoy it. And I said, I don't think I can come around to this.
I am a proactive person. And so I thought, okay, the frogs are keeping me awake. I can fix that. I bought earplugs. I put them in. The frog noises came through the earplugs. I bought a second pair of earplugs. I put earplugs on top of earplugs. And then you put your head underneath the pillow. And still, you heat the frogs. And so I'm lying awake and...
One night I reached over and grabbed my phone, turned the brightness all the way down, shielded it with my body so that I wouldn't disturb David, and I started Googling how to stop the frogs from screaming. I came across a lot of message boards where people had the same problem as I did. People would say, if they breach the house, it's theirs.
People would talk about how frogs would move from wherever the water source was up to the porch, clinging to the screen doors inside the house. It was like the book of Exodus. I was like, what have I done? to anger Old Testament God. And I was like, oh, right. I am a gay person in an interracial relationship. I went to the message board and I said, how do I fix this? One solution.
trim back the vegetation around the pond, you know, give the frogs less of a welcoming environment. Gentrify is what you're saying. So one day I pulled out our battery-operated lawnmower. David was in the house. I said, I'm just going to tidy up a little bit. And I started to mow the grass and the overgrowth around the pond.
It didn't seem to make a difference. The frogs were like, thank you so much for clearing the sidewalk for us. Next option. People on the message board said is you introduce a snake to the environment. The problem with... Getting a snake is then you have a snake. I put the snake aside. David, meanwhile, is sleeping through all these Google searches.
And when he wakes in the morning and goes to sit by the pond, I'm looking at him bleary-eyed. He says, how do you sleep? I don't say, someone on a message board told me to buy a snake. Because that sounds crazy. We were both working so hard to make this house perfect, and it felt like a betrayal of that commitment to say, the seemingly innocuous frogs in our backyard are sources of anxiety and torture to me. And at the end of the day, we have 30 years on this mortgage. What am I going to do?
When Snap returns, Eric takes his anti-frog activism to the next level. Stay tuned. Welcome back to Snap Judgment, the gay frog happy hour. Last we left, Eric's husband, David, had created an idyllic pond in their backyard, complete with an all-male troop of singing frogs. Only... The singing was driving Eric crazy. But how can you evict a crowd of adorable amphibians from their chosen place of refuge? The answer, do it in secret. Snap Judgment.
One night, I'm visiting my friends on the message boards, checking in. Susan, how you doing? And I come upon a solution. They say... Put some vinegar in a spray bottle and spray it all along the perimeter of the area where you don't want the frogs. So when the frogs approach, the vinegar will burn their little frog toesies and they will retreat. This seemed an aggressive solution. This seemed a violent solution. I didn't want to hurt frogs. This was beyond the scope of who I thought I was
I thought about it. I got on Amazon and I ordered a spray bottle. I filled it with vinegar and a little bit of water. It was a little after sunset, so it was getting dark. David was playing video games upstairs. I marched across the lawn and just started spraying around the perimeter of the pond. The sun was down by that time. It was completely dark. I went back into the house.
washed out the vinegar spray bottle, and sat down on the couch next to David, who was still playing his video games. He won, and I felt I'd won too. Next morning, I'm poking around in my office, getting ready to get on Zoom for work. It's been a rough night as usual, but I have some hope. I think that I've solved it. David comes in from his morning coffee by the pond, and he looks unusually perturbed. So I ask him, you know, what's going on? What's wrong? And he says,
I think something's wrong with the grass and the plants out by the pond. And I say, what do you mean? And he's like, they're all dying. And we go out and look and they all have... speckled brown marks across their leaves and some of the grass has dried up and died and i think oh and then i think maybe I can get away with it. And then I think, there's no way that I can get away with this. And then I think I don't want to get away with it.
And I think maybe he sees that on me and he says, do you know something about this? And I say, OK, well, don't be mad. But David, I may have committed a small act of frog homophobia. And I explained to him about the earplugs and the snake. Finally, I say, they told us to spray vinegar and a look of horror crosses his face. So David says to me,
Why didn't you tell me? And I said, I didn't think that you would understand. And he says, is everything okay with you? And I say, well, obviously not. I haven't gotten sleep in about a month. David says, what's going on with you? And I don't have an answer. The night after the vinegar sprang, the frogs came back. I want to be very clear. The vinegar did not do...
a single thing to deter these frogs. They continue to scream every night. It is not an easy fall for us. Our anxieties, our distance continued. One night, as the temperature fell, the frogs just weren't there. And they didn't come back. It was obvious, even though I literally never thought about it. Mating season is over. They had all paired up. They had gone to Palm Springs with their pool boys. I had had no effect on the frogs at all.
