For Whom The Bus Rolls

BY BRIAN BENTON

David took the bus to visit his mother and, maybe more important, because he had just found a transfer pass in his back pocket. Claire was going to work, as she had done almost every weekday for most of the past year and a half, except for the few days when her boyfriend offered to give her a ride, which she was embarrassed to admit she did not prefer. Gus was drunk, and probably could not explain why he took the bus, but maybe it was for the warmth, or because he was lonely, or because he didn’t know what else to do.

I take the bus a few times a week, sometimes more. When it comes to riding the bus, I, a young, white, upper-middle-class college student am a unicorn. Everyone knows it is not cool to take the bus and oftentimes can be slow, unreliable, inconvenient, hot, confusing and uncomfortable. Many of these limitations could be solved with investment in larger fleets, dedicated bus lanes, updated transit maps, and air conditioning, but more conceptual roadblocks also exist, notably the series of fears or preconceptions that come with bus riding.

Despite undeniable urban gentrification and suburban incorporation, and research done by the Manhattan Institute that suggests that the all-white or all-black American neighborhood is “effectively extinct,” several aspects of American life have experience anything but racial integration in the past half-decade. According to Bloomberg, minorities accounted for 21 percent of bus riders in 1977 and by 1995, that number had jumped to 69 percent. In comparison, the proportion of minority car owners rose by just 8 percent. As the number of minority bus riders rises, so does the racial stigma against taking the bus.

#11 Chippewa, eastbound. Sunday, 8:23 pm.

A man who looked like Jesus, maybe a bit older, put his bike with mine on the rack at the front of the bus and boarded. He sat down, maybe two-thirds to the back, and we made eye contact. He flashed me a peace sign. For most of my 38-minute ride from Shrewsbury Station to Jefferson Avenue and Cherokee Street, he was the only other white person on the bus, and his arrival provided me with an uncomforting sense of comfort.

The #11 Chippewa connects Shrewsbury Station (where I boarded) with Civic Center Station via Chippewa Street (east and west) and Jefferson Avenue (north and south). Sunday evenings are usually full, as are weekday mornings or weekday evenings. On a weekday, during the daytime, the bus is relatively empty, today’s driver told me. “There’s maybe somebody going to the store but I’ve gone from start to finish with just one guy getting on the whole time.”

Perhaps there is no reason to ride this bus during that time. Most people who take the #11 during the week take it from the north side of St. Louis to the south to get to work. There are a number of places along Chippewa that people board and get off, like Southtown Centre and Hampton Village Shopping Center, but also a lot of overwhelmingly white residential strips that   tend to go by untouched. Tauni takes two buses, the #8 Bates-Morganford and the #11 to get from her home in Old North St. Louis to work. On weekdays, it takes her about 60 minutes to make the nine mile trip. Today, late on a Sunday with buses running less frequently, the trip would take her closer to an hour and a half.

The route the #11 travels, Civic Center to Shrewsbury Station can be covered via the MetroLink, but the twenty-year-old train-line only runs directly through the center of St. Louis, and then north or south on the westernmost end. Tauni’s home and work are both easily two or three miles away from a MetroLink station. My spacious one-bedroom apartment is about 0.4 miles away from one. But even if the MetroLink did reach Tauni’s home, as some of the half dozen proposed extensions to the system might, she is not sure if she would opt to take that instead of her beloved bus. “With the bus, I know the people on it.”

#73 Carondolet, northbound. Sunday, 11:56 pm.

There were only two other people on the #73 when I boarded late on a Sunday. Both women, they sat in the a few rows apart and on opposite sides of the bus, and I sat near the front, on my phone for most of the short ride. One woman wore a pink scarf and black pea coat and looked like she was returning from a night out, and the other wore a black Schnucks employee shirt. We all got off at Civic Center Station. I walked towards the MetroLink platform and the two women lingered. I looked back, and one reached out to get a cigarette from the other, and while they waited for their respective transfers, smoked together over the mutual bond of a shared ride on the #73 Carondolet.

#2 Red, westbound. Tuesday, 11:20 am.

“I am a 78 year old white male,” Tom tells me, as I stand and he sits. “When I ride the bus, the regulars seem to go out of their way for me. But I find it interesting enough to note that all the latest technology goes into collecting the fare and none of it goes toward improving the ride. Also, I think I should tell you that almost everyone on the bus is better dressed than me.”

