Not A Taxi Angel---The Reverse Of Cabbie Professionalism

 The Opposite of What Should Be

While February was a celebration of the best of cab driving, March, I am sad to say, is an expression of the worse.  Of course I have always been always been aware of the nefarious side of taxi, how many use it as an opportunity to victimize the unaware.  I saw it way back in September 1987 when I was in a training ride with Rick P., the owner of the three-car cab company, Classic Cab, finding myself appalled as he drove the tourist "the long way" to the Greyhound Bus Station, not caring for moment that I was watching.  He even made a point of expressing "this is how you do it."  What it really said was, that despite over 20 years in the cab business, Rick still didn't know anything about the true nature of driving cab, which is, and always will be, customer service.  While celebrating part of cab's noble legacy by operating Checker Marathons, his dishonesty distorted it.  I really enjoyed driving the Checker.  It made for a great cab. 

Not that Rick was the only one, the only taxi desperado out there. That crazy crew that were the Greeks during that era took full advantage any time they could, charging $50.00 to the airport during a snow storm when $21.00 was the average fare.  I could go on but I out earned all these clowns, even as a raw rookie simply because I was honest and simply knowing the streets and the hotels.  I dislike feral taxi.  We cabbies must remain civilized despite our worst anti-social inclinations, smiling when not wanting to.  When it comes to cab, honesty is the best policy. 

This intro brings me to a cabbie we tried to use in Mexico.  I found his glossy "Taxi Pro" business card at a local "French" bakery catering to gringos.  He gave his name as Angel H_ _ _ C_ _ _ __, operating his cab from 4 AM to 23 PM.  Long hours but not uncommon.  But it turns out he was being deceptive, operating as a kind of taxi dispatch, sending friends to do his pickups.  

Angel did speak English and all he needed to do was state how he operated.  After setting up our ride back to the airport for Feb 3rd, we decided we wanted a ride to a local trail head.  A cab did arrive on time but not Angel.  And the fellow's cab didn't have seat belts. A couple of days later I called Angel, and told him how we were displeased, wanting to know if he  himself would be taking us to the airport. Si, Senor, he said, and his cab was new,  equipped with seatbelts.  No problem, he said. 

But his dishonestly, and deception had no end as I received a call from Angel at 10:48 AM on Feb 2nd saying "Your taxi has arrived," though obviously it being the wrong day and time; and clearly it wasn't the famous Angel who was waiting for us.  

I had told him earlier that he was dealing with a fellow cabbie but that didn't seem to make any impression upon him.  Why?  Because the cynical bastard has been dealing with compliant, dumbbell gringos, manipulating the hell out of them, not caring a moment for the kind of taxi  professionalism I find necessary and essential.  

I later called him back and told him we found another way to the airport, which we did, getting a ride from someone working at our local favorite restaurant, Ol-Lin Vegan, located next to the plaza in San Antonio Tlayacapan.  We gave the guy 800 pesos total.  

As for Angel, he is another bad example of someone working the tourist trade, not truly caring a moment for his passengers or their well-being.  He is not alone.  They are in Seattle too.  They give the industry a bad name.  And they don't give a damn one way or the other. 

Mourning the Death of Eleanor Maguire, age 54, the Researcher who Discovered the Secret Behind the London "Black Cab" Cabbie's "The Knowledge""

It was Dr. Maguire, she of the University College London Queen Square Institute of Neurology, who after watching the 1979 British made for television movie, "The Knowledge," was inspired to find out as just to how London "Black Cab" cabbies (and all professional cabbies around the world) could retain all this address and street routing information in their heads (brains).  This led her to focus on the specific region of the brain that plays a key role in spatial navigation, the hippocampus.  Her studies and research found that, year after year, the London cabbie's hippocampus actually grows larger as they learn more and more concerning greater London's streets and businesses.  We in the cab business owe Eleanor Maguire much gratitude for enhancing the reputation of our maligned industry.  Thank you very much is all I can say.

I watched the movie over the internet.  I love the theme song, and if I ever form my much long thought of rock and roll band, you can believe I will be covering that song.  It does in a true sense convey real taxi as all of us know it.  The movie itself does a reasonable job showing the reality of folks trying to learn the London streets.  When the fictional script doesn't get too involved in the presentation, it does show you London's taxi reality.  While the character of the instructor/tester Mister Burgess is truly "over-the-top," a cruel character known as "the vampire," a scene toward the end of the film captures the essence of the cabbie experience with his melodramatic explanation of the passenger dynamic, of the human condition living and breathing behind you in the backseat.  For me, that's worth the entire one hour and thirty minutes because it really hits home as to how it  truly is.  While all of us "love" our passengers, some of them are simply hard to take, wishing for a jettison button propelling them out of the cab and onto the sidewalk.

