“For just once, can’t you guys negotiate something for us eastsiders?

Yet another regular quarterly meeting of the dreaded 282-Alumni recedes into the filmy past (yesterday, Wednesday, January 21, 2009).
The so-called “Alumni” are the union retirees (Local 282, the Rochester local of the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union) of Regional Transit Service in Rochester, N.Y. (For 16&1/2 years [1977-1993] I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service [RTS], the transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY.) The Alumni was a reaction to the fact Transit management retirees ran roughshod over union retirees — a continuation of the bad vibes at Transit: management versus union. Transit had a club for long-time employees, and I was in it. It was called the “15/25-year Club;” I guess at first the “25-year Club.” But they lowered the employment requirement, and renamed it “15/25-year Club.” The employment requirement was lowered even more; I joined at 10 years. My employ there ended in 1993 with my stroke; and the “Alumni” didn’t exist then. The Alumni is a special club — you have to join.
Old man Abe Jacobson was there, another no-good lazy do-nothing layabout like me, who drove bus 37 years.
Jacobson was still driving when I started, but retired soon thereafter.
I’d see him occasionally walking Monroe Ave. when I drove that line.
He always waved.
“Still walking, Abe?” someone asked.
“Yep; every day,” Abe said. “But in winter it’s inside the Mall; I can’t walk outside when it’s like this.” (Snow-covered icy sidewalks.)
Poor guy can hardly hear.
“Well, how old are you?” his wife asked.
“65,” someone said.
“Well I’m 83,” his wife said.
“I don’t know why he sits like that...... He’s always sitting on one cheek,” she said.
Abe was at the other end of our table, jawing with the union-prez.
“But he’s a good person,” she said.
I didn’t mention that to Abe when he came back to sit across from me.
“Why do we always have these breakfast meetings?” Abe asked. “I just ate a big breakfast.
“Yeah, so did I,” I said.
The guy who was supposed to give the presentation, the local District-Attorney, wasn’t there. He had been called outta town.
All about senior scams.
Our recently deceased 94 year old nosy neighbor was pretty good about that.
“If it’s too good to be true, it is!” he’d say.
One time Hairman, a Grand Dragon in the local Masons, came out to give him an award.
94 year old nosy neighbor wouldn’t let him in the door.
He had to leave the award in Vern’s mailbox, same place I used to deposit purple leaves from Vern’s red maple.
New Q-Dental fee schedules were passed out.
“The whole reason for this club is to maximize and explain benefits for union-retirees,” the union-prez said.
I guess he’s also on the pension committee.
“By the way,” I told him; “your advice to call that Christy girl at Transit at 8 a.m. was right. My wife actually got her. Christy must be on break from then on.
Long-story-short, my wife was covered by both Blue Cross and Preferred Care. She was only supposed to be Preferred Care.
So Transit was paying for duplicate healthcare insurances, when they were only supposed to be paying one.”
“Well I don’t care if they screwed up, as long as she’s covered,” the union-prez said. “That’s not your fault!”
It ain’t always gumint that screws up. Duplicate healthcare insurance. Transit management is trying to model the private sector.
Supposedly our dental coverage has been improved.
Two factors apply:
—1) The dental insurance coverage provided by Transit for retirees, which is piddling.....
—2) The difference we pay, which has been discounted down with Q-Dental per Alumni negotiation.
“So a cleaning at Q-Dental only costs you $31,” the Alumni vice-president said. “Total Q-Dental charge to you is $41, of which Transit’s insurance only pays $10. You’ll pay more than $31 at a non Q-Dental dentist.”
“Wait a minute!” somebody said. “They just billed me over $100.”
“Sounds like ya had more than a cleaning,” the Alumni vice-president observed.
“Q-Dental straightens these things out,” the union-prez added. “Ya gotta tell us. Call us up!”
(“We value your call. Please leave message.”)
“We’re also negotiating a new vision-care package for union-retirees,” the union-prez said.
“They make glasses here in Rochester, and we’ve been through their factory.
Rochester Optical. Lyell and Mt. Read.”
(Lyell and Mt. Read is west of the Genesee River.)
“For just once,” my friend Gary Colvin (“COAL-vin”) bellowed; “can’t you guys negotiate something for us eastsiders?
I’m driving in from North Rose, and Hughsey here from West Bloomfield.”
North Rose is 25-30 miles east of Rochester; me about 20 miles south.
“We keep getting older,” I added. “We can’t keep driving all over creation.”

RE: “Dreaded.......” —All my siblings are anti-union.

I had a stroke October 26, 1993.

RE: “No-good lazy do-nothing layabout......” —My all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston, the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say, insists all bus-drivers are “no-good lazy do-nothing layabouts.”

“Monroe Ave.” is a main thoroughfare southeast out of Rochester, a bus-route.

“Our recently deceased 94 year old nosy neighbor” is Lavern Habecker (“HAH-becker”), across the street from us. He died a few months ago. Vern and I were always kidding each other. He was always watching us from out his window.

“Hairman” is my hair-dresser. I’ve gone to him at least 16-17 years. (My macho, loudmouthed brother-from-Boston noisily excoriates my hair. I shouldn’t be patronizing Hairman; like my brother I should be having my hair trimmed by HairCrafters at $5 a pop, or use my John Deere riding-mower.)

“Christy” at Transit was a Human-Resources “Generalist.” —We’d call and leave messages to call back. Never any call-backs. She hardly knew what we were calling about.

“Preferred Care” is a local Rochester-area healthcare insurance, much like Blue Cross.

“Gary Colvin,” like me, was another Transit bus-driver.