282 Alumni Christmas Luncheon

At the Local 282 Alumni Christmas Luncheon. (iPhone photo by BobbaLew.)

A retired bus-driver took the microphone:
“I’m driving MarketPlace Mall,” he said. “You remember MarketPlace. Extra fare past Brighton-Henrietta Townline Road, and we’re on the Free-Zone — collect fares as outbound passengers get off.”
Yrs Trly drove transit bus 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered well enough to be employed as a catchall at the Messenger Newspaper in nearby Canandaigua, NY.
“Bopping along, two dudes came up to get off. ‘My friend behind me will pay my fare,’ after which he got off.
‘I don’t know that guy from the Moon,’ then he got off.
Neither paid.
Most passengers weren’t like this, but a few were.
Stiffed, but the old waazoo kicked in: “If they rode the bus out here, they’ll ride the bus back.”
The driver continued his route, then returning saw the dudes waiting in the snow at a bus-stop.
He roared by, waving. Didn’t even open the door or slow.
Downtown he went, then back out to MarketPlace, etc.
Every year retired union employees from RTS, “the Alumni,” hold a Christmas Luncheon, a banquet sorta.
The “Alumni” are union retirees (Local 282, the Rochester local of the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union) of Regional Transit in Rochester, NY.
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 requirement was lowered even more; I joined at 10 years.
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.
My employ at RTS ended in 1993 with my stroke; and the “Alumni” didn’t exist then. The Alumni is a special club — you have to join. It’s an offshoot of our transit union.
28 degrees outside, an hour had passed. And there were the dudes, hatless, still shivering in the snow at the bus-stop across the street.
Our driver was probably the only bus on the line.
Coming back our driver pulled up to the stop, but refused to open the door.
The dudes flashed money and pounded the door.
The bus roared away, dudes still shivering outside.
I had a rule myself, and occasionally stated it: “Ass, pass, gas or grass; nobody rides free!”
Often the miscreants would hand a pass to the next passenger. I usually caught that. After which I’d decide if I should pursue. I didn’t wanna get shot.
Our driver had the miscreants good.
I often did a morning school trip, when the kids were still asleep.
I’d break rules galore to make sure my kids got to school. (It might get them outta the slums.)
But they better have their school-pass, or they’re payin’ a fare.
Since my wife died, I’ve made it to every Alumni gig. So far, four Christmas Luncheons, and innumerable bimonthly breakfast meetings.
But I always come away saying I feel out-of-it.
As a fairly intelligent college-grad, my brains and education are better than most.
But many of my best friends were Transit employees.
I don’t punctuate every word with F-bombs, nor talk loud.
But I also don’t claim superiority to my friends. —They’re too good, graduates of the school of hard knocks.

• The much-loathed “Free-Zone” was an attempt to encourage downtown shopping by people who worked downtown. To implement it, since fare couldn’t be collected in the “Free-Zone,” outbound passengers paid when they got off, often far from downtown.
• My beloved wife of over 44 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I miss her immensely. She was the best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I sure needed one.