Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, January 4, 1994 TAG: 9401040152
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Kathleen Wilson
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
On New Year's Eve, he was a grossly underpaid guardian angel and a good Samaritan, shuttling those smart enough to opt for a Yellow Cab rather than one of those blue-and-white ones with the flashing lights.
He doesn't want you to know his name. It's not that he's ashamed about what he's doing to pay the bills and feed his family. But he is concerned that his family might be.
He's one of the hundreds who lost executive positions with Dominion Bank when First Union took over last year.
He's gone from white collar to blue collar in a matter of months.
"I don't want my children to know I'm driving a cab," he said quietly.
Friday, 9:45 p.m. - "If you want the real story, you oughta hide that notebook," the driver warned when we pulled up to a curb at the Lincoln Terrace housing project where three guys were waiting.
As one approached the door, the others called him back for a conference.
"They're trying to figure out what you're doing in here," the driver told me. Eventually, the trio climbed into the taxi.
"So, what did you think of Tech in that bowl game?" the driver asked.
Quiet from the back seat. Then, "We don't care about no football."
We rode in silence to their destination.
"Two of them had guns," the driver told me afterward.
He says you can tell by how tightly they hold one side of their jacket.
\ Friday, 10:10 p.m. - We got a specific request for my driver at the Skate Center on Brandon Road.
"Who in the hell do I know at the skating rink?" he mused.
In the parking lot, two boys were gesturing wildly at the cab.
The driver smiled.
"I take the one to the orthodontist fairly regularly."
"I'm thinking about asking Jessica to go to the mall with me next weekend," Josh, 13, told his buddy in the back seat. "But her dad wants to meet me first. I'm gonna wear a suit and a tie, and I'm even going to fix my hair."
The pair smelled of after-shave.
"You know, I only have $6," worried Josh's pal as the meter clicked away. "I'm gonna hafta ask my dad for more money to pay for this ride. He's gonna kill me."
"How much have you got?" the driver asked when we pulled up to his house.
They handed him a handful of crumpled dollar bills.
"We'll call it even," the driver said as the boys headed inside.
"Let's see how we made out on this deal," he said uncrumpling the bills.
"Looks like four dollars and some jingle," the driver said.
\ Friday, 10:45 p.m. - We pulled up in front of a beautiful home on Avenham Avenue. This, too, had been a special request for my driver.
He tooted the horn. We waited. He tooted again. We waited some more.
He got out of the cab and knocked on the front door.
No answer.
Unfortunately, this isn't uncommon. Half the calls my driver answered were no shows.
\ Friday, 11:30 p.m. - We take out the map to navigate our way through Hunting Hills.
We find the house - or so we think.
He toots the horn. He toots again.
A tiny, white-haired lady peeks through the curtains.
The driver goes to the door. A few minutes later, the front lawn is flooded with light.
The lady answers the door.
We've got the right house number. But the wrong road.
Once back on the right track, there was no chance of missing this group in need of a ride.
Three guys - each holding a cooler or a case of beer - started hootin' and hollerin' as we approached.
"Dude, you are a [expletive] GOD!" one shouts.
Any wonder this trio asked to be identified only as Larry, Moe and Curly.
"So, dude, what time is it?" one asks the driver.
It's Saturday, 12:03.
We've missed the big moment.
The driver and I spent the first hours of 1994 in a taxi with Larry, Moe, and Curly, and getting a contact alcohol buzz from their breath alone.
The driver says later it must have been exactly midnight when he was pounding on that lady's front door.
"I'll be she was in there in her nightgown watching the ball drop when we started all that commotion."
\ Saturday, 1:05 a.m. - Three guys at the corner of Grandin and Brandon are flat on their backs. One is trying unsuccessfully to put his shoe back on.
Just up the road a bit at the 7-Eleven, three pile into the cab.
"We've lost a couple friends," the woman explained.
"I think we can help you with that," the driver said, heading back to where we'd seen the three out-of-commission guys laying on the sidewalk.
"How did you do that?" the crew in the cab marveled. "I can't BELIEVE you found them."
"It really wasn't all that hard," the driver smiled, as he opened the back of his station wagon taxi and loaded in the rest of the gang.
\ Saturday, 3:45 a.m. - "Man, I drank enough to kill a horse!" slurred one of another band of three stooges in the back seat.
"I cut my hand at the Secret Garden," another proclaimed to the driver. "It was cool, dude. It was pretty gnarly. Lots of bods, though."
The three had an intense discussion about how wise it might be to skip the planned trip to the Texas Tavern and just head home.
"I'm just gonna go home and eat some condiments," one decided.
"Can we get a free ride?" one wanted to know, referring to the free rides the Chandler Franklin & O'Bryan law firm provides for those who've had too much to drink.
These three certainly met that qualification.
To celebrate, they burst into song accompanying Jimi Hendrix when a radio station played "Hey, Joe."
They got a little sentimental at the end of the journey.
"You guys rock and roll!" said one.
"Yeah, we really love you guys," said another.
"Even the cab ride was a righteous party," observed the third.
\ Saturday, 4:30 a.m. - We pulled up in front of the Lincoln Terrace address the dispatcher had given us. There were two men sitting on a stoop.
A third came from nowhere, barreling down the hill toward the cab.
"I don't like this," the driver said quietly.
The man asked us to take him to his car.
It was a $6 ride. As he emptied his fanny pack pulling out crumpled dollar bills to pay the driver, I saw crack. I saw cocaine. I saw lots of paraphernalia.
Could we break a $50, he wanted to know.
I was scared.
The driver shuffled his money around, then told the guy he was sorry, he didn't have the change.
The guy handed us some money, then got out of the cab.
Neither the driver nor I gave a damn about how much money he'd handed over.
We just got out of there.
\ Saturday, 5:30 a.m. The driver asked if I'd had enough. Indeed, I had.
If I wanted, he'd drive me back to Salem, where I couldn't wait to see my dog and climb into bed.
We drove back to the Yellow Cab offices, where the driver hopped out of the taxi and scraped the ice off of all of my car's windows.
We wished each other a happy new year.
"Maybe we'll do it again next year," I said with a smile.
"No offense, but I hope not," the driver said.
By then, he hopes, he'll have landed back on his feet.
by CNB