Now, I was a competitive bodybuilder and, thus, no slouch myself but, I took one look at the size of that burly customs agent’s fingers, imagined them covered in blue latex, and gulped.  Hard.  I suddenly heard Big Chick Huntsberry’s voice inside my head saying, “Mike, you’re big.  But this guy, he’s REAL BIIG!!”

Have you ever heard a robin sing on a spring morning?  It sings non-stop (which can be very irritating if you’re trying to sleep in that particular morning).  Call me robin.  ‘Cause I started to siiiing!!!

I earnestly told the burly customs agent that I truly did not know anything about the Rolex watch and that the bag I had carried to his counter belonged to Gilbert, the bodyguard of Prince.  (Now, would you believe that this burly customs agent actually asked, “Who is Prince?”?!)
After I had completely spilled my guts, the burly customs told me to wait and he left the room.  It seemed like about a half hour passed before he came back and simply said, “You can go.”  I picked up my things, including Gilbert’s carry-on (minus the Rolex box, of course) and left the room.  As I walked down the short hallway past the other, what I knew now to be, strip search rooms, I looked into on and there stood Gilbert.  I looked closer and saw he was writing out a check.  I learned later that he was fined $3,000.00! $1,500 for the tariff on the Rolex and $1,500 for trying to sneak it into the country.  I also later learned that, while I had been left holding the box, Gilbert’s #2 man, Hucky Austin, was wearing the Rolex high up on his forearm beneath his suit coat sleeve.  He, too, was able to waltz right through customs with no problems.  Have you ever heard the term, ‘fall guy’?

I made my way back up to the general population and found the Parade entourage still waiting for our connecting flight home to Minneapolis.  I was quickly approached by tour managers Alan Leeds and Karen Krattinger (K2) who wanted to know all that had happened and if I was alright.  I was telling them of my intense experience when, around the corner, came Gilbert; with a smirk on his face.  It looked as if he thought the whole incident was funny!  I didn’t.  I was mad and, in my anger, dropped Gilbert’s carry-on bag on his feet and, through clenched teeth, said, “Next time, carry your own %#*@^&$ bag!”  Then I simply turned and walked away…  But, to this very day, almost 20 years later, I still have one question…..

Where’s The Rolex?!

Respectfully submitted by:
Michael Oakvik
Prince Bodyguard  1984 – 1988 (Purple Rain, Parade, Sign O’ The Times, Lovesexy)

Continued from Where’s the Rolex

The next handoff occurred at the Tokyo airport, when Fargnoli handed the Rolex to his assistant, Jennifer. However, despite Fargnoli’s cultural knowledge, he instructed Jennifer to see that the Rolex was returned to Udo. Naturally, Jennifer panicked, as she also knew of the cultural implications such an act would mean.

Soon Jennifer found her way out of the mess; her relief came in the form of Gilbert Davison, Prince’s head of security. The next handoff occurred when Jennifer passed the Rolex to Gilbert and told him that Prince had declined the gift and that Fargnoli wished it returned to Udo. Jennifer then explained the cultural faux pas to Gilbert. Of course, she explained this to Gilbert only seconds before she beat a hasty retreat, leaving Gilbert literally ‘holding the bag’ (Maybe bag is not the correct word to use here; referring to the Rolex as a ‘bag’ doesn’t nearly do the watch justice. The watch came in its own small treasure chest!).

By the time these first two exchanges happened, the plane was already starting to board. Not knowing what to do, Gilbert stuffed the Rolex into his carry-on bag and boarded the plane for home. He planned to deal with the situation once in the air. I didn’t know it at the time, but his solution was going to have an impact on my status as an international traveler, it would affect my ability to gain access into the beautiful United States of America, and it very well may have been probable cause for a full body cavity search (more on this later).

The flight was from Tokyo to Seattle, Washington. Shortly before landing, Gilbert walked down the aisle to my seat, and laid his carry-on bag at my feet. The third hand off occurred when Gilbert kindly asked me to carry his bag through customs so that he and Prince could simply whisk through with nothing to claim and head straight for the Northwest Airlines secure VIP passengers area (that was where they would wait for the connecting flight to Minneapolis). Knowing nothing of the Rolex, I consented.

Gilbert thanked me and began to walk back to his first class seat. As he departed, he cocked his head and said over his shoulder, “There’s an empty Rolex box inside.”

Not knowing what he meant, I opened his bag. I marveled at the site of what I found inside; a shoe box sized solid oak box with all kinds of warranty and instructional paperwork inside for a Rolex watch! So here I was, stuck holding all kinds of watch paraphernalia, but where was the Rolex?

The plane was landing and we went to get our luggage. I found a cart and began loading my 3 or 4 pieces of matching luggage onto it. I also placed Gilbert’s carry-on bag on top of my own bags. Gilbert’s bag, of course, stood out like a sore thumb from my own luggage.


I made my way to a custom’s line and waited my turn. Prince’s personal chef, Rande, must have had some notion of what was transpiring (in regards to the Rolex) as she kept repeating (in a very loud Rande sort of way),

“Miiike, that bag doesn’t match the reesst. They’re going to search that bag. Miiike, they’re going to search that baaag!!”

Finally, it was my turn at the custom’s check point. I somehow managed to get into line with the burliest of customs agents. With me standing in front of him, he scratched his chin, looked right at my luggage and said, “Let me see… that bag.”

Of course, he was pointing directly at Gilbert’s carry-on bag (thanks, Rande!). I hoisted the bag onto the counter and the burly customs agent unzipped it. The burly customs agent drove his massive hand into the bag and pulled out a Rolex box. The burly customs agent opened the box, sifted through the enclosed paperwork, looked up at me with no expression on his face and, with a very dead pan voice, said, “Where’s the Rolex?”

In my best ‘play dumb’ voice, I responded, “What Rolex?”

The burly customs agent and I verbally sparred back and forth for about a minute (which seemed like an eternity) before he motioned with his muscular forefinger for me to follow him. I followed as he led me around a corner to a group of small rooms, each with a vinyl curtain covering the doorway (they reminded me of retail store dressing rooms). The burly customs agent pulled a curtain aside and told me to enter and have a seat. I did and the burly customs agent followed. The curtain closed.

The burly customs agent asked me again, “Where’s the Rolex?” With all the high school drama department acting experience I could muster, I continued to play dumb. The burly customs agent bent over bringing his massive face very close to mine. He put his giant thumb and forefinger very close together and, in a very Godfather-ish sort of way, quietly said:

“I’m this close to putting on my rubber glove…”

To be completed on 05.19.2006