I Beg Union SOLIDARITY!

It was the weirdest thing. All day I felt... off, somehow. Spent, spoiled and rotten. I wasn't clicking with my passengers as usual. I made a mistake, too. Not the kind that could hurt someone, but a procedural thing I should have known better than to commit.

When I read my "Quote of the Day," I just couldn't seem to find the right words to lead into it. Nobody responded. It was as if somebody else should have been there. Not me.

This CoronaVirus bullshit has us all concerned, but I'm less than most. It's just another "super bug". Likely concocted by one of our enemies who thinks we're most vulnerable. If I get it, I'll kick its ass like I always boot some unwanted virus... with full gusto. Drivers frantically wiping everything they might touch with antiseptic, passengers sporting masks as if they're anonymous avengers, news reports whipping everybody into a frenzy. It seems more like the lead-up to the Super Bowl than the possibility of humanity's extinction. I don't buy it. Hey, I always wash the hell outta my hands after each run, several times daily. There's a lot of nasty shit in my rolling office. It's a habit I've simply added another 10 seconds to during my recovery time routine; no big deal.

I guess it all started Monday. I had a great speech written for our ATU757 rally downtown, but just before I delivered it, one of our officers insisted I cut it in half. Totally ruined my roll. After hours in preparation, honing it down, testing it upon my wife and son, my prep was blasted by one command: "five minutes".

Parked my car at the garage, rode the MAX downtown, reading it, making mental notes on inflection and tone. For once, I was going to speak in front of a crowd, and it wasn't a eulogy. Seems that's all I've done the past few years. This writer's burden wears so heavily, I couldn't even get up at Freddi Evans' funeral to do her honor. This time, I was ready to make up for it.

"REPRESENT!" Freddi's ghost implored me. YES, I promised her soul.

As I stood at the podium, I fumbled with the copy of my speech. What I had was once a good 15-20 minutes, but I had cut over 10 minutes. Somewhere deep within, a voice told me to just begin. I found a power within and allowed it to burst forth in a magnitude I had never felt. "I'm a writer, not a 'speechifyer'," I told the crowd. Mentally deleting several paragraphs, I found those which had the most power, and just rolled with the flow. It seemed that Freddi laid her hand upon my shoulder and whispered strength into my soul. At this moment, anger poured forth from a deep inner strength. Suddenly, I felt an electrical power surge within.

Must we walk alone, unsupported
and vulnerable to the forces which
threaten Portland's most-vital and
impactful labor force?

How dare our management continue its assault upon us, when we've been battered enough? Where was the media? Just outside KGW's Pioneer Square office, not a camera (but our own brother's) in sight. Only Northwest Labor Press cared enough to show. I begged Oregon Public Broadcasting to cover the rally, giving them plenty of notice. (Queue crickets.)

Still, I poured forth the words I wrote in dedication to all my union brothers and sisters. The energy was so powerful, my fists pumped with emotion. I pounded the podium for emphasis. I shouted the words, speaking to the world, not just Portland. It felt great to be publicly announced as Deke N. Blue, and my goal was to really shine in appreciation for the support my fellow union members have shown me the past seven years.

At the end, I felt good about what had roared from deep within. Mayhap, it was all for naught. The public will likely never hear what any of us said. Perhaps 100 union members and other interested parties were there, including one of my favorite passengers, Darius. The excitement dissipated, we all went our collective ways. Our plea for support echoed off the bricks of Pioneer Courthouse Square and quickly passed into the graveyard of discontent.

I hoped our voices would have resonated more. Our hopes are fading to secure a better contract than before . Management is indeed, too big for its britches, but ours might a bit bigger than our emaciated body. We're not as powerful as we need to be to fight this monolithic corporate nonsense which rules Portland transit. We're playing second fiddle in a weak string section, compared to a brassy horn section with too much alto and not enough bass.

We fight amongst ourselves more than collecting that energy which could polarize a city always begging for a cause. Considering the impact Portland would feel without us, I'm very sad it's too plugged in and tuned out to add numbers to support us. Instead of a full symphony, we're a lone violinist playing a sad, outdated tune.

I watched an old movie when I got home tonight. "Heaven Can Wait," starring Warren Beatty. Staring at the publicity photo on the movie's title screen, I yearned to see it as I might have as the 17-year old I was in 1978. Now at 59, I couldn't recall any nostalgic feel. Sure, I had seen the film before. Long Ago and Far Away, as James Taylor wrote. This time however was like watching it anew. It was hard not to feel the power I did as a college freshman. Today, my body and soul are both aged. This weary state is an illness I fear more than the wussy Beer Virus.

Your Deke has always bounced back. Like I said Monday night, "Fall down seven times, AND STAND UP EIGHT!" It won't be long before I'll need assistance to stand again after falling. At this rate of contract attrition, I'll need help just to get up into the operator seat. If our divisiveness continues, many of us who care might just walk away. I cannot do that. I have never walked away from a good fight. Too much is at stake. If I must sacrifice my job to be of service to you, it is a battle worth fighting. Imploring my fellow union members to pull together is much more difficult than it should be. We all stand to lose here, so why can't we STAND TOGETHER?

Divide and conquer. Management has always encouraged and depended upon it. Whenever it rears its ugly beasty face, they win. We must cleanse ourselves of internal division and unite the collective power within us to defeat our fallible master. We must stop re-living past election squabbles. Leave politics for non-contract election years. Embrace the victors no matter the sour taste in your mouths... they are all we have to challenge the fatal hammer poised above us. Perhaps then, we'll become the vital force necessary to conquer the beast that arrogantly hopes to dash our brightest future.

Today comes with infinite possibilities. Yesterday may have been Deke's finest, but I'm always pushing for a stronger tomorrow. It's all I know.

The old and new Portland.
Which will take US forward?

Once again, I'll awaken from another fitful rest after last night's grueling 11-hour shift. I'll pluck another gem outta my Oban Distillery hat and wait for that magical moment to attempt some meaningful connection with the masses who ride my bus. It's all I can hope for. We can achieve victory against those who are paid to keep us down in the gutter with the spit, piss and all the dashed hopes of our battered humanity. All we need is a collective will, a renewed spirit of solidarity, a shared commitment to take up arms against the entity we should dominate, rather than be controlled by.

I can only hope. With any luck, you can too.

I am UNION STRONG... ATU757 now and forever!

In constant solidarity, I am
Deke N. Blue