The first night that we knew was going to be frogless, I couldn't wait to sleep. But we decided to grill because it was still warm out. And we sat by the pond and... We were enveloped by nothing but silence. Beautiful silence. I decided... As a gay frog myself, I needed to fill that silence, and I started to talk. I said, it feels like we've been living two separate lives. He said, I do think we've been living apart.
I said, I want to enjoy this space, this yard. I know that you love this and you are enjoying this. And sometimes that feels lonely. David had this funny expression on his face. It was sort of both mournful and also a little bit surprised. He said, you remember when I left the house? And started digging. It was my only escape. Eric, I was just really depressed. He said, I just dreamed of this pond.
Work has been so hard in so many unimaginable ways. Trying to create Zoom church and be present for people, I had to make something nice. In this space. And so I just dug. I explained that I hadn't meant to destroy the pond. And I was sorry. We were missing each other. And we said that. I missed you. I missed you. And in talking about it, we were able to move slowly back to the center, which is where we met each other.
It's now 2024. David got a job offer up in Philly and we moved and we sold our house. I... was at a diner in South Philly, sitting at my counter, eavesdropping. And this woman is talking about this pond in her backyard, and she's trying to get rid of it. She's going to sell it. And she asks...
The owner of the diner, you know anybody who wants a little pond? You know, it's small, it's 20 gallons. And I think, 20 gallons? Oof, that's such a small pond. But then I think, wait a minute, I do know somebody who wants a pond. And she shows me her phone and she scrolls through like 30 pictures of various animals. And then comes upon this black, muddy tub. My heart breaks a little bit.
And so I said, oh, no, thank you. But I went home and I told David, I said, would you be interested in having a pond in the backyard? Would you be interested in trying again? So we go and we look at Etsy and we find somebody who makes pond containers in half wine barrels. And it came to the house and we filled it with water. And he bought lilies and ferns and reeds. And it's beautiful. And it sits behind our house, just like the old pond.
And there's barely enough room for us to stand in the backyard together and listen to it. But sometimes we do. A very big thank you to our Eric Thomas for sharing historical snap. It's just more. of the Frog Saga and other hilarious tales in his most recent essay collection, Congratulations, the best is over. Our Eric Thomas writes the nationally syndicated daily advice column, Asking Eric. He's a playwright.
screenwriter, national best-selling author, and long-running host of The Moth in Philadelphia. You can find All Things Eric at rerickthomas.com. The original score for that piece was by Clay Xavier. was produced by Justin Cramon. Now, Team Snap made something super special recently. We are so very proud. It's a 10 part podcast series called Fire Escape explores what happens when incarcerated women become the firefighters behind bars. We want to give you a little sample in this scene.
A team of incarcerated women arrive at a massive farmland fire. It's burning out of control, and the women must act skillfully to save lives. But because they're prisoners, a lot stands in their way. is an incarcerated woman named Amika Mota. When she hops off the truck, she knows she's looking at a potential catastrophe. I... Hope and pray my skills are good enough to get the job done. Like, I hope I remember the pattern I need to spray my nozzle at when I hit this type of fire.
A slough fire can then spread, you know, there's the surrounding kind of like wildland areas and farmland, and then you have the trees above. And so there's like so many different ways that it just could really, really spread. That's the nature of fire. You can't really, we're not in control of it. We're trying to control it, but we can't. We pulled up and the smoke, different fires have different smoke.
You're trying to just figure out what do you need to do and what do you need to do to help. This is Megan Peebles. She was a nozzle operator on Amiga's crew at this slew fire. I think that was my first... time that I realized that things can change super drastically. The ditch itself was full of smoldering debris.
But Amika's firefighters had to cross the slough to some trees on the other side. So the captain, the correctional officer in charge of them, directed the women to lay their hoses across the hot ditch. I remember knowing that, like, that's a textbook no-no. We clearly have read and in our training as firefighters, even incarcerated firefighters that just study these books to get on the truck. Like we know that's a textbook. No, no, you don't bring your hoses.
across active burn. So it was like a red flag trigger, like I knew it seemed a little bit off, right? I think I was still really new. And I just was, whatever they told me to do, I did. Amika was hesitant to tell her team to put these hoses across the slough like her captain was telling her. She was getting close to her release date, and she didn't want to make any trouble. But she knew this was a faulty order. Flames are literally above the treetops at this point.