The #2 Red is a unique bus to ride in that, while travelling primarily down Big Bend Boulevard, from the eastern side of University City, past the Galleria, through Webster Groves and Kirkwood, it brings in a much more diverse ridership than some of St. Louis’ other buses. There are presumably several reasons for the diversity. For one, it hits a number of different neighborhoods and socioeconomic groups. It also hits a number of spots that bring in different groups, the Galleria and Brentwood Promenade, most notably. Only two stops separate Urban Outfitters and Whole Foods from Walmart. And finally, it is fast. The speed limit is high, maybe 40 miles per hour, for much of Big Bend Boulevard and bus drivers tend to go close to that. It makes sense for someone to take the bus. A mile on the bus is only barely slower than a mile in a car.

#70 Grand, southbound. Thursday, 8:52 am. #70 Grand, northbound. Thursday, 12:05 pm.

My early morning trip down Grand Avenue was standing room only. According to the Los Angeles Times, 2008 was the first year the United States saw an increase in mass transit use since 1957, and the few years that followed saw even more rise in public transportation usage.

When I dropped my U-Pass, the free, underappreciated pass that allows Washington University students to ride St. Louis buses for free, Claire began to reach down to pick it up, but I had a bit more room so I got there first. Claire is a longtime public transportation user as most people who grew up in New York are. “I took the Subway like every other kid in New York and when I moved to St. Louis with my boyfriend I never felt like I was ‘too good’ for the bus here,” Claire told me. “He has a car and I don’t, but he starts work before me and has to go a longer distance so I take the bus, and I actually kind of prefer it.”

My conversation with Claire was one of the few taking place on the bus, a rarity. Some people had headphones in. Others were reading, from phones or paper. “It’s a straight shot three miles down Grand and I usually get a seat because I get on before the Metro station. It’s kind of a nice way to commute.”

I had boarded at the Metro station, with a group of maybe two-dozen other people. Claire was right that the one single stop nearly doubled the number of people on the bus in half and cut the seats available down to none. The St. Louis buses, red, white and blue and square, can hold 29, 37 or 43 people, depending on the model and how wheelchair-accessible they are. Maybe there’s a capacity for safety reasons, but drivers rarely keep count of passengers onboard, and do not have any way to effectively do so. On busy days, like during Mardi Gras or after the World Series, the bus policy is “if you fit, you can get on,” one driver told me.

The average St. Louis bus is relatively new (seven-years-old) but the average score given to St. Louis’ public transportation system in an extensive report done by the Brookings Institute in 2011 (68 out of 100) is relatively low. While a number of cities did worse (Chicago received a 47 and Albuquerque, New Mexico a lowly 7), St. Louis struggled in a number of necessary categories. While the city’s “coverage” rating was high (83), the “frequency” rating (11.2) and “job access” rating (27) fell far below the national average. The report also found that 82 percent of St. Louis residents without a car are not within easy access to public transportation, the fifth worst percentage in the nation. As a whole, what the report concluded about St. Louis is that someone can take the bus a lot of places, it just might take a while, might be hard to get to and will not necessarily take them where they need to be, unless of course you live or work in a central location like Grand Center or Tower Grove or near Washington University, where three bus lines have been funded and engineered by the university for the benefit of students.

Riding the #70 later in the day is different. Things are louder, stops are requested more frequently (almost every block, as opposed to primarily just at major hubs, like I noticed on the earlier bus), and although there are less people, it feels just as crowded because a number of seats are taken up with bags or trash. On board, there are moms with small children, a man in the back with a bottle in a paper bag, a teenaged boy with a basketball and also, Manuel, a member of the housekeeping staff at Washington University, the only person I have ever seen who I know on the bus, if he counts as someone I know.

Manuel and I ride the #70 Grand and the westbound MetroLink together most Thursdays, me from work and to school, and him from home, I assume, and to work. He boards before me, and I typically smile, unsure if he recognizes me each time, or from campus. Today, I work up the courage to introduce myself, and we talk during the 15 minute ride, before getting lost in the rush off the bus at Grand Station and the frantic scurry to catch transfers.

“It is $400, $500 for a parking permit and I get to ride the bus for free,” he told me. “It takes me a lot longer to get to work this way but it saves me money that I can use on other things that I need more. The bus is okay. I don’t mind it anymore.”

#97 Delmar, eastbound. Friday, 3:50 pm.

The bus provides something more than transportation or shelter from the elements. It offers anonymity and deniability.

“Nah,” one young man who sat down next to me insisted, “you don’t know that I’m going anywhere on this bus.”

