Another quarterly meeting.....
..........of the dreaded 282 Alumni drifts into the filmy past.
This was yesterday (Wednesday, October 20, 2010).
Perhaps 25-30 were in attendance.
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, NY.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS), the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs.
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.
It isn’t just a social club.
It has bylaws, officers, and an Executive Board.
In many ways it’s just like our union-local, except it entertains issues of interest to retirees; like Medicare, healthcare, and diabetes and Alzheimer’s.
Joe Carey (“Carry”), the retired president of Local 282, mentioned the importance of colonoscopies — he’s done it himself.
So have I (we); but they seem to be a fragile topic.
A loud “Ewwwwwwww” erupted from the crowd.
I get the feeling many in attendance never do colonoscopies.
I always feel a little out-of-it at these shindigs, like the only reason I’m there is because like the others I drove bus for Transit.
Like them, I am experienced.
Transit could be difficult. Many of management were complete jerks.
So too were many of the hourlies, who were unionized, which led to constant insane union/management bickering.
Beyond that was our clientele, who could be rancorous and cantankerous.
It was possible to avoid the complete idiots by picking runs accordingly, usually Park-and-Rides.
But it was hard to avoid madness; muggings and mayhem.
I was bopped over the head by a Senior with her umbrella when I had the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to request Senior ID as required by rule.
Another time I had a passenger try to strangle me. —It was the last time I wore anything other than a clip-on tie.
Okay, be sociable this time.
Skip breakfast at home, and order just like the others.
Pancakes and sausage. —Looks interesting.
Never again!
The pancakes were like lead — soggy and semi-cooked.
They reminded me of the single pancake I once got at Inlow’s Restaurant near Altoona (“al-TUNE-uh;” as in the name “Al”), PA.
At the insistence of my all-knowing brother-from-Boston.
They were cooked by a bloated greaseball, in bacon-grease; I was told I needed to see that guy — a person who obviously liked to eat.
My brother likes to eat too. (He weighs almost 250 pounds.)
The Alumni pancakes were hardly the pancakes we get at Mighty Perkins in Altoona.
Altoona is the location of Horseshoe Curve (the “Mighty Curve”), by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve was a trick by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is now a national historic site.
I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child. —I’ve been there hundreds of times, since it’s only about five hours away, and I had dragooned my brother into visiting.
Two retired bus-drivers sat across from me, Gary Colvin (“Coal-vin”) and Joe Libonati (“lih-bih-NOT-eee”).
Libonati is after my time, I think, which ended with my stroke in late October of 1993.
It was Libonati and I that tried to help Art Dana remove the steering-box out of his hot-rod 1949 Ford.
Art was the retired bus-driver from Regional Transit with fairly severe Parkinson's disease.
Art's wife was gone, so he lived with his sister Vicki in Pittsford. He was 69.
Art and I had similar interests, hot-rod cars and trains.
Art is recently deceased.
The steering in his ’49 Ford was sloppy, so he drove it all the way to my house out here in West Bloomfield, because I have a pit.
That was two summers ago.
We failed, but there was a trick to it.
Art had his friend Louie come out, and he had it out in a jiffy.
All it was was removing the floorboards.
I guess Louie has a couple Shoebox Fords himself; ‘49-‘51.
Louie and Art rebuilt the steering-box, reinstalled it, and Art drove home.
“Whaddya think of calling Vicki?” Colvin asked Libonati.
Art had a massive collection of HO model-train equipment, and Colvin is a model-train nut himself.
“Johnny was gonna call me, but hasn’t,” Colvin said.
Johnny is Vicki’s live-in boyfriend, or husband — I never knew.
A really nice guy, who also took care of Art.
Art had lots of stuff, but could never do anything with it — the Parkinson’s.
All he could do was a simple running-track.
“Well, I don’t think it would hurt,” I interjected.
“Over a month has passed,” Colvin said.
Carey began talking about Medicare, a supposed continual wrestling-match.
“We all have Excellus-Extended,” Carey said.
“Not this kid,” I was tempted to shout.
“Excellus-Extended,” a local Blue Cross-Blue Shield plan, is the health insurance most retired with.
But not me.
I’m part of MVP, a local Medicare-Advantage plan.
It was recommended by Transit to replace a healthcare insurance that was no longer going to be offered by Blue Cross-Blue Shield.
Carey listed all the hoops you hafta navigate to get Medicare to pay stuff.
Well, two things:
—1) I don’t feel like my whole world is tumbling in.
When I pursue healthcare, Medicare is primary and pays its part, and MVP pays most of the rest.
I have a copay of $5-$20 or so.
Same with prescriptions, I guess.
Medicare Part D, as part of MVP.
I usually have a slight copay, sometimes as much as $85 for non-generic drugs. (Usually it’s nowhere near that much.)
I also work out at the Canandaigua YMCA. MVP pays my YMCA membership — their “Silver-Sneakers” program.
So I don’t have diabetes or all the health dramas most others have.
