Horror-of-horrors

Last night (Thursday, November 15, 2007) I attended a regular monthly business-meeting of my old bus-union, Local 282 of the Amalgamated Transit Union (“What’s ‘ah-two?’”)
Local 282 is eons old, over a “hunderd” years.
That goes clear back to electric streetcar days; when Rochester Transit Corporation was the local transit-operator in Rochester. (The streetcars came off in 1943.)
In fact, Regional Transit’s new facilities were built on the site of the old Rochester Transit streetcar barns.
Those car-barns lasted clear until Regional Transit, but the new facility was built before I hired on in 1977.
Local 282 organized the transit employees, and got them a living wage and benefits.
Local 282 also looked out for union brothers (and sisters) when Transit management tried to take advantage of them.
As such, 282 has become a thorn-in-the-side of Transit managers. Often the “bigger picture” is just self-reward at the expense of the hourlies that actually generate the income.
282 became sort of a toothless shell when the New York State Taylor-Law passed.
It banned strikes by public-employees, and transit-employees are almost always public-employees.
Disputes were to be settled by collective-bargaining, arbitrators, or — heaven-forbid — a Public-Employment-Relations Board (“PERB”).
It was a response to public-employees striking; like bus-drivers, who could cripple a city by striking.
And of course most city-wide transit operations had become public — no longer private corporations.
So 282 could no longer strike, and Labor-Law — at least that under the Taylor-Law — is biased somewhat in favor of public authorities.
Except over-the-years, bus-transit has become sort of a joke.
Not many are commuting to work by bus any more. So bus-transit has become the only option for the halt, the maim, those who otherwise cannot drive.
During the 16&1/2 years that I drove bus, I saw fewer and fewer commuters, replaced by the halt and the maim.
“Goin’ to ‘wuh-foh?’” someone would ask. (‘Wuh-foh’ is Westfall Road, the location of the Welfare office, in southern Rochester.)
“Do ya mean ‘welfare?’” I’d ask. (No one could read the electronic signs, and the guy probably couldn’t read anyway.)
The only ones riding were those who had no other choice — what few commuters we carried were those lucky enough to have a bus-route nearby; and Transit was loathe to try new bus-routes. So that essentially there was little bus-service south of the city.
It was like the whole reason for Transit was to line the pockets of the managers: “just keep that bloated paycheck a-comin’; and don’t bother us!”
At the union-meeting a rep recounted a meeting with a manager. “We’re down to one broken paddle in a canoe trying to paddle upstream above Niagara-Falls,” the manager said. (That manager had a classic hugger-orange ‘74 Corvette — I wonder who paid to rebuild that?)
Story number one:
The union Business-Agent (the only full-time Union official present) noted Transit-management was dragged kicking-and-screaming before an arbitrator about some discipline-issue, and a Transit-official claimed they had never “written-up” anyone about what was at issue.
The Union-attorney thereupon pulled a sheaf of write-ups out of his briefcase, and said “then what do you call these?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” the ashen-faced manager admitted.
Story number two:
Dragged in before another so-called “faceless arbitrator” (LIMBERGER ALERT!), Transit claimed its rendering of work-assignments was a “gift;” but then turned around and claimed it can’t give out gifts.
“So doncha give out bonuses to your staff? What do ya call those?” the arbitrator asked.
“We call them ‘performance-inducements.’ They’re not bonuses.” (Neither is a shovel a shovel; it’s a “trenching-tool.”)
WHATEVER; I walked out feeling that for once 282 seemed to have the upper hand.
Transit management continues to violate the contract, and appeal all arbitrations — so that we have to drag ‘em to court.
“We have to fight these lackeys,” a long-ago occasional meeting attendee said. “The place is being ruined by politics.”
“Yep,” the Business-Agent said; “and the only way to fight politics is by becoming political ourselves; no matter how ugly you think that is.”
“Frank,” I said; “that’s the same thing you said 15 years ago when I was still driving.”
About 10 attended the meeting: “we got 700 members,” the Business-Agent said.
“So Bobbalew; how we gonna get more to attend these meetings?” the rep asked. (Same issue that was driving things 15 years ago.)
Things haven’t changed since I retired from Transit; 282 is still a joke.

RE: “Horror-of-horrors.......” —All my siblings are flagrantly anti-union. (My two brothers are both management, and my sister-in-Floridy retired from management.)

For 16&1/2 years I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, N.Y.

RE: “What’s ‘ah-two?’” This is a comment my retired mother made in the ‘90s. I was visiting (in south Floridy), and had a jacket on with a “proud to be ATU” (Amalgamated Transit Union) button, and she sincerely asked “What’s ‘ah-two?’”

“Hunderd” is how my blowhard brother-in-Boston noisily insists “hundred” is spelled.

RE: “No one could read the electronic signs.......” —The roll-up curtain destination-signs were changed to electronic readouts no one could read — progress.

“Limberger” is Rush Limbaugh. I call him that because I think he stinks.

There are only two full-time Union officials — i.e. working for the Union instead of Transit: the President and the Business-Agent. The BA is “Frank.”