And this is your only defense against the flames is your hose. We knew that we were kind of being told to do something that didn't make sense, but we had to do it. Was our captain giving us orders? I think that all of us looked at it as, for sure, we don't have the authority to question a captain or... the chief but but were we in the position to say anything ultimately we are incarcerated individuals and it's not like we could go or do anything without our
captain or a chief with us. So Amika instructed her crew to pull the hoses across the hot emperors. I could see all of this unfolding right in front of me. And then... The fire comes sweeping through. The fire kind of did this boom there, and the trees caught the next trees, and it's coming across the bank. All of it is so fast.
The hoses are drawn out across the slough. You know the girls are going to lose their equipment. So I'm thinking of the girls. I'm thinking about protecting the truck and our water source. I'm thinking about our shitty-ass radios that we can't, like, communicate well on. And then she tried again to radio the women behind the fire line. I answered to a correctional officer and a captain, but I also had people that I was responsible for.
Being an engineer for a fire crew, you're taking on the lives of four to five other people and you're directing them and telling them what to do. I had to just override this captain and do what was safest for the crew. She called the women back from the front lines. I mean, the reality of overriding a captain on... A fire ground is that you could get sent back in. That's why she was an engineer. She had that ability to direct and see.
situations and take control of them i mean i looked up to her for it so like fuck the captain and what he's saying because that shit don't make no sense and Just as clearly and methodically and carefully as we can make decisions that will get us home safe, that's what that moment at the sleuth fire was. So like, informally, we were in charge. It's this dance that I have danced the whole time I was incarcerated.
We did it anyway, in spite of all of the circumstances and the way things didn't line up for us. But we did it anyway. We handled that call like bosses. We did. And, you know, all the labels we have, addicts, I don't know. Shitty mothers, criminals, not worthy of being part of society, kicked out of the world. That was who we were. But who we were...
That day is badasses. We were a badass team of female firefighters. They handled business. Nobody can touch it. Nobody can claim it. It's like, that was ours. That's ours. Fire Escape, a Snap production made in partnership with Wondery and Amazon Music. And you can hear the entire 10 episode fire escape series on podcast platforms everywhere. Now. After the break, we're going on vacation for free in the most unexpected way possible. Stay tuned.
Welcome back to Snap Judgment. My name is John Washington. Now, our next story begins with a young British man who signs himself up for a two-year work exchange program in Australia. Good idea, right? But we'll let him tell you what happened next. when he packed his bags and landed a stranger in a strange land.
I think I decided I would want to go home or I wanted to go home probably about 12 hours after I actually landed. It's a kind of classic story of a teenager leaving home for the first time. Brian was thrilled to get out. hungry for adventure, and pretty much as soon as he realized just how far away from the comforts of home he was, he immediately wanted to go back. The conditions were tough. It was quite outbackish in those days, believe me.
The hostel was kind of fleabag. Rat infested. And the food, well... We had beans most of the time. From the can. And there was nowhere to cook them, so they were cold. But as part of the agreement, we had to stay there for two years or repay the airfare over and the airfare back. That was £700. When the salaries were £40 a month or something, you know. Brian wasn't the only one who was homesick.
I had two Irish friends who were in the same boat as me. Neither of them wanted to stay in Australia. All we talked about was how to get out of Australia, what we were missing at home. I think from my point of view, there were two things I actually wanted more than anything. One was to meet my old friends again. And the second thing, I wanted some cheddar cheese.
Not Australian version, but real cheddar cheese from the UK. I think I spent most of my time trying to dream up ideas of how to get out of there. But he was trapped. He couldn't afford to pay his way out. At one point, he decided to stow away on a ship. He slipped onto a passenger boat called the Southern Cross, from Sydney to Southampton. But...
I'm actually not very good at travelling over water. He got sick. Seasick, actually, but violently seasick. He was chucked off the boat in New Zealand and sent back to the Fleabag Hostel. to eat beans out of a can and commiserate with his two Irish friends. The more despondent he became, the more determined. I was going home. He'd write letters to his family, and six weeks later, he'd get a letter back.
And a thought suddenly hit me. I decided that I would post myself from Australia to London. Post himself. Like mail himself. In a human-sized envelope. I started gathering details about, could a parcel be sent cash on delivery to London? And the answer was yes. And what's the largest type of container one could send? Obviously to be able to do all this I needed some sort of crate. I managed to find a woodyard and in the woodyard was my dream home. This quite handsome looking box.
It was only about the size of a mini-fridge, but it was exactly what he wanted. I wasn't the least bit frightened. I wasn't worried. I wasn't afraid. I wasn't anything. It was, in some ways... A little bit like a game, perhaps, with the arranging. And there was so much to do. I had to get invoices for what was supposed to have been in the crate.
