Every Man for Himself and God Against All: A Memoir

by Werner Herzog

I needed another source of income. I started importing stereos and TV sets across the border for a few well-off rancheros I had met at the charreadas. Those things were much more expensive in Mexico because of the duty. I was able to do that because there was a gap in the border from Reynosa to McAllen. Day laborers crossed into McAllen in the morning and went home at night to Mexico. Three lanes of the widened highway were set aside for them, and their cars were identified by stickers on the windshields. Mexicans were given such stickers only after security checks by the US authorities. I managed to get hold of some Mexican plates and one of the stickers. My beat-up old car looked the part. Early in the morning, I was simply waved through on the special lanes with a few thousand other cars by the US Border Patrol. It sounds incredible now, but back in 1965 there was very little in the way of drug smuggling and the gang wars hadn’t started. Anyone who wanted to get into the US illegally swam across the Rio Grande and made it to the other side as a mojado. The only thing I worried about was getting into McAllen without the Border Patrol looking at the visa in my passport. On the way back, the Mexicans just waved you in anyway.