#97 Delmar, westbound. Friday, 6:40 pm.

Gus: “The St. Louis Rams are wasting our taxpayer money. You know we’re paying the Rams to play bad football.” Dee: “Until you get out there on the field and start coaching, you ain’t got nothing to say. You ain’t got nothing to say.”

Gus: “All I’m saying is that St. Louis Rams should not be allowed to play football.” Dee:

“Are you out there on the field?” Gus: “No, but I’m not saying I am.” Dee: “You ain’t got nothing to say.”

After a brief moment of silence. Gus: “Let me pay for your bus fare.” Dee: “Why would you do that? That ain’t cute.” Gus: “Man, I’m done with you. You’re spicy, though. Keep that up. It’s turning me on.”

#30 Soulard, westbound. Monday, 7:20 pm.

Carolyn considers herself lucky. To get to work, she can drive to the Home Depot parking lot on Kingshighway Boulevard and then take a bus to her clerical job in downtown St. Louis.

“I’m just barely making it,” Carolyn says. “Because I have to put gas in the car, I’m just barely making it, but I am making it and I am grateful.”

Carolyn lives in Crestwood, Missouri, 15 minutes southwest of the Home Depot parking lot on Kingshighway Boulevard by car, or 57 minutes by buses (the #21 Watson Road and #110 Affton, ideally). From home to work by car would probably be 25 or 30 minutes, by bus it’s slightly more, but Carolyn likes to park at the Home Depot and then catch the bus to avoid the cost of parking in downtown St. Louis.

Carolyn’s trip from the suburbs to the city for work is not unique, and one of the biggest issues stifling urban bus routes throughout the country. Only 71 percent of St. Louis suburban households are near a transit stop according to the St. Louis Business Journal, and even if a stop is nearby, it does not necessarily mean it is going to get a rider to their desired destination in a reasonable amount of time. For a parent or someone working two jobs, a 90-minute- commute is not feasible, but often the only option.

#30 Soulard, westbound. Monday, 7:50 pm.

Octavius sat directly across from me, even though there were a number of seats available. I could tell he wanted to talk.

“I ride the bus without shame. I would buy an all-day bus ticket and sleep in the back during the day when I had no place to technically call home until I got thrown out and then I’d just get on the next one and go back to sleep if I had to. I truly appreciate the St. Louis public transportation system but damn, it needs work. If you live in North County and need the bus to get you to places then you know what I mean. My parents live off of Chambers Road, and I can testify to you that it like no other catching the bus in North Co. Most of the jobs I’ve had or the people around me have are in West County, like Chesterfield Mall or the West County Mall. I would ride the bus two hours every day going to work. I’ve walked miles to get to work. Buses have a long history of not favoring black people but Rosa Parks didn’t hold on to that seat for nothing.”

#2 Red, westbound. Tuesday, 3:20 pm.

This man did not have time for a hello, or to tell me his name.

“You got the time!” he shouted from a few rows in front of me. I was the closest person on the bus to him, and perhaps the most likely to be wearing a watch.

“3:30,” I told him. “Oh man, I’m gonna miss it! I’m gonna miss it! I hope I don’t miss it!” I knew the situation he was in, and hoped he didn’t miss it, too.

#1 Gold, westbound. Tuesday, 5:35 pm.

David, maybe 30 or 35, climbed up two steps onto the #1 gold and pulled a worn piece of paper out of the back pocket of his jeans. It looked delicate and soft, like a number of different hands had grasped onto it even though only David’s should have.

“What is that,” the driver, a man similar in age, race and stature to David said. Central West End Station is the first stop for the #1 Gold, but I later learned that the driver had been driving since 4:00 pm, which would make this his fifth or sixth trip around the looped route.

“It’s the transfer,” David said. It was what the last driver had given him, he said, a half-hour before. He told a long and complicated story, involving, he said later, a crying baby and the fact that he did not have his wallet on him to keep the transfer in when he was boarding his first bus on his way to visit his mother.

The transfer was torn to a square and was missing the bottom half, the half that matters because it says the date and time which the pass expires and helps the driver distinguish if it is a current, usable pass or one from a day, week or even month ago. David would need a full transfer, or a better story or at least a handful of quarters to ride this bus. “This is what the driver gave me,” he repeated.

The driver gave up, turned back to the wheel, and stepped down as the bus slowly pulled out of the station and out towards Forest Park. David sat down, and pulled out his phone. He called his mother.

“Ma!” he said. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there in a minute.”