I also have only two prescriptions, not 20; and am nowhere near the “donut-hole.”
It also may be what I eat; not quantity, and healthy I guess.
I watch as diabetes patients pour tons of sugar into their coffee.
Mine is black decaf.
—2) People were tiring of all the so-called “high-finance.”
People began walking out — “we got other things to do.”
A retired bus-driver was being a lightning-rod, but he was asking Carey questions specific to his case.
Jim Douty (“doubt-eee”), another ex-driver with part of a leg amputated, and using a prothesis, wondered aloud if the other guy was a spokesman, and if he qualified.
“Shaddup, Douty!” Colvin snapped: “or I’ll take off your other leg.”
Demonstrating why Colvin was successful driving bus. A wisecracker.
We’re all like that; a pack of ne’er-do-wells.
I feel sorta out-of-it, but it’s always great to hear and see all these blowhards.
“Hank, how ya doin’? That was me at that hospital.”
Finally, “this meeting is adjourned” from Alumni president Steward Broadhurst.
“Aw, is that it?” Colvin asked. “Ya mean I gotta go home to my wife?”
Somehow I think Colvin was mainly blowin’ smoke. His wife ain’t that bad.
Mine neither. I’m sure not unhappy to go home.
What I abhor is these Alumni meetings at the Blue Horizon Restaurant, a cockroach-infested dive that’s falling apart.
Their rest-rooms stink of urine, and the toilet-seat fell off in my hand when I lifted it.
• “Dreaded” because all my siblings are flagrantly anti-union.
• “We” is me and my wife of almost 43 years, “Linda.”
• “Park-and-Rides” were trips from suburban end-points, usually through Park-and-Ride parking-lots, where passengers would park their cars, for a bus-ride to work in Rochester.
• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.
• The ‘49-‘51 Fords were called “shoeboxes,” because of their squarish styling.
• “HO” scale is 3.5 mm (0.14 in) equals one real foot (1:87.086). HO rails are 16.5 mm (0.650 in) apart; half-O-gauge. HO is the most popular model-railroad gauge, mainly because it’s small and can more accurately model things.
• The “Blue Horizon Restaurant“ is an old restaurant across from the Rochester International Airport. It’s getting our business probably because it’s cheap.
This was yesterday (Wednesday, October 20, 2010).
Perhaps 25-30 were in attendance.
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, NY.
For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS), the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs.
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.
It isn’t just a social club.
It has bylaws, officers, and an Executive Board.
In many ways it’s just like our union-local, except it entertains issues of interest to retirees; like Medicare, healthcare, and diabetes and Alzheimer’s.
Joe Carey (“Carry”), the retired president of Local 282, mentioned the importance of colonoscopies — he’s done it himself.
So have I (we); but they seem to be a fragile topic.
A loud “Ewwwwwwww” erupted from the crowd.
I get the feeling many in attendance never do colonoscopies.
I always feel a little out-of-it at these shindigs, like the only reason I’m there is because like the others I drove bus for Transit.
Like them, I am experienced.
Transit could be difficult. Many of management were complete jerks.
So too were many of the hourlies, who were unionized, which led to constant insane union/management bickering.
Beyond that was our clientele, who could be rancorous and cantankerous.
It was possible to avoid the complete idiots by picking runs accordingly, usually Park-and-Rides.
But it was hard to avoid madness; muggings and mayhem.
I was bopped over the head by a Senior with her umbrella when I had the awful temerity and unmitigated gall and horrific audacity to request Senior ID as required by rule.
Another time I had a passenger try to strangle me. —It was the last time I wore anything other than a clip-on tie.
Okay, be sociable this time.
Skip breakfast at home, and order just like the others.
Pancakes and sausage. —Looks interesting.
Never again!
The pancakes were like lead — soggy and semi-cooked.
They reminded me of the single pancake I once got at Inlow’s Restaurant near Altoona (“al-TUNE-uh;” as in the name “Al”), PA.
At the insistence of my all-knowing brother-from-Boston.
They were cooked by a bloated greaseball, in bacon-grease; I was told I needed to see that guy — a person who obviously liked to eat.
My brother likes to eat too. (He weighs almost 250 pounds.)
The Alumni pancakes were hardly the pancakes we get at Mighty Perkins in Altoona.
Altoona is the location of Horseshoe Curve (the “Mighty Curve”), by far the BEST railfan spot I have ever been to. Horseshoe Curve was a trick by the Pennsylvania Railroad to get over the Allegheny mountains without steep grades. Horseshoe Curve was opened in 1854, and is now a national historic site.
I am a railfan, and have been since I was a child. —I’ve been there hundreds of times, since it’s only about five hours away, and I had dragooned my brother into visiting.
Two retired bus-drivers sat across from me, Gary Colvin (“Coal-vin”) and Joe Libonati (“lih-bih-NOT-eee”).
Libonati is after my time, I think, which ended with my stroke in late October of 1993.
It was Libonati and I that tried to help Art Dana remove the steering-box out of his hot-rod 1949 Ford.
