By Jung Gatoona

As a kid, I was always fascinated by the stories of the old streetcar days my grandmother used to tell me during our morning bus rides to school. Through her memory and words, the old streetcar days seemed like a time of magic and excitement for Angelenos. As she told the stories of the days when electric wires covered the skies, rails that took over the streets, and how one could go from west to east, north to south of Los Angeles within minutes, she would stop periodically to smile down at me and pat my head, while I curiously listened to her every word.

“During my days, the streetcar was the way to get about. And, the streetcar operators, they actually cared about the very people they drove around.” she would mention every so often. My grandmother had made it clear to me several times that today’s bus drivers just don’t treat passengers the same way yesterday’s streetcar operators did. Her stories that shined a light on the relationship between streetcar operators and passengers fascinated me beyond words. To her, it was a time and place of bliss for an Angeleno without a car, a time in which she grew up on, and one I as a kid who grew up with bus drivers had trouble trying to understand.

For instance, she would talk of the streetcars that went through residential neighborhoods. The operators of those streetcars maintained friendly relationships with their passengers, and actually cared about their well-being. Operators would frequently wait in front of the corner street stop for their regular passengers, even if they were not present at the location. And, if the passenger was nowhere to be seen for a significant amount of time, the concerned operator would go about his way, and later call the local authorities or visit the passenger’s house himself to know if they were okay. Streetcar operators would also share the stories of their lives and proudly show pictures of their kids to entertain their passengers as they waited for their destination. And, in return for this warm relationship the operators setup, the passengers in return would show their family pictures, and often brought fresh fruits to the operator as a gift.

Today, one can only dream of that relationship between driver and passenger. The stories I will be telling my grandchild, will be be nowhere near the wonderful place my grandmother had shown me. Instead, I will be telling the stories of how bus drivers would knowingly drive on by after seeing me waving my hand at them, as I prayed for the pedestrian light to quickly turn green so I can cross over to catch it. The stories of how bus drivers would ignore my knock on their bus door, as I plead for them to let me in, not opening up because they had already closed it. And, the stories of how bus drivers would crank up the AC on a cold day, and nearly freeze to death all the passengers he/she was carrying. Yes, those are the stories I will be telling my grandchild. Wonderful, aren’t they?

The streetcar operators of the past were proud members of Los Angeles, who loved and took their job seriously, and did so with passion. They knew the importance of their job, and how they were a essential and valuable part of someone else’s life. The streetcar operators understood how people came to depend on the streetcars not just to get from point A to point B, but depended on the streetcars to take them to the marketplace to buy food for the family, to get to their jobs on time, and to go meet friends at the beach to hangout. Life in Los Angeles became revolved around streetcars, and it was a great time to be a streetcar operator and passenger.

Fast forward to today, where bus drivers welcome passengers with a greeting of “one dollar and twenty five cents! (1.50 now),” instead of a warm good morning or good afternoon. Today, bus drivers care more about following schedule, than waiting to pick up people and take them to their destinations. They don’t see passengers as fellow Angelenos or even people for that matter, but rather cattle that needs to be taken from one place to another. Sadly, I believe this is the case because many of today’s Los Angeles bus drivers fail to see that some people actually look up and see them as heroes. They also fail to see that some come to depend on them exclusively to get around in this car culture dominated city, and without them, their lives would be radically different.

For a car-free Angeleno like myself, bus drivers are the most important people in my life. They are the ones that help make it possible for me to meet friends, eat, and get to my job and school on time. That said, I’ve come to love public transportation in Los Angeles with all my heart, but when I encounter bus drivers who care so little about passengers that they knowingly pass by them, not open their doors for people to enter, or treat us like animals, those are the times I feel most willing to just ditch public transit and buy a car.

The next time a bus driver speeds away after seeing a passenger running up to them, I hope they realize they did more than just piss them off. They’ve damaged what was once, and could be, a beautiful relationship.

Photo | Jung Gatoona & LRT