Gathering of defacto Ne-er-do-Wells

A pack a’ Ne’er-do-Wells. (Coleman and Bernie were management [road supervisors]; Timmy also management [a radio-dispatcher]; all the rest are retired bus-drivers; except the two that weren’t Transit employees.) (Photo by the so-called “old guy” with the dreaded
and utterly reprehensible Nikon D100 camera.)

Yesterday (Wednesday, July 22, 2009) was a brunch gathering of retired Transit employees.
We’re a defacto group, not an organized group of Transit Union retirees, like the Alumni.
We even include people from Transit management. We were all in the same boat; trying to move a difficult and challenging clientele from pillar-to-post in giant lumber-wagons that could break down and fail (“cripple”) at the slightest provocation.
The brunch was at Nick’s Sea Breeze Inn, an Italian restaurant across from the bus-loop at Sea Breeze Amusement Park north of Rochester.
I suppose Nick’s is an icon of sorts. It’s been around a long time, and was plastered with autographed photos of Frank Sinatra and Pavarotti and other Italian stars.
I wasn’t sure I could find it, except I was told it was across from the old bus-loop, a place I’d turned my bus around many times.
When I arrived I noticed Gary Colvin (“COAL-vin”), a retired bus-driver, parked in a parking-lot waiting for others.
“Is this it?” I asked.
There was no sign I saw. Actually there was, but it wasn’t a giant glittering double-arches. Just a tiny placard hung off the corner of the building saying “Nick’s.”
Colvin had along Gary Coleman (“COAL-min”), who had been a road-supervisor, but like me had a stroke. It left him slightly paralyzed, but I’d say he gets along pretty good.
Coleman is the one who organized this gig; made all the phonecalls, despite slight speech difficulty I also have.
Others trickled in, one-by-one.
A bus pulled up at the Sea Breeze bus-loop; an illegally parked schoolbus had to get out.
That’s what the bus-loop is for. You can’t just snake a 40-foot bus around something illegally parked in a bus-loop.
How many times did I have to go inside Nazareth College to clear out their bus-loop? Once the Monroe Ave. loop at Cobbs Hill Park had an illegally parked mail truck inside it. We had to call the police. The mailman was taking a break far away in the park. He returned before we called a tow-truck. (As I recall, I took a long sojourn up inside the park to get turned around — made me about 10-15 minutes late.)
I used to have to bang doors at Senior-Citizen apartments in Fairport, exhorting Granny to move her giant white Crown Vic, which was blocking the driveway.
“Not until ‘General Hospital’ is over!” she’d scream.
A bus was eight feet wide; and ya don’t just drive on the lawn around impediments. That’s asking for a lawsuit.
A retired bus-driver suggested all 10 of us get on the laying-over bus in the Sea Breeze loop, and each point to the guy behind as we trudged on single-file. “He’s got it,” we’d say.
Then as the last guy got on we’d all sit down in the back of the bus, over the motor, with no one having paid.
We all laughed. This was the sort of thing we all dealt with. Laundry-receipts as transfer-slips, and plastic amusement-park tokens as fare.
Not that we paid much attention. The idea was to not get shot. We soon learned to not pay much attention to fare, and management didn’t support you if we did. They didn’t want any trouble.
And the fareboxes didn’t help. They were supposed to count the change put in, but quickly became erratic. No way could a complicated electronic gizmo deal with the vibration.
So if someone got on and put in a pocketful of pennies, the farebox might count a couple.
Ya didn’t dispute it — ya couldn’t. You relied on the fact most people put in an honest fare.
The bus-driver apparently recognized us as he left. He tooted the horn. (But not us him.)
“Horn works,” I said. How many times did I hafta pull apart the steering-hub because the horn was stuck on. —That’s operating without a horn. “Just take it through, and I’ll try to change ya off at the end.”
“Boy-oh-boy, I sure am glad to see you,” I said to Timmy.
How many times did Timmy and I exchange radio conversations about running late and cripples? (Timmy was management; but unlike some had his feet on the ground.)
“I hear you’re a railfan, like me. That true?”
Timmy suggested I ride the restored trolley at nearby New York Museum of Transportation.
Various bus-driver jokes were bandied about, so I’ll end with one:
—A policeman came upon a cowboy parading through downtown with nothing on but his boots.
“Tell me, cowboy; why ya walkin’ around like that?”
“Well I’ll tell ya officer. I got this great whore that took off all her clothes, and immediately climbed into bed.
‘Take off your shirt, cowboy,’ she said; so I did.
‘Now take off your pants, cowboy;’ so I did.
‘Now, take off your undies, cowboy,’ so I did.
‘Now go to town!’ she said, so here I am.”

• RE: “‘Old guy’ with the dreaded and utterly reprehensible Nikon D100.......” —My macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston, who is 13 years younger than me, calls me “the old guy” as a put-down (I also am the oldest; 65). I also am loudly excoriated by all my siblings for preferring a professional camera (like the Nikon D100) instead of a point-and-shoot. This is because I long ago sold photos to nationally published magazines.
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY.
• A “road supervisor” is a Transit employee (not a bus-driver) who -a) intervened in disputes with passengers, or -b) helped a bus-driver do something difficult — like back up a bus (the driver couldn’t see behind), or get turned around in a confined (difficult) place without accident. They also protected passengers transferring from a crippled bus to a replacement. Both Bernie and Coleman were good road supervisors, although both arrived ready for vitriol from the bus-driver, which usually happened.
• The “radio-dispatcher” was a person who maintained radio communication with buses on the road. The radio-dispatcher stayed on Transit property; although he could also radio road supervisors. —When I was there, there were two radio-channels; i.e. two radio dispatchers.
• 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. 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.
• I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech. (Difficulty putting words together.)
• “Monroe Ave.” is a long thoroughfare that goes southeast out of Rochester. Adjacent is “Cobbs Hill Park,” and a bus-loop was at it. Buses would turn at that loop for short trips along Monroe Ave. within the city of Rochester.
• RE: “Transfer-slips.....” —If the passenger paid for it (not much), they were given a receipt (a “transfer”) they could use to transfer to another bus-line. —They had an expiration time, usually about an hour.
• A “change-off” is a replacement bus, supposedly legal and functional.
• I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child.