Gathering of Transit veterans

(Photo by BobbaLew)

Yesterday (Tuesday, July 13, 2010) another luncheon was held by retired veterans of Regional Transit Service.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the local transit-bus operator in Rochester. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that.
It was a pleasant job for a while, but I was tiring of it.
The job was difficult, especially the inner-city clientele.
Management-labor relations were strained; Transit employees were unionized.
Part of it was because so many union employees were jerks, playing the system.
Our group is ad hoc, although pretty much the same people organize and attend these events.
It’s mostly retired bus-drivers, although a few management are sprinkled in.
I was probably first to arrive, about 10:30 — the luncheon was at 11:30.
This was because -a) I had no idea where the restaurant, Old Country Buffet, was, and -b) how long it would take to drive there.
Others began trickling in, first Tim Quinlan.
Timmy still works at Transit, a radio dispatcher.
(His title is “Radio Controller.”)
He’s done that a long time. He was doing that during my employ at Transit.
His wife is Linda Quinlan, a reporter at Messenger-Post Newspapers (MPN), where I worked for almost 10 years after my stroke.
I never met Linda Quinlan during my employ at MPN, but Linda was essentially the Irondequoit (“ear-RON-dee-kwoit;” as in “oye”) Post.
The Irondequoit Post was one of publisher Andy Wolfe’s many Post newspapers, acquired by the Messenger when Andy retired.
Others worked at the Irondequoit Post, but Linda was the reporter. Or at least seemed to be involved in everything.
The Irondequoit Post was a class act, a shining star the Messenger bought into when it acquired the Post newspapers.
Of course, all the Post newspapers were pretty classy, as was the Mighty Mezz — still is.
“That was nice what you said about my wife,” Timmy said.
That was in my recent Alhart blog.
“Well, that was true,” I responded.
Soon others arrived.
People began gathering around Timmy. I was still in our van.
Finally we went into the restaurant; we were getting a discounted buffet price.
Dominick Zarcone (“zar-KONE;” as in “czar”) sat next to me.
“Oh, I think I’ll sit here,” he shouted.
Zarcone is still driving bus at Transit; he had got the day off.
Zarcone started shortly after me. He’s driven bus 33 years, and is now number six in seniority.
Which means if I’d not had my stroke, and kept at it, he’d be number seven.
Zarcone and I have always been friends.
That’s largely because I can argue with him minus a turgid torrent of noisy ad hominem put-downs.
I get that with my brothers, all tub-thumping Conservatives merrily goosestepping to the latest Limbaugh OxyContin® rant.
Zarcone is ardent Catholic, always trying to convert me; as many did at Transit. Jehovah’s Witnesses, Seventh-Day Adventists and zealous Baptists of the Jerry Falwell strand.
Other sinners weren’t being pursued; I always wondered why me.
Zarcone, like me, was also college-educated.
Yet we were driving bus.
“I majored in bus-driving,” I always said.
It was a slam-dunk.
The pay was good, and hours of work could be minimized.
Part of the reason I was tiring was I no longer could minimize work hours.
To do so, you had to live near the barns.
In Rochester we were five minutes from the barns. West Bloomfield was 45 minutes.
“Yadda-yadda-yadda-yadda. Well look at that! It’s Dick Thompson; I thought he was dead.”
Around-and-around we went, greeting old compatriots.
The management attendees were Quinlan, Dave Brown (a retired radio dispatcher), and Bernie Kreitzberg and Gary Coleman (“coal-min”).
Bernie and Coleman were both road-supervisors; Coleman retired after multiple strokes. Bernie still works at Transit, but part-time.
Stories got swapped — “lemme tell ya about the time my bus crippled in the old Can.”
And also “The time the roller-sign assembly dropped and clouted me in the head.”
“The old Flxible 500s had a vent in front of your feet,” I noted. “The thing was always stuck open — ya’d freeze in winter. I’d stuff it with newspaper.”
“How about that driver that committed suicide and killed his wife?”someone said.
“Wait a minute!” I shouted. “How is that even possible?”
“Hughes, will you shaddup,” someone said.
“One time I got called in for preaching on the bus,” Zarcone said.
“‘I hear reports you’re an excellent driver, and have an excellent command of the Catholic faith,’ management told me.”
”Remember that time Brent sent me out to tell you to lay off the preaching?” Coleman asked.
“I have to censor your e-mails,” Zarcone told Coleman.
As we walked out about 1:30 it was thundering; but not raining yet.
Some lady, probably not a restaurant employee, was handing out alleged million-dollar bills.
But they were religious tracts — mine got shredded.
Zarcone is very Italian. He ate almost 10 times as much as me.
I always feel a little out-of-it at these shindigs, like I don’t fit the mold.
It’s like I attend only because I worked at Regional Transit.
And drove bus — challenging.
The best job there.

• The “Mighty Mezz” (Messenger) is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over four years ago. Best job I ever had. (“Canandaigua” [“cannon-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city nearby where we live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 15 miles away.)
• RE: “Barns........” —The buses were parked inside in large sheds (“barns”). “The Barns” was also the location of Regional Transit bus operations.
• We currently live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester, about 20 miles distant. Previously we lived in Rochester.
• “Limbaugh” is of course Rush Limbaugh.
• The “Can” was a large junction of interstates on Rochester’s east side. It was built in the ‘60s, and was a mess to get through. It was massively reconfigured and rebuilt not too long ago, taking out little-used railroad, etc. It was called “the Can of Worms.” (New Can and ‘old Can.’) —Park-and-Ride suburban buses often went through the Can. (The driver’s bus broke down [“crippled”] right in the middle of the Can.)
• The buses we first drove had roller curtain signs above the windshield. The entire apparatus was in a hinged panel that hinged at the bottom. If not properly attached to the top, it could drop and clout the bus-driver. (I had it happen a few times; each time with passengers.)
• “Flxible” is a manufacturer of buses. Our old 500-series buses were Flxible.
• “Hughes” is of course me, Robert Hughes.
• “Brent” is Brent Morse, a manager of bus operations. Brent was canned after my stroke.