Another monthly meeting......

.....of Local 282 of the Amalgamated Transit Union, my old bus-union at Regional Transit Service in Rochester, drifts into the filmy past.

My attending these shindigs has become a joke, since as a retiree — i.e. no longer an active Transit employee — I can’t vote or otherwise transact union business.
It’s gotten so all my attendance has become is support for my union.
All I can do is discuss things — like if I could actually get the floor amidst all the yelling and screaming — or hold my own when I already have difficulty speaking.
Even when I was an active Transit employee (a bus-driver) I never said much at union meetings.
People would jump up and butt in, yelling and screaming — once I shouted down a bellowing maniac.
He was threatening to punch me out, but I told him first he’d have to catch me; and he was way overweight, and that was back when I was running.
Once people were complaining at perceived anti-union letters in my “282-News;” but I was like the Messenger newspaper.
If someone went to all the trouble to write a letter, it should be published, no matter what.
Weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Finally, I’d had enough.
“That newsletter is keeping me up until 3 a.m. the nights before publication.” I said.
“If someone else wants that, they’re welcome to it.”
All-of-a-sudden, deafening silence.
Without me, there would be no 282-News. It was voluntary.
That was about the extent of my prior vocal participation in union-meetings.
Last night (Thursday, April 17, 2008) they voted on a proposed arbitration — one of about five, and each involves a member assessment.
For years if there was a paycheck discrepancy, the effected employee took it up with the “dispatchers” right there in the Drivers’ Room. They were the ones processing time-sheets, so they were more on top of things.
But Transit, in its infinite wisdom, decided to no longer allow employees to dispute their paychecks with “dispatchers” in the Drivers’ Room. Now they had to trudge over to the Great White Tower, and take it up with the Payroll Department. —Or call an extension.
Call the extension and ya got a tape-recorder.
“Next it will be India,” I commented — the onliest word I’ve ever said at a union-meeting since my stroke 15 years ago. (“We are so, so sorry. We are working on it. Your issue will be resolved sometime in the next 20 years; I promise.”)
Transit was shoving their union-employees — what else is new — if Transit mucked up a paycheck, call the number — they never fixed it.
Another item-of-business was a proposed bylaw change; shuffling the duties and titles of local union-officials.
Currently there are two full-time local union officials: the president and the Business Agent/Treasurer.
They get along fairly well, but can be at loggerheads.
The bylaw-change would rearrange duties so the Prez became President/Business Agent, and the current Business Agent/Treasurer would become just Treasurer — more in tune with current nationwide practice.
The current Business-Agent allowed this was shoving a lot more work on the Union Prez, and that —A) the Prez should get paid more, and —B) the Treasurer could become only part-time.
“Checks-and-balances,” someone bellowed. “Combine all the responsibilities in one union official, and we have ‘checks-and-balances.’”
“WHAT?” I thought, as I turned around.
“Blah-blah-blah-blah; checks-and-balances.”
I didn’t say anything, but finally the number-one driver on the seniority-list got up and commented “since when does having only one full-time union-official institute a ‘check-and-balance?’ With two union-officials we have a ‘check-and-balance.’ This is baloney.”
“Hell-oooo,” I thought. “Thank you, Terry; ya said what I thought. ‘Checks-and-balances’ is a pretty phrase, but it ain’t ‘checks-and-balances.’”
“Nevertheless, I’m voting for it,” someone shouted from the dais.
“What right do you have to say anything?” someone shrieked.
“That’s just my opinion,” dais-man answered.
The bylaw-change was voted down, but only by one vote; a two-thirds majority is required.
“The madness continues,” dais-man commented. “Never getting anything done because the two union-officials are at loggerheads. E.g. ‘not my responsibility.’”

For 16&1/2 years I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, N.Y. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that.

The “Messenger newspaper” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger, from where I retired over two years ago. Best job I ever had — it was after my stroke; i.e. well after Transit.

“282-News” is a voluntary union newsletter I did during my final year at Transit. I did it with Word on my computer, and it was a resounding success. My newsletter got circulated to all local politicos, and since Transit is a public company, it caused weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

“Dispatchers” was the official title for managers that assigned bus-driving work. They were “behind-the-window,” walled off from the Drivers’ Room.