I also enjoyed seeing 1979 London, a great time-machine journey back to when I was in my early 20s and still somewhat innocent.  I was first in London in mid-August 1984 on my way to Paris, where my wife was studying at the Sorbonne.  My first London Black Cab ride was later that year in mid-November when my wife and I took a cab to hear the London Symphony at the Barbican Centre.  

My most memorable London Black Cab ride had to be back in early March 2000, when I took a cab from a train station first to Chinatown, had him wait as I picked up take-out, then taking me on to my hotel.  The guy was a true veteran, and damn did he know the streets.  I was impressed then and remain impressed.  That guy was one SUPER cabbie!

Two "Taxi" Excerpts from the Feburary 16th Edition of the NY TIMES Metropolitan Diary

I always like sharing taxi stories from the Metro Diary because they always display taxi as it really is.  On the letter entitled "Two Stops" I must make note because it is clear that neither the writer nor the New York Times understood the cabbie's comment.  Countless times I have been requested to stop short of a destination by a passenger.  Why?  Because passengers, especially women, did not want the cabbie to see and know where they were entering, a kind of protective safety measure.  I never took it personally because I understood and respected their motivation.  And yes, as the letter points out, the first passenger was just being efficient, which I have also experienced countless times.  

Most don't understand the language and culture of taxi, as I, my friends, know it all too well, from up and down and all around.  There are no surprises though sometimes I have been disappointed.  "Did you have to be that stupid?"  I have thought concerning many a passenger.  And I suppose the unfortunate answer has to be "yes," the unavoidable human condition affecting all of us daily. 

Two Stops

It was a drizzly June night in 2001.  I was a young magazine editor and had just enjoyed a very blissful second date---dinner, drinks, fabulous conversation---with our technology consultant at a restaurant in Manhattan. 

I lived in Williamsburg at the time, and date lived near Murray Hill, so we grabbed a cab and headed south on Second Avenue.

"Just let me out here," my date said to the cabby at the corner of 25th Street.

We said our goodbyes, quick and shy, knowing that we would see each other at work the next day.  I was giddy and probably grinning with happiness and hope.

"Oh boy," the cabby said, shaking his head as we drove toward Brooklyn.  "Very bad."

"What do you mean?" I asked in horror.

"He doesn't want you to know exactly where he lives, " the cabby said.  "Not a good sign."

I spent the rest of the cab ride in shock, revisiting every moment of the date.

Happily, it turned out that my instinct about it being a great date was right, and the cabby was wrong.  Twenty-four years later, my date that night is my husband, and I know that if your stop is first, it's polite to get out so the cab can continue in a straight line to the next stop.

Ingrid Spencer

__________________________________________

I was laughing while typing this, all of it so typical of taxi as I know it.  Note that the cabbie was paying attention to what was going on in the back seat.  Not intrusive, just attentive.  In this case, the cabbie was being protective, caring about his female passenger, wanting to send her a potential warning due to his long experience of witnessing hearts broken.  If he guessed wrong, hell! that not at mattering, he the ever watchful guard dog ready to growl in an instantaneous moment.

Geography Lesson

Dear  Diary,

When I was a freshman at Bernard College, my parents visited me from Indianapolis because my father, a radiologist, was attending a medical meeting in New York City.

One of his colleagues took us to dinner.  Riding in a cab afterward, my father and the cabdriver were bantering when my father's colleague interjected jokingly.

"Please show some respect for Dr. Campbell," he said.  "He is from the Midwest.  Do you know where that is?"

"Yes," the cabby replied.  "Between Fifth and Sixth." 

Nancy Duff Campbell

______________________

The veteran cabbie is always ready with a sharp and witty retort.  It is an occupational requirement. 

And this from the Feb 23th Metro Diary: "Fare Competition"

Dear Diary,

In 1979, my girlfriend at the time (now my wife of 40 years) moved to New York City to pursue her goal of becoming an actress.  She enrolled at HB Studio, and I drove a yellow taxi overnight.

