1972 - A Cab Ride

I love to drive so you would think a job driving for a living would be perfect for me. I've driven trucks of varying sizes, RV's, school buses, vans and lots and lots of cars. The most fun to drive was the Checker. The Checker Cab was a vehicle made strictly for the taxi business. They stopped making them in '82. For some reason a driver could "sense" side, front and rear clearance making it easy to navigate tight streets and alleys at a reletively high rate of speed. My car was cab #9.


1972 – A Cab Ride

There are things you learn when you perform any unique job. Most tasks done professionally contain finer points particular to that profession and that profession alone. For example when I was a touring musician I often saw a band take a break looking like their excitement level was so high they couldn’t wait to get back on stage. As soon as the dressing room door closes bodies drop to the ground and band members sprawl on various pieces of furniture bathed in sweat and barely able to lift their arms much less run back and forth across a stage. When someone announces “3-Minutes” the band will drag themselves to their feet and change out of sweat-soaked shirts and re-dress in prep for the next set. Standing inside the dressing room door they look like limp bodies that should be asleep in bed when…”Ok…Here WE GO!!”…and the door bursts open and a crew of energetic wild men emerges to take the stage with a commanding performance full of life and energy. This is an example of pure professionalism and a side of the business to which few are witness.

Most professions, I think, are a bit like this. They are unique in ways that are unknown until taking the task on as your own. For instance driving a taxicab there are several examples of this. You soon learn the darker side of peoples lives cannot be hidden from absolutely everyone because there are always those, like a cab driver, that must assist some people in their secret lives. In 1972 I took a job as a cab driver in North Chicago. Hours were 7:00 PM to 7:00 AM 6-days a-week. Off every Wednesday. I quickly learned the general customer-schedule: Early in the shift, until about 9:00 PM we rode shoppers and restaurant customers home. Around 9:00 PM we took late shopper home and started taking people to bars. This continues in a pattern of pick-up or drop-off in the local night-spots until around 2:30 AM when almost all customers are headed home from the bar…or you assume it is home. From 3:00 AM thru 4:00 AM business is dead and I often found a gas station or restaurant behind which to park and get 40-winks while awaiting a call for pick-up. Around 4:00 AM husbands start going home to wives and wives begin going home to husbands. They are often not shy about advertising this fact. Around 5:00 AM people start for work. It is that hour between 4:00 AM & 5:00 AM that is the most dangerous.

One night while parked behind a gas station I roused myself at around 3:45 AM to find myself located with a police-cruiser parked on each side of me. The occupants were obviously fast asleep. After a minute or so the officer closest to me awoke and started a conversation which we quietly carried on for about 5-minutes when we were both distracted temporarily by a car stopped at the traffic light that was visible from our vantage point although we were mostly out-of-sight to the vehicle in question. The vehicle waited for the light to change as we watched. There was no traffic visible from any direction. Eventually the light changed from red to green and the vehicle started forward. “Watch this.” The officer said, then louder, “Hey, Jack!”

The officer in the vehicle parked on my other side looked up still blurry from sleep, “What?”

“Hey! That guy just ran that red light. I got the last one. This one is yours.” He began laughing as the other cruiser drove away lights blazing and siren screaming. Officer #1 thought this was great fun saying “Can you imagine the look on that guys face when Jack tries to tell him he ran a light?” He obviously thought this was incredibly funny.

Almost immediately I got a call for a pick-up in the typical family-style neighborhood and left for the address on my call-sheet shaking my head at the misfortune of the poor driver who at that minute was trying to explain how he had waited through the entire light with no traffic at almost 4 in the morning. I passed him in an animated conversation about a block from our hidey-hole. The officer looked frustrated and the gentleman looked more than a bit upset. I continued on to my next call.

Sitting outside the house I tooted the horn a couple of times absolutely hating to be the one making this much God-awful noise this hour of the morning. I waited. Every few minutes I gave another little beep with no response and after about 15 minutes called my dispatcher and told him I was going to get out of the car and knock on the door.

“Don’t you ever get out of the car in that neighborhood! Learn to pay attention to what I tell you and we won’t have a repeat of your last stupid loss.” He referred to an incident the previous week when I, despite warnings, picked up a flag-down call by a young-20’s type wearing a silver jacket. We had all been warned the prior week not to pick-up anyone in a silver jacket matching his description as he had been taking cab drivers to a vacant lot address and demanding their money. I didn’t listen and I didn’t think or if I did I thought “Oh, not me.” I was wrong.

After arriving at the designated address I felt something against my temple and my passenger said something unintelligible. I was still unconcerned when I turned my head to ask him to repeat his request. I found myself looking down the barrel of a pistol. I later learned his modus operandi included a 22 handgun. I can say without any doubt at all: when a 22 is 2 inches from your eye it looks like an elephant gun. He repeated, “I said gimme all your money.”