Do you remember the first time you floated this idea to another human? The first time I floated this idea to another human, my two Irish friends actually, one of them agreed, if I want to do it, I should do it. The other chap... quite categorically said, no way is it going to happen. It's too dangerous. Anything could go wrong. All it takes is one foolish friend to agree to your foolish idea. So we started planning it, you know.
Once we had the crate, we needed some precautions. And so we used some rope to make a harness because I remembered, of course, on an airplane you have a seatbelt. So I made, or we made, a harness which would strap me into the crate. One of the sides of the box we actually made so it would, or could theoretically, be open from the inside of the box. And then we...
also equipped it with in-flight service. We put two bottles, two plastic bottles, in the crate, one full of water and one empty. The empty one I would leave... the listener to guess what that was for I had a flashlight and I also had a book of the Beatles Beatles songs I then went on a complete diet So I didn't eat for probably two days or for obvious reasons. The day of the departure, my two Irish friends came over. I got...
into the crate. And as I got in, so I'm standing sort of waist high in this crate. My two friends said, are you sure you want to do this? And I said, I'm absolutely certain I want to do it. I sat down in the crate with my legs up into my chest, strapped myself in, and my two friends nailed the top on. Nail by nail. With each nail, I was quite happy. With each banging sound for each nail, I was quite happy. There were little sort of slats of light coming through. It smelt...
Well, it smelt of fresh wood, fresh sawn wood, basically. And it's something I think I'll always remember for the rest of my life, the smell of the thing. Once the crate was loaded onto the taxi truck... And my friends had said a very quiet goodbye as it was being loaded. I thought, oh dear, what have I got myself into? Should I be doing this? Like what were the things?
to finally be afraid of. Lack of oxygen, the crate collapsing perhaps around me, dying from hypothermia, the crate getting lost in transit. I think dehydration was a very big issue. That's a partial list. As his crate bumped down the road in the back of a pickup truck, the potential danger of his little trip finally began to dawn on him. And then I think I counted that by saying to myself,
It's a bit late to stop now, isn't it? We had signs all over the outside of the crate that actually said, this side up. Very simple to read, for most people anyway. Needless to say, when it arrived at the airport, they forgot this side up and the crate was dumped unceremoniously upside down under the sun. And so I stayed there without making a sound, but the box getting warmer and warmer and warmer under the Australian sun, standing on my head.
with my knees up in my chest. Not a very nice position to be in. In fact, very uncomfortable. I spent 24 hours upside down in the same spot. And of course, that meant at night. The wind was blowing. It was really cold. Did you think about giving up at this point? Like knocking on the crate and saying, help, get me out of here, this was a terrible idea.
Okay, I'd given this a lot of thought, obviously, whilst I was in the crate. Did I want to go ahead with this? And the answer was absolutely yes. There was no way now that I was going to give up. And... The harder things became, the more convinced I was that I was not going to give up. And the thoughts of going home and having some cheddar cheese...
I don't know why cheddar cheese, because I'm not a big cheese lover, but I was at that particular time. So he sat there, upside down, in the wind, in the dark, in the blazing heat. Thinking about cheese. Until... I was quite joyous when, after 24 hours, I was suddenly put on a forklift again and put into the hold of another aircraft. Then I knew I was really on my way and I was really leaving Australia. Once you go from the sunlight into the aircraft anyway, light changes to darkness.
There was actually no light on the flight at all. The plane took off. Entertaining myself was very difficult because of course there were not many options. And yes, I did sing a few songs. Trains and boats and planes can take me home. But as the hours dragged on, and he was stuffed into this crate, buried under a pile of cargo, it got a little less sing-songy. It got real.
Cold was the first to come on, and I felt, oh, as if I was sitting in a freezer, perhaps. The worst feeling was not the cold, it was the heat. It was actually freezing, but at the same time, it felt... Too warm, too hot, boiling. I can barely handle sitting in a coach class seat for seven hours. I was having to put up with more and more pain. Oh, I wish I could move my arms or something.
And of course, I couldn't straighten my legs. My legs were folded up in my chest the whole time. Anybody who sits in one position for any length of time will find that the joints will seize up. And it wasn't one flight. The plane would land and then take off. Land and then take off again to refuel. I couldn't move now. I could hardly move. It was all over my body. I mean, I was in a pretty bad way. I then also started to hallucinate. My biggest fear was that the aircraft developed engine.
trouble and the only way for the aircraft to continue with its journey was to throw the freight out of the aircraft and You know, on reflection it sounds stupid, but I really thought that was going to happen. Well, the plane eventually landed, and I think I'm home. I think I'm in London. He feels his crate being lifted off the floor, carried off the aircraft, and lowered to the ground.
