In January of 1967, I stood on a cold street corner with a dozen or so of my classmates waiting for a bus to take us home. This was a regular city bus, not a school bus. As most students in urban areas, we used public transportation at half fare.
This was one of the last buses of the day. We were the band kids, the choir kids, the yearbook kids whose extra curricular activities kept us late after the school day was over. Most of the shops in the downtown area were closed by that hour (5:45pm) and there was no shelter at the corner. It was dark, windy and very cold.
When the bus pulled up we were dismayed to see the particular driver at the wheel. A crabby, cranky young man (and person of color, but that figures in later) he had a passionate dislike of the students from our Catholic high school.
Maybe he just disliked all high school students, I don’t know. But in our navy blue jumpers and boys in suits and ties, we were pretty easy to spot. He pretty regularly berated us as we got on the bus, calling us “privileged characters” and insisting that we only occupy seats at the back of the bus. If an adult got on the crowded bus he would refuse to move until one of us gave up our seat to the “full-fare customer”. I never knew the source of his animus, but his reputation to us kids was the stuff of legend.
On this particular day, we waited patiently by the rear door of the bus while all the full-fare passengers boarded (as we knew was this driver’s strict rule). Once the adults were on board we lined up. I was first in line and began to board when he stopped. “None of you are riding on my bus!” he declared. “One of you pounded on that back door while waiting. I heard it. Now you can all just wait for the next bus.” (the one that would come one hour later)
There were moans and groans, did I mention it was about 25 degrees and there was no bus shelter to wait in.
Well, I was first in line and coming from a politically active family I decided to speak up for myself and my fellow freezing classmates. I carefully explained that this was a PUBLIC bus. I pointed out the sign posted at the front that said “no discrimination based on race, color, creed or national origin”, I appealed to his sense of fairness as an individual who was black and should at the very least know how bad discrimination can be. And at my back I had a dozen or more of my fellow students agreeing and supporting me. So I got braver.
I took another step onto the bus and made my first big mistake. Before this I had literally been standing IN the door, but by stepping up to the next step I cleared the door and Mr. Bus Driver promptly shut it. In effect, he cut off my supporters and isolated me. He then put the bus in gear and took off, leaving a dozen or more kids stranded on the corner.
I went to sit (in the back, I knew the drill) and as I walked down the aisle all the various adults told me how brave I was, and how right I was and how it was such a shame about those other kids being left in the cold. I sat down. I was shaking at this point.
The driver drove exactly two blocks and then stopped in front of the police station. He got off the bus went inside and came out with an officer. The both boarded the bus and walked to me. “This man tells me that you vandalized this bus and are refusing to leave,” said the officer.
I started to tell him that no such thing had happened and about kids left on the corner and he cut me off. “Look, honey,” he said. “All these people are tired and they want to get home and he’s not moving this bus unless you’re off it. Now just do the right thing and get off.” I looked around the bus. No one moved. Everyone was suddenly very interested in looking out the window, or staring at their shoes. I spoke up, “You all just were telling me I was right. Won’t one of you speak up now?” The silence was deafening.
The officer then insisted I leave, telling me I was “under arrest” for malicious mischief. I got off the bus and as it pulled away began crying. I had no idea how would tell my parents I was arrested. As the cloud of exhaust cleared, the officer told me to calm down. “I was only pretending,” he said. “You’re not really under arrest, I just knew that guy wouldn’t leave until you were off the bus. Those people deserve to get home.” I looked at him and asked, “What about me? What about the kids on that corner down there? Don’t we deserve to get home, too?”
The officer offered me $5 to take a taxi home. I refused. I may have just been a teenager, but I knew a bribe when I saw it. I did however ask to borrow his pen. When he gave it to me, I opened one of my notebooks and said, “May I please have your name and badge number? I will need to tell my parents about this.” He was suddenly very pale.
Now here’s where some privilege comes into play. My family was very involved in local politics. We certainly “knew” all the right people, like the police chief and the owner of the bus company. So the ending to this little anecdote is that the bus driver ended up dismissed (ours was not the first complaint leveled against him...just the most egregious. Even the drivers union couldn’t protect him. I hope he got counseling at some point because he sure had anger issues). The police officer ended up with a notice being put in his file.
The point of this diary however, is what I took away from that incident and how relevant it has become in our current climate.
If I live to be 100, I will never forget how it felt to be abandoned by cowardly people who were quick to cheer me when it cost them nothing, but were loathe to say even one word when they might have to stand up to an authority figure. If just one adult on that bus had stood up and told the officer what had really transpired it could have made all the difference.
I started wearing a safety pin immediately after the November election. I have yet to be called on to actually stand and defend anyone, but if I took anything away from that adolescent experience it is this: never underestimate the value of one single word said in defense of another.