“Yessir,” I replied, “Can I write you a check?”

“Don’t be funny. Just gimme the cash and I’m gone.” I handed the cigar box and all of its contents over the seat where it was grabbed from my hand. The door slammed and he disappeared into the night. I had no idea where he had gone but I hit the gas and drove as fast as the vehicle would go for about a block afraid a bullet would be coming through the back window. I stopped after I had calmed a bit by pulling over to the side of the road to deal with the uncontrollable shaking. My failure to buy-into the nuances of our profession was being ignored at a potentially high cost. I vowed not to make that mistake again. Besides I really liked that cigar box.

I was thinking of this situation as the dispatcher repeated “You stay in that taxi!” His voice growled at me as usual with its demanding and grumpy attitude which I usually resented. This time I was thinking about how, even though I resented his tone of voice, he was actually looking out for me. Of course I was not really considering that when I lose my money so does the company…undoubtedly his actual concern. My false sense of support reassured me that I needed to listen to his advice. “Give it a few more minutes. If no one shows up I’ve got another call for you,” He growled. I sat.

After another 5 minutes I called in, “No response. Whatcha’ got for me?” I dispatcher replied with a new call which I recorded on my call sheet and prepared to hit the road. As I was doing this a competing company’s cab pulled up behind me. As I prepared to leave I told myself, “How bad could this neighborhood be? This new guy is probably responding to the same call I got.” I got out of the car and walked back to the other taxi. “Hey, how ya doin’?” I asked. “If your here for a call,” I repeated the address and apartment number, “I’ve already been here for almost 20 minutes and I’m getting no response. I’m outa here. Just thought I’d let ‘cha know.”

“I’ll wait anyway.” He replied. I left to complete my shift with no further incidence finishing up at 7:00 AM and heading to the bar next door for a couple of beers before bed. The bar was located at the far end of Genesse Street and just a few blocks from my current “home.” My boss, his shift also over, sat at the bar nursing a beer. The usual regulars were still there where they had been all night: a pool-shark who had no “customers” and a couple of hookers in the same circumstance just finishing up their nights and getting ready for their own beddy-byes. I played a friendly game of pool with the shark for no money. I lost. As usual. We had known each other for a couple of months and knew each other as regulars and fellow night-hawks so business was closed for the night and we were just playing for fun, a tradition we had established over the last couple of weeks when we were introduced by my boss, a regular of many years. “Yellow Cab had some excitement last night,” the boss said. “We heard it on the police dispatch.” We monitored all emergency frequencies as well as our own assigned frequency. “No details but there were several cop cars responding.” I left for my rooming house a few blocks away to get some shut-eye, the comments about Yellow Cab completely out-of-mind..

I arose, as usual, around 2:30 PM, I dressed and headed out for breakfast in the little coffee house down the block. I was living in a typical rooming house with an integrated stove/sink/refrigerator unit in the room and a bathroom down the hall. There was a flashing neon sign immediately outside my window that advertised the Genesse Theatre which was the business ensconced in the ground floor. The little café was mostly empty in mid-afternoon as I entered the door and took my usual place at the counter. There was a couple at a table eating a late lunch and 5 people broken into 2-little groups drinking Cokes as a mid-afternoon shopping break. “Hi, Larry!” Angela said as I sat down. “The usual?” With a limited menu and my current love of burgers I had the same thing daily.

“Yep.”

“It was so sad to hear about that cab-driver last night. Do you work for Yellow Cab?” She knew I drove a taxi but we hadn’t discussed details.

“No,” I replied, “I haven’t heard anything about it. What happened?”

“Well somebody got killed last night. I guess someone’s boyfriend didn’t realize she had called a cab and when the driver knocked on the door the guy thought it was her husband. He shot a hole in the door and killed the cab driver. Here, read the article.” She pushed a well read newspaper over to me.

There on the lower section of the front page was the story. As I read a chill ran over me. “Can I have this?” I asked.

“Sure, Hon.”

Returning to my room after breakfast I grabbed my call sheet which I was to turn in at the end of the week. The address in the newspaper was the exact address outside of which I had been waiting the night before. As I read and re-read the story. I felt a decision building inside me which, by the end of the re-read had been made. I called the company number. “I’m going to have to quit.” I told the dispatcher, “Have a check ready for me on payday. I can’t do this anymore.”

This ended my cab-driving career – a 2-month chapter in my life during which I had many encounters and experiences I enjoyed. I simply wasn’t ready to put my life on the line for a few bucks. Luckily I ran into Rory, a favorite old high-school classmate, later that same day and he recommended I apply at Downey State Hospital where I wound up working for the next 9-months. It was a job that was challenging, emotional, rewarding and, at times, exciting…

…but it was hardly ever life-threatening.