Art was the retired bus-driver from Regional Transit with fairly severe Parkinson's disease.
Art's wife was gone, so he lived with his sister Vicki in Pittsford. He was 69.
Art and I had similar interests, hot-rod cars and trains.
Art is recently deceased.
The steering in his ’49 Ford was sloppy, so he drove it all the way to my house out here in West Bloomfield, because I have a pit.
That was two summers ago.
We failed, but there was a trick to it.
Art had his friend Louie come out, and he had it out in a jiffy.
All it was was removing the floorboards.
I guess Louie has a couple Shoebox Fords himself; ‘49-‘51.
Louie and Art rebuilt the steering-box, reinstalled it, and Art drove home.
“Whaddya think of calling Vicki?” Colvin asked Libonati.
Art had a massive collection of HO model-train equipment, and Colvin is a model-train nut himself.
“Johnny was gonna call me, but hasn’t,” Colvin said.
Johnny is Vicki’s live-in boyfriend, or husband — I never knew.
A really nice guy, who also took care of Art.
Art had lots of stuff, but could never do anything with it — the Parkinson’s.
All he could do was a simple running-track.
“Well, I don’t think it would hurt,” I interjected.
“Over a month has passed,” Colvin said.
Carey began talking about Medicare, a supposed continual wrestling-match.
“We all have Excellus-Extended,” Carey said.
“Not this kid,” I was tempted to shout.
“Excellus-Extended,” a local Blue Cross-Blue Shield plan, is the health insurance most retired with.
But not me.
I’m part of MVP, a local Medicare-Advantage plan.
It was recommended by Transit to replace a healthcare insurance that was no longer going to be offered by Blue Cross-Blue Shield.
Carey listed all the hoops you hafta navigate to get Medicare to pay stuff.
Well, two things:
—1) I don’t feel like my whole world is tumbling in.
When I pursue healthcare, Medicare is primary and pays its part, and MVP pays most of the rest.
I have a copay of $5-$20 or so.
Same with prescriptions, I guess.
Medicare Part D, as part of MVP.
I usually have a slight copay, sometimes as much as $85 for non-generic drugs. (Usually it’s nowhere near that much.)
I also work out at the Canandaigua YMCA. MVP pays my YMCA membership — their “Silver-Sneakers” program.
So I don’t have diabetes or all the health dramas most others have.
I also have only two prescriptions, not 20; and am nowhere near the “donut-hole.”
It also may be what I eat; not quantity, and healthy I guess.
I watch as diabetes patients pour tons of sugar into their coffee.
Mine is black decaf.
—2) People were tiring of all the so-called “high-finance.”
People began walking out — “we got other things to do.”
A retired bus-driver was being a lightning-rod, but he was asking Carey questions specific to his case.
Jim Douty (“doubt-eee”), another ex-driver with part of a leg amputated, and using a prothesis, wondered aloud if the other guy was a spokesman, and if he qualified.
“Shaddup, Douty!” Colvin snapped: “or I’ll take off your other leg.”
Demonstrating why Colvin was successful driving bus. A wisecracker.
We’re all like that; a pack of ne’er-do-wells.
I feel sorta out-of-it, but it’s always great to hear and see all these blowhards.
“Hank, how ya doin’? That was me at that hospital.”
Finally, “this meeting is adjourned” from Alumni president Steward Broadhurst.
“Aw, is that it?” Colvin asked. “Ya mean I gotta go home to my wife?”
Somehow I think Colvin was mainly blowin’ smoke. His wife ain’t that bad.
Mine neither. I’m sure not unhappy to go home.
What I abhor is these Alumni meetings at the Blue Horizon Restaurant, a cockroach-infested dive that’s falling apart.
Their rest-rooms stink of urine, and the toilet-seat fell off in my hand when I lifted it.
• “Dreaded” because all my siblings are flagrantly anti-union.
• “We” is me and my wife of almost 43 years, “Linda.”
• “Park-and-Rides” were trips from suburban end-points, usually through Park-and-Ride parking-lots, where passengers would park their cars, for a bus-ride to work in Rochester.
• We live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield in Western NY, southeast of Rochester.
• The ‘49-‘51 Fords were called “shoeboxes,” because of their squarish styling.
• “HO” scale is 3.5 mm (0.14 in) equals one real foot (1:87.086). HO rails are 16.5 mm (0.650 in) apart; half-O-gauge. HO is the most popular model-railroad gauge, mainly because it’s small and can more accurately model things.
• The “Blue Horizon Restaurant“ is an old restaurant across from the Rochester International Airport. It’s getting our business probably because it’s cheap.
Labels: 282 Alumni
posted by BobbaLew at 1:28 PM
1 Comments:
Parkinson's is a very common disease that occurs more in men like my cousin who suffered from this disease and how no one could cure him started buying vicodin online without prescription which relieved their symptoms but without a control volume as there were side effects such as anxiety.
Post a Comment
<< Home