The University of Windsor is on the Canadian side of the Detroit River, and just a minute away from the entrance to the Ambassador Bridge which joins Windsor and Detroit. The Ambassador Bridge is one of the most heavily traveled border posts between Canada and the US.

1974 – I am a year away from getting kicked out of University for not showing up to my classes, and my brother is studying to be a social worker at McMaster University. My dorm room at Huron Hall has become the closest thing to Party Central and there are always friends dropping by to chat and waste time. Like all campus housing, we had a Resident Assistant living on our floor – a pretty girl named Jane who, as it turns out, had also been friends with my brother a year earlier when he was at Windsor.

Huron Hall was an off-campus dormitory; a refurbished motel that was purchased by the University. Each room had two double beds, two desks and chairs, two armoires, and a private bathroom! Although a bit more expensive, it was much better than the smaller, more cramped rooms on main campus where each floor shared a communal bathroom. And, perhaps best of all, Huron Hall was a co-ed dorm with boys in the even numbered rooms, and girls in the odd numbered ones. Jane was a budding geologist and in her final year at the University. She received tuition and a modest fee to oversee the 28 1^st and 2^nd year students in our dorm wing. Jane had braces… unusual for a 24 year old, but her infectious grin and beautiful high cheekbones more than made up for it. She was also a good listener!

Jane caught off guard

One weekend in May, my brother flew to Windsor for a visit – not just to see me, but to also see our friends Gary and Barb and, of course, Jane. I think Jane and Michael might have dated at one point – they seemed to know each other pretty well – but I don’t really have any direct evidence of this.

That Friday afternoon, while making my way back to Huron Hall on one of those rare Fridays when I actually went to school, a 4-door sedan pulled up beside me and one of the 3 guys in the car opened a window to talk. He said they were heading back over the bridge and didn’t want to risk being caught at the border with their small cache of marijuana and did I want it? He handed me a small package and I looked inside to find a small baggie of grass, some cigarette papers, and some tin foil for storage! Not being one to turn down some free weed, I gladly accepted the package with plans to give it to my brother – who probably appreciated it more than I did – and the 3 guys went on their way.

When I got to the dorm, I found Michael visiting with Jane and handed him the small package with a full explanation of what had just taken place. Knowing that the dorm was just exactly the wrong place to blaze up, Michael and Jane went over to Gary’s place for a while. Barb, fortunately for all concerned, was visiting her family in Toronto that weekend and was away from the apartment.

I didn’t see Michael for the rest of the night, nor did I see him at all on Saturday. On Sunday, a little after 12:00 noon, Michael phoned and said Gary was going to drive him to the airport for his return flight to Hamilton and would I like to go with them and Jane? I said I would like to go! So, after smoking what they could reasonably enjoy in a day and a half, Michael wrapped up the rest of the marijuana to enjoy at some later date.

Now… Windsor International Airport isn’t exactly the hot bed of drug enforcement in Canada but they do, of course, have an RCMP officer stationed there at all times… and travelers then, as now, must pass through a metal detector prior to boarding. Well, all hell broke loose when Michael passed through the detector – having completely forgotten that he had tin foil-wrapped joints in his pocket! The siren went off, everyone turned to stare, and the RCMP officer immediately pulled him aside for questioning. He was taken to a small room where, for 20 minutes he was grilled by the officer. What is this? Whose is it? How did you get it? What are you going to do with it? Were you going to sell it? Who is your dealer? … and on and on. Fortunately, Michael is even better at fast talking than I am and, while it took some time (and never once mentioned that I was his... um... dealer), he eventually satisfied the officer that the joints were for personal use only and he would never try to smuggle narcotics again! Honest! He was given a summons to appear in federal court in Windsor about 3 weeks later, and was allowed to leave.

Michael returned to appear in court and was given a suspended sentence. The judge apparently took pity on him for being a poor, university student with limited means and good intentions for the future. Besides, a conviction would have ruined his chances for a career in social work.

Barb arrived back in Windsor on Sunday evening and Gary slept on the couch for a week. Huron Hall was torn down in 2002… more’s the pity!