Queen of the Seventeen

This morning’s transit-dream was about good old Hazel Rolle (“roll”), the so-called “Queen of the Seventeen.”
Hazel, like me, is a retired bus-driver from Regional Transit Service (RTS, “Transit”), although she probably retired well after me, since I retired early because of my stroke.
In fact, I only worked for Transit 16&1/2 years, 1977-1993; my stroke was October 26, 1993.
Hazel was ahead of me in seniority, and probably worked there 30 years.
Regional Transit Service, in Rochester, NY, is a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and its environs.
The Seventeen is Transit’s 1700-line, a really nice ride.
It was almost rural in character, and had a great clientele.
They weren’t always threatening to shoot you, or ripping you off, like a city bus-line.
The 1700 didn’t even go through downtown Rochester. It used the same terminal as our Park-and-Ride buses, behind a downtown shopping-mall.
It left the city via a ritzy boulevard, and headed out into ritzy suburbs.
Its destination was Pittsford, an ultra-rich suburb on the old Erie Canal.
Your clientele was often domestic-help for Pittsford’s residents.
There were two colleges out along the line, and they were the only problem.
One was St. John Fisher College, which I’d access via a long driveway-loop — in-and-out.
Students would go ballistic when I drove out the driveway and headed for Pittsford.
“Hey man, where ya goin’?”
“Pittsford, just like the sign says,” I’d answer.
“We thought ya were goin’ downtown,” they’d wail.
“Anybody read at that there college?” I’d ask.
It was always a joy to leave them shivering in the cold along the avenue into Pittsford.
“I’ll be back in about a half-hour,” I’d say.
The other college was Nazareth, another in-and-out driveway-loop.
The trouble was the bus-loop itself, full of illegally-parked cars.
“No parking, bus-loop,” signs said.
I’d have to get off my bus and go inside an adjacent building to get the receptionist to make an announcement over the building P.A.
I couldn’t negotiate the bus-loop without driving all over the grass to avoid the illegally-parked cars.
Driving on the grass was a definite no-no. The college would sue the bus-company for damage.
Hazel was a volunteer helper at my polling-place; help the old folks vote.
“Are ya sure ya can read all those instructions, honey?”
That was Hazel all right. She was always calling everyone “honey.”
“Of course I can,” I responded. “And I drove bus at Transit just like you, Hazel.”
She didn’t recognize me.
“1703,” I said. “I drove it three years.
Nicest ride I ever had,” I added.
“Eugene Muhammad had it, then he gave it up, and then I drove it.
And Eugene Muhammad is still alive,” I said. “Silver hair instead of coal-black, but it was him, and he remembered good old 1703.”
And Fred, the passenger at Nazareth we all dreaded. He was always yakking at you like we were his best buddy.
Try to avoid bus-accidents with Fred yakking at you.
Eugene was always yelling “Come-on down” in the Drivers’ Room (at RTS), when the Dispatcher called an Extra-Driver to report for duty.
The Extra-Drivers were on hand to substitute for a sick or unreported bus-driver, or take a bus out to replace a crippled bus, or to fill in behind a loaded bus.
“Come-on down” is reprising the Price-Is-Right TV-show.
Eugene was being sarcastic.
I’m sure Eugene had been an Extra-Driver once. But 1703 was a nice ride, and had the same hours every day.
Which is why I avoided the Extra-Board. Hours as an Extra were different every day.
Plus there was always the chance you’d get sent on a trip out along streets ya didn’t know.
Often during blizzards I’d get sent who knows where to make a trip that hadn’t been made for some time.
“I need a navigator,” I’d say to my passengers. “I don’t know this route.”
Passengers just loved that; “not some self-absorbed idiot that takes us astray.
We just wanna go home.”
Hazel drove 1702 or 1701, the two all-day buses on the 1700 line.
1703 was an extra afternoon trip, added to shorten headways.
1703 had a school-trip attached to it — Transit ran segregated school-trips along established bus-lines.
The trip was kind of a drag, because the kids were really wired, and they were seventh- and eighth-grade.
What I’d do if they were complete monsters is just drive around the block back to the school.
They hated that. What they wanted was to get home, so it shut them down.
After that school-trip I had a 50-minute layover before my first trip to Pittsford, enough time to nap over the motor.
I’d set my alarm-watch, and go sack out.
Paid to take a nap!
And once I started driving the 17, it was fabulous.
Which was why Hazel always picked it.
On my second trip I carried a bunch of commuters out to Pittsford, and they’d sit in the back and discuss politics (or religion/philosophy [gasp]).
This was way better than shooting off firecrackers, playing dice on the bus-floor, or laying plans to mug the bus-driver.
I made three trips to Pittsford; which was one too many — done at 7:30, late.
But it was a nice ride; one of the best.
I don’t think Hazel ever recognized me, but she did recognize 1703, Fred, and Eugene Muhammad.

• At Transit, bus-runs were chosen according to job-seniority, so old-heads usually got the best runs.
• “Park-and-Rides” were trips from suburban or rural end-points, usually through Park-and-Ride parking-lots, where passengers would park their cars, for a bus-ride to work in Rochester, then back.