It’s 7:45 on a Tuesday morning at the Chicago Transit Authority’s Chicago Avenue Training Center on the West Side. Manager of bus instruction Joe Bennett stands at the front of a second-floor classroom, making a few things clear to a dozen fresh-faced recruits on their first day of training.
“How many of you use the system?” he asks. Several hands go up. “How many of those have encountered employees who didn’t exactly treat you right?” Amid a few chuckles, about the same number of hands flutter skyward.
The message, Bennett announces, is that the trainees aren’t to view those employees as role models. Courtesy and service are big parts of the job, he informs them–as much as knowing which customers pay reduced fares or how to brake a bus on wet pavement.
It’s a lesson that will be repeated again and again. Bus instructor George Zajac, a 28-year CTA veteran, picks up the theme as Bennett hands off the teaching reins. “When they put $1.50, $1.80 in the fare box, they don’t get hot dogs, hamburgers or French fries, they get service,” Zajac says, his accent belying a youth spent in his native Poland. “It should be safe, on time, versatile–and all served on a platter of courtesy.”
Very quickly, though, it’s evident that the trainees are going to need to learn a lot more than how to be courteous. And that helps explain the term “bus operator” rather than bus driver.
“In addition to driving, you’re a clerk taking money, a secretary with a lot of paperwork, an information bureau–and all this in less than perfect conditions,” Zajac assures the trainees.
“An ordinary driver wouldn’t be making (about) $19 an hour.” (Starting pay for part-time permanent operators is $12.03.)
“You’re a long way from that, but this is a very good job. If you keep your record clean and make full-time, it’s a damn good job.”
The trainees have been hired as “part-time permanent” bus operators, but they’ll need to know all that the full-timers do. Trainees must be 21, in reasonably good health, with at least a high school diploma or GED certificate and a valid Illinois driver’s license, and must have been driving for at least two years with a good driving record.
The lessons begin with an understanding of the tools of the trade and dress code. The trainees are invited to open brown cardboard pouches.
Inside is a punch for transfers, a system map, a CTA rule book and a key. “That opens the bathrooms,” says Zajac. “Keep it or you’ll be doing a pressure dance.”
The dress code is rigidly enforced and starts with winter and summer uniforms (heavy on blue with burgundy). The heels on the mandated black or dark blue oxford or standard high-top shoes cannot exceed one inch, and the soles can’t be thicker than three-eights of an inch.
Operators are not allowed to wear electrical devices, such as pagers. Earrings can measure no larger than one-half-inch in diameter and can’t dangle farther than one-half-inch off the earlobe.
In the 18 days of training, Zajac says, the six male and six female trainees will alternate between the training center and the CTA garages to which they’ll be assigned. On the docket are classroom lectures, behind-the-wheel practice on not-in-service buses, a tour of their “home garages,” films, work with line instructors from their home garages and plenty of examinations before final qualification at the end of the three six-day weeks.
“Tomorrow’s the first day you’ll drive that big bus, so please get plenty of sleep,” Zajac urges. “And after driving it in the yard, you’ll take that big bus on the street.”
A collective, heart-in-the-throat gasp of panic escapes from the class. “What, you’re already resigning?” Zajac asks with a straight face and an arched eyebrow.
Handouts on courtesy, uniforms and what to do when jury duty summons are distributed. Then the lights dim and trainees view a video on the CTA.
The mammoth scope of the agency is stressed: 2,200 buses, 1,200 rapid-transit cars on 220 miles of track and a work force 12,000 strong make the CTA the second largest transit system in North America behind New York’s.
Zajac returns to the front of the class and tackles the issue of dealing with passengers.
“If you’re an easy-going person by nature, you’ll find the job easy,” he reports. “If you’re high-strung, find a job in a warehouse, away from people. Most passengers are nice, but there are others whose only objective is to make you as miserable as they are. But nobody can make you angry, unless you let them.
“The job could be the easiest or the hardest you ever had. Stay cool. Don’t get aggravated. You have the control.”
“What if he tries to touch you?” a female trainee asks.
“Defend yourself but don’t overreact,” Zajac replies.
