A lot has happened in the seven years since I first wrote here. In May of 2013, I was a green newbie, fascinated with the job and the people who rode my bus. A lifelong chronicler, it only seemed fitting I describe what I see. Considering I interact with about 150,000 people (some are the same, but still their faces every day and so they count as new each time they board) each year, I realized early there would be countless opportunities to connect with my fellow Portlanders as a bus operator. A bit nervous was I, a blue-collar troubadour for four decades by the time I gained the bus wheel. I knew my advancing years made this my final career... other than writing, which I hope will remain with me until I leave this blue marble as a free soul.
My style? Free, wandering, constantly seeking the truth which meanders through this grey matter as I roll six wheels through the Northwest's most majestic metropolis, Portland Oregon. Usually, I sit here listening to music (James Taylor, Chicago Transit Authority, Bonnie Raitt, CSN&Y, and many more who filled my youth with musical dreams) and just write what comes to mind. It's usually about what I've just experienced the week past. The thoughts, frustrations, questions, dreams... whatever I've felt, comes out in these posts. It may not always be pretty or flowing. It may piss off some folks, or perhaps strike a chord with my brothers and sisters. It's not written with any pre-determined angle or destination. Many times, it's a tangle of whatever flustered my tail feathers, coaxed a tear of humanity from my driver-side eye, or maybe just made me think of something other than myself.
Although this is little more than an operator's weekly journal, the support has been phenomenal from my humble beginnings to today's worldwide FromTheDriverSide audience.
Sometimes I think perhaps I should quit. Let someone else take over, because there are many whose voices cry to be heard. However, I find it difficult. I've tried to stop, but then something happens that I must write about. It's constant. Maybe you're tired of hearing one voice among thousands whose voices are not recognized. For them I reckon this writer continues. My new book silently awaits my attention, but my blog readers are there too, wondering WTF Deke is thinking about now. It's a struggle to create fiction when non-fiction constantly commands my mind.
I've met wonderful people through simply writing this blog. My buddy Sam's mom Ellen is a constant reminder of the basic decency Americans consist of. She's sweet, intelligent, poetic, thoughtful and more like me than I am. There's Robert at bustropical.org, Billy in Rhode Island, Tommy in Vancouver, Bruce in Melbourne. One day in Spokane, I met Paul who had actually read my blog and book, and it was a purely coincidental meeting, truly unplanned and therefore magical. Many of you have written comments on the blog itself or notes on FaceBook. I read each, even if I cannot respond to them all. Each warms my heart, even if you disagree with what is written.
Many of you have also read my book. Yeah, it was a grand idea which didn't sell as many copies as I hoped. Maybe more will buy it after I'm dead. Still, many have bought it, gave it rave reviews and encouraged others to buy it. The response has given me great joy, and I thank you all. If you find me on the road, I will happily sign your copy. It's an author's dream to do so; please don't hesitate to ask.
It was a quiet, subdued birthday for this pseudonym. Yeah, you now know I'm Patrick. The ruse failed years ago when my transit agency figured it out. Still, it was creatively-inspiring to imagine I was just an anonymous voice in the void of thousands whose words are rarely heard, and often ignored. It is for you I write, not me. Yeah, it's a journal of sorts, but still... I write for the 180,000+ American union transit workers (including those lost to Corona-virus) and still thousands more worldwide. Our concerns have been downplayed as "greedy". Our status as "frontline workers" dismissed. Our murders considered sad happenings in the everyday world of transit. Still, we continue doing our job because it is essential. We matter. Black, brown, beige, tan or white, we do the job because it's one we're proud to do. No matter the danger, we're out there when others are content (and allowed) to "work from home".
I want to take this moment to envelop ALL my transit fellows in a group hug. I admire you all. Every fear, frustration and challenge you face on the job, I understand. Why? Because I live it. Each time I take the wheel of my bus, I feel what you do. Whenever someone threatens me, I remember Thomas Dunn of Florida, who was knifed to death in the seat. Will I suffer the same fate? If I do, I hope I have the strength he did, to secure my bus and keep my passengers safe.
RIP to the hundreds of transit workers lost to this pandemic; may we remain strong in the face of your bravery, despite the dangers we face without support from our transit agencies and government. Take care of yourselves brothers and sisters; you know it's up to US to do so, because we're on our own... as usual. What else is new?
Respectfully,
Deke N. Blue
Transit Blogger/Author
Portland, Oregon, USA
Keep on writing and working safe, and most of all... be WELL through these mad times! :)
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