Fifty Nine


I give thanks to whatever/whoever is running things for another year of life, love and friendship. This past year has been very special for me. I was able to leave the dreaded MTA after almost 26 years of what could only be described as hard labor. I know that there are some co-workers who liked the job, and I can remember two who really and truly loved it. But for me it was HARD labor. I did what I had to do for me and my family and completed my "sentence" without killing or injuring anyone, with sound mind and in good health…THANK GOD. I give Props to the Creator in all things, but if that be my only blessing in this life I am completely satisfied. In this year, growing ever closer to 60, I've learned that (1)


The Last 30 Days Of A New York City Bus Operator


It's always interesting to me as I maneuver through  difficult, and most times dangerous traffic, some one will say, "I don't know how you do it !!", and my reply... "I don't know how I do it either, could you please stay behind the white line?" Driving a bus is the most stressful job in this city. Begin with a Transit Authority top heavy with managers who are unable or unwilling to make decisions that are helpful to bus operators or customer. Then, climb into a 40,45, 60, or 62 foot vehicle check your mirrors, fasten your seatbelt, say a prayer, and pull out into city traffic. But the part that makes or breaks every operator is his daily interaction with your average New Yorker. They enter the bus unprepared, unaware, completely self absorbed with cell phones, ipods, huge hand bags, back packs, and shopping carts. Now, throw in a sprinkle of wheelchairs, walkers, canes, and baby carriages. Add to this perilous mixture a lethal dose of taxi cabs, black cars, people walking into traffic like "Night of the Living Dead", and you'll have an idea of an average trip across 42St. or up Third Ave.             


Bus Driver Chronicles...#17


Well,” he said, “This is not a street, this is not no avenue, and this ain’t no block THIS IS THE ROAD!!” He pointed furiously up St Nicholas Avenue, and stared intently at me tugging upward on a worn brown leather belt that held up his pants. They were already only inched from his armpits.

So there I was, a rookie, sitting in the drivers seat getting ready to pick up my first passenger with what I thought was a bat shit crazy instructor. 


Not Even Love Makes a Difference


Was there ever a day when nothing you said to yourself made any difference?

When not even love conquered all.

When regret stood tall and favored no one...especially you.