My Route to Driving Motorcoaches

An Inadvertent Trip

I’ve lead a modest life, with a most adverse start at the onset.

Growing up in an urban setting, as early as I can remember being so fascinated with what would be a mode of transportation for people. A way for folks to get to places near and far.

A child in South Los Angeles, a few years after the inception of what would be known as SCRTD or the Southern California Rapid Transit District. Distinctively colored vessels taking me, my mother, my grandmother places. Huntington Park along Pacific Avenue, Long Beach, Santa Monica and to areas even more remote as I would learn in later ventures on my own.

Public transit had in a way served as a key to my seeing other environments. I was also exposed to life there, having getting taken in a 3 card Monte game once for what seemed like a fortune — $32 of my hard earned cash.

Despite the known perils of riding the bus, I became fascinated by the sounds of the engine the shifting of the transmission, even the smell of the billowing exhaust during a day where the struggle for air quality seemed to be fleeting.

I would ride school buses too on field trips from an area near Florence and Figueroa taking me to far off destinations like Marineland, Descanso Gardens, Busch Gardens, the L.A. Zoo. Big yellow behemoth’s with tandem axles, named “Crown”….drivers had to operate a stick shift to get them to go. The latest Soul music, blaring over the speakers. Yes, riding a bus helped guide my music appreciation too.

Downstairs from me in the mid 70s lived a single, middle-aged guy. He drove the cleanest Cadillac Coupe De Ville you ever did see. His name was “Leo”. He was well kept, clean and wore taps on the heals of his shoes. He used to wear a light blue, button down shirt and dark blue slacks a lot. Didn’t think much of it…had some idea though, because on occasion, he’d not have his Cadi. Instead, he’d park his School Bus at times, just across the street when he came home on his break. I was too bashful to ask if I could sit in the driver’s seat although he was my neighbor and someone who I was friendly with, but I would sit on the bottom stoop, watch and hear him drive the bus away. He seemed to know I was lookin too…as he’d Double Clutch and would add an extra throttle blip when he pullled off.

A few years later, I’d live in an apartment where another neighbor drove for RTD. His daughter and son were my friends. Dad’s name was Robert. Really calm demeanor. Kinda “Jazzy” vibe, low-key, cool. He had a little red MG beneath a car cover in back of the apartment complex that he couldn’t seem to ever get running though.

Robert would be the driver I’d see fairly frequently on Line 88, which took me from the San Fernando Valley clear out to Culver City and LAX. In essence, I looked to him to be a role model for I felt he exhibited such positive traits as I observed him negotiate his bus the way he did and deal with passengers.

Such fond memories I had being around buses during my youth.