A Philly man claims the nation's 33-year-old ban on Cuban cigars is just hot air.

For 29 years, Philadelphia raconteur David Weisenthal has had a very curious relationship with the island nation of Cuba.

The same day that the United States tested an atom bomb 60 times more powerful than the one we dropped on Hiroshima—Weisenthal was flying to Miami from Philadelphia when his Eastern Airlines Flight 47 was hijacked by a "tall, trembling Philadelphia Negro accompanied by his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter," according to the Philadelphia Inquirer.

The hijacker, identified only as T. Washington, was armed only with his daughter Jennifer, a toy gun and a bottle of what he said was nitroglycerine. He ordered the pilot to change course.

"He was warmly applauded by many of his 141 passengers about an hour later when the jet landed in Havana," the Inky reported the next day.

Havana "was a pretty cool place," says Weisenthal, looking back at his experience as an accidental Cuban tourist. "I was able to sneak home 25 fine Cuban cigars, which I gave to an uncle."

Nearly three decades later, Havana and Cuban cigars are still very much on Weisenthal's mind.

Last April, Weisenthal, who now lives in Jamaica, was on his way back to Philly when once again his trip was interrupted.

It was the United States government, which, despite all its atomic bombs, still considers Fidel Castro such a threat that the importation of Cuban cigars is a treasonous act.

Customs agents stopped Weisenthal in Jamaica. Checking Weisenthal's bags, agents discovered, and then seized, a copious cache of contraband; 100 Cuban cigars, 15 Cuban mini-cigars, nine Cuban cigarettes, five Cuban key chains, one Cuban wood jewelry box and one Cuban coin.

It was a relatively small haul, especially when you compare it to incidents like the November 1996 seizure of 4,300 Cuban cigars, worth upwards of $215,000, by Customs agents in Philly. Maybe the biggest single bust ever.

Still, like hundreds of others coming into this country every year with an estimated $400 million worth of what are arguably the world's finest tobacco torpedoes, Weisenthal saw his marvelous Monte Cristos, Romeo and Julietas and Cohibas confiscated.

But, apparently unlike anyone else in the history of this country's absurd 38-year embargo of Cuba, Weisenthal—who's sold antiques, analyzed finances for Chase Manhattan and served 51 months for smuggling pot—is fighting for the return of his cigars.

He's hired a lawyer, posted the required $2,500 bond and challenged the Treasury Department's Dec. 23, 1997, ruling that he has summarily forfeited his goods, given to him by a friend for his birthday.

Weisenthal says the U.S. government has no right to keep him from enjoying his present.

"These were illegally confiscated cigars," says Weisenthal, a tall, lanky 49-year-old now writing a book about his exploits.

As proof, Weisenthal pulls Know Before You Go—a mauve, 35-page Treasury Department pamphlet—out of his stack of documents and press clips concerning the importation of Cuban cigars.

"In my passport, it says to consult this manual about what you can and cannot bring back into the United States," says Weisenthal.

Revised in April 1994, the pamphlet, on page six, states, "Not more than 100 cigars and 200 cigarettes may be included in your exemption. Products of Cuban tobacco may be included if purchased in Cuba, see page 20."

Page 23 does mention that importing anything from Cuba, North Korea, Libya, Iraq, Haiti, Iran and the Republic of Yugoslavia is generally prohibited by the Office of Foreign Assets Control (OFAC). But there is no mention of tobacco and even federal regulations governing OFAC are vague about Cuban cigars, especially if given as gifts.

"I believe he has a viable position here," says Weisenthal's attorney, Steven Patrizio.

In her letter denying Weisenthal's petition to get his cigars back, Beth Goldberg, the Fines, Penalties and Forfeitures officer for the Customs Service in Philadelphia, said Weisenthal misinterpreted the mauve manual, that he should have consulted other government documents and that, "Cuban goods are generally prohibited…"

Goldberg's letter, however, mentions nothing about any U.S. law specifically prohibiting the import or possession of Cuban cigars.

Now that Weisenthal has challenged the forfeiture, it is up to the U.S. Attorney's Office in Philadelphia to pursue the case. According to Patrizio, the office can either pursue the forfeiture or return the cigars.

It very well may be, according to Patrizio and Weisenthal, an unprecedented and unwinnable position for the government.

Even U.S. Attorney's office spokesman Mike Levy cannot remember a single case where someone challenged a cigar seizure. As of yet, says Levy, the Customs Service has not turned the case over to the U.S. Attorney's Office.

"I don't think they want to go to court over this," says Weisenthal, adding that no one has challenged the cigar seizures because either the cigars were brought in under large-scale smuggling operations or, more frequently, individuals trying to sneak a few in are relieved that they don't have to go to jail, possibly for treason.

"When I was arrested," adds Weisenthal, "the Customs agent said I was trading with the enemy. That can be intimidating."

"There are a lot of people who feel it is crazy that cigars of this nature cannot come into America and be used for pleasure," says Patrizio. "That is what this is all about."