A 25-minute break and another video, on the CTA uniform, follows. Then bus instructor Joe Valtierra takes over, narrating a slide presentation on the CTA’s fare structure. The information to be absorbed is staggering.
Trainees learn who pays full fare and who can ride at reduced fares with what identification cards and at what times. Free riders are identified: children younger than 7 accompanied by full-fare passengers, crossing guards and six other types of public servants in full uniform– Chicago police, suburban police, Chicago firefighters, Chicago traffic control aides, Chicago parking enforcement aides, Cook County Health Department nurses and Cook County Sheriff’s.
Valtierra turns the reins back to Zajac, and the trainees gather around him at a fare box in the front of the classroom. Trainees will learn how to program the box by entering badge, run and route numbers.”When it cycles, it’s ready for use,” said Zajac. “That’s the first step before you pull out on the street.”
The care and feeding of the fare box are crucial. “Tell people to `feed the coin slot slowly,’ ” Zajac instructs. “If they try to jam it in, there goes your fare box.”
Dealing with accidental overpayment and passengers who have all but a penny of their fares is discussed, as are reading transfers and operating the machine that churns them out. “Call the controller for anything you can’t control yourself, any incident out of the ordinary,” Zajac stresses.
The “controller” is a CTA employee at the Communications Power Control Center, 120 N. Racine Ave.
“You are not the enforcers. You enforce nothing. You don’t order anyone. You ask and inform– period. Two benefits come from this: It makes the job easier and helps you stay healthier.”
After lunch come defensive driving lessons, and map and route-schedule reading. But as the class breaks to eat, Zajac reminds the men and women that this much detail won’t sink in without serious reading and study.
“Remember the good old days when you sacrificed your TV time for the books?” he asks, gleefully. “Well, they’re back again! Homework!”
The trainees are back at 7:30 the following morning for lectures, presentations and practice behind the wheel. The group has been cut by half; six trainees having been assigned to the CTA garage at 210 W. 77th St.
The six rookies sit upfront in an idling CTA bus on the north side of the yard as instructor Milton LeShore demonstrates how to use the vehicle’s six mirrors–four inside and two outside. The next topic is braking. Seventy percent of accidents occur within 100 feet of an intersection, says the 19-year CTA vet. The lesson: Effective braking is critical.
“Cover your brakes,” LeShore tells trainees. “Lay your foot on top of the brake pedal at intersections, alleys, driveways– anywhere someone might pull out into the path of the bus.”
LeShore turns the floor over to bus instructor Robert Williams, who teaches the trainees about the positions of the horizontal handle to the left of the wheel, which opens and closes the doors. Then it’s on to the foot-activated turn indicators and how to inspect the bus inside and out.
After a short break, the big moment has arrived. LeShore leads the three women trainees to another bus, and Williams oversees the men in this one. Trainee David Ramirez takes the wheel and motors the bus in a circular route around the garage as Williams stands on the stairs to his right, directing and instructing.
“You always want to see daylight on your right,” he tells Ramirez. “Remember, you got 40 feet behind you . . . Stop . . . Turn, hand-over-hand . . . Use all the area available to you. Now turn left . . . don’t stop turning ’til the bus is straight.”
When Ramirez pulls to a stop after completing his swing, Williams makes a final point. “Take it out of gear,” he says.
There’s a “whoosh” as the parking brake is engaged. “Hear that sound?” Williams inquires. “If you don’t listen for anything else, gentlemen, listen for that.”
After all trainees have taken their brief maiden voyages, there’s a sense of relief. “It felt kind of weird, but I guess I can get used to it after a while,” says Ramirez. “I’ve never driven anything this big before.”
Trainee Lawrence Washington is similarly confident. “I can get used to it, but I think I could use a little more practice,” he admits, having logged all of a half-mile at the helm. “It’s not as hard as I thought it was going to be.”
Callye Mazique is upbeat. “I liked it,” she smiles. “Just like a car–keep control and stay in your lane. I think I’ll be able to handle it.”
Three weeks later, the recruits are ready, says Bennett. “When we finish with them, we take them into the transportation manager, and he’ll find them ready to operate out of his garage,” he reports. “The next day they’ll go to work on their own.”