And then he was left alone. And so if I'm going to escape, now's the time to try and do it. Except for the fact that I couldn't move. I mean, I literally, by then... Couldn't move a muscle at all. So I waited. I waited. Maybe six or seven hours. There were two. I could see two people walking in the warehouse. They came over to my crate.
And as they got level with it, one of them jumped back in utter amazement as he said to his colleague, there's a body in there. And they were... probably the worst words I'd heard in the whole four and a half days I'd been in the crate, because they weren't speaking with a British accent. I then knew I wasn't in London. They both went away for what seemed like eternity. Then, of course, this gaggle of people, literally, descended on the crate.
I could hear all this. I couldn't speak. My throat was so swollen, I couldn't speak at all. Couldn't make a sound, actually. Eventually... It was an FBI officer, I think. He looked through the crate again. We literally met eye to eye and he could see me blinking or whatever. And he said, there's not a body in here. He's alive.
It took them 20 seconds to rip the whole side of the crate off and to lift me out. But I couldn't talk and I couldn't move. They laid me on my back on the floor and my knees were still... tucked up into my chest. I was in a frozen position. I literally couldn't move. They tried to force my legs down and as they did, the top part of my body lifted up into the air.
They took him to the Los Angeles Central Receiving Hospital. Of course, government officials, journalists, they all speculated that the international mystery man was some kind of fugitive, or an asylum seeker, or a secret agent. No one guessed 19-year-old homesick guy from Wales who missed a properly aged cheese. And people were very serious about this, and they were talking amongst themselves.
The Cold War was going full steam ahead at this time, and the first thought of who I could have been was some sort of spy, some sort of Russian spy or whatever spy, I don't know exactly. And I was thinking, this is ridiculous. How could they think I'm a spy? But he couldn't talk. He was frozen, stiff. A team of nurses lowered him into a hot tub. They spoon-fed him ice cream.
As far as the jacuzzis and so forth were concerned, it was rather like being a five-star hotel. Until after about 12 hours, he could talk with a tiny, scratchy voice. And once he started talking, they promptly drove him to the nearest FBI office. When I first went into the FBI offices, I sat down in front of quite a senior agent
The FBI agent wore a dark suit and told Brian that he was in the U.S. illegally and was facing two options. Either he would be shipped home or sent back to Australia. The choice was up to Pan Am Airlines. Then a phone rang. The FBI agent put the phone down and he said, you are so lucky they're going to send you back to London.
They drove him through crowds of reporters and British expats and overnight fans straight to the airport, where they handed him a first-class ticket. As the plane took off, a stewardess came on the PA system. we would like to welcome aboard Brian Robson, our stowaway from Melbourne, Australia. And the amazing thing, I don't think this would happen nowadays, but the amazing thing was that everybody actually clapped.
As far as the getting home was concerned, I obviously met all of my family and everything else. But the strange thing is that the appeal for cheese... wasn't appealing anymore. I didn't want it anymore. Yeah, I think to put some meaning into the whole thing is the fact that homing instinct is built into both human beings and pigeons. Both of us, well, certainly human beings, always think or go back to their roots eventually.
So did you write the two Irish guys and tell them you made it? That is my... Getting... The Irish people that helped me pull it off were really lifesavers in a way. Unfortunately... I lost all their contact details. And so to this day, I have never actually managed to contact them or speak to them at all. If you're listening, let's face it, fellas, this was a harebrained scheme that, you know, could have got you into a lot of trouble and could have killed me.
And so I think all three of us need to get together and have a pint and decide not to do it again. Now, Snappers, if you think you can repeat Brian's little journey here, please think again. We got a little something to let you know this ain't happening. Do you know, after I did this, they introduced a method of trying to stop anybody else doing it. And this is how high tech it was in the early 60s. They were spraying freight.
with sneezing powder so that anybody in the crate would sneeze and they knew people were in there or somebody was in there. That was their idea. That was high tech in 63. Thank you very, very much, Brian. And keep your eyes out, Snap Nation, because Brian tells us this story is soon to be made into a film. By Bird Flight Films. Keep your eyes out for that. Big Banks to Jason Caffrey at the BBC for helping us track down Brian. The sound design for this piece was by Snap Judgment's Renzo Gorio.
And if you missed even a moment of this story, you're going to want to subscribe to the Snap Judgment podcast and rectify that situation because that story was produced by Anna Sussman. too much of a good thing there's no such thing hours and hours of astonishing snap judgment storytelling on your phone right now the snap judgment podcast evildoers beware
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