In the wee hours of one Sunday night, I was driving back into Manhattan from Kennedy Airport on a mostly deserted Queens Boulevard when I spotted a fare far down the street holding up her arm.

In my rearview mirror, I noticed another yellow taxi accelerating behind me.  Clearly, the driver wanted the fare, too.  

I sped up and the other cab did too.  We raced toward the fare side-by-side, with my taxi in the right lane.  The other cab couldn't pass, and I soon pulled over triumphantly.

The fare turned out to be a friendly woman.

"You would think I was going to Ithaca," she said as she got in. 

Billy McLean

_________________________________-

For those interested, Ithaca, New York is 228 miles from the "Big Apple."  For those of us cabbies, this kind of competition is nothing new.  When I was a rookie, BB, someone I knew very well, for nearly 10 years at that point, stole my fare.  And he didn't apologize.  Taxi can be a cutthroat world.  The stress can sometimes, and often does, drive a cabbie crazy.  Truly no excuse for reckless and unkind behavior but hey! welcome to taxi.  

If you do watch "The Knowledge," in the very last scene, the "star," having achieved his "green badge," has a fare stolen by another successful "Knowledge" classmate.  It is meant to be funny but in real taxi life, not so much.  You never truly know where someone is going.  It indeed could be Ithaca. Or Manchester. 

A few years ago, picking up at the "new" Greyhound station, I had the passenger I was belled in for inside the cab when another guy walked up, wanting to go to Blaine, Washington on the Canadian border, a wonderfully long fare. But since I had already committed to this older passenger, someone tired from an over 1000 mile bus ride, to get him back home to Kent, a "nothing to sniff at" $50.00 plus fare, I felt obligated to take him.  I called up my buddy James and gave him the Blaine fare, a ride worth something like $350.00 plus.  Sometimes there is morality in the cab world.  Perhaps rare but it does occur.  And what did I request from James?  A $10.00 burrito.  He paid up. 

The Alienated Cabbie

I am writing this due to some recent online interactions and exchanges with some taxi buddies.   Never truly shocked by what they and my taxi friends and acquaintances do and say, I do always find myself wishing for something different, even for an unexpected sanity but most often I come away disappointed,  having been in long communion with that rough and tumble, alienated fraternity known as cab drivers. 

I will repeat something I have said often over the years, that the American taxi industry has long been the moral and actual equivalent of the French Foreign Legion, enlisting the depraved, the walking wounded and everyone else in-between. So it isn't surprising that many have what could be considered unconventional ideas, which isn't alway bad, as I too belonging in that category but when the opinions are not balanced by coherent and functional reality, you end up with alienated life philosophies battering commonsense, knocking commonplace rationality onto the sidewalk, bloodied and unconscious. 

But that is exactly what I have witnessed all too often in the taxi world---cabbies, cab owners, cab bosses--- all ready for the looney bin.  While I suppose deranged taxi is entertaining in word, print and film, in real time it is mostly frustrating, "Why are you acting like this?"  Why are you saying this incoherent nonsense?"  In short, the alienated mind blossoming in its full and less than colorful glory.  

That I will always love and care for my taxi friends is something that shouldn't be questioned. But in all honesty, they also at times deeply anger me, furious that garbage is their first choice.  It drives me wild!  And God knows, while being the feral cabbie I will forever be, I still prefer a tamer, domesticated self that isn't forever snarling when confronted with disagreeable reality. 

But come on everyone, isn't it time to wake up?  Where is your alarm clock, somnambulism not the safest way to drive a cab or walk down the street or spout political opinion?  You have a big hippocampus.  Would you damn well use it?!  

It often seems that many cabbies have somehow given themselves lobotomies, that surgical procedure severing the fontal cortex from the thalamus, rendering them forever disconnected from reality. Way back in 1976, when I worked at a psychiatric halfway house, I met two such individuals who had undergone that infamous procedure known as the "icepick" lobotomy. Not pretty. Not nice.  But in the instance of many cabbies, is it truly necessary to act as if you have half a brain?

My Very Short Cab Ride to the Phoenix Airport

On January 2nd, I parked my car for a month at a hotel parking lot about a good 1 1/2 miles from the airport.  Very cheap but no shuttle, which meant I was walking there my with bags, heading for the Sky Train that was about 3/4 of a mile away.  At a stop light, I saw a cabbie obviously on his way to the airport.  I stepped up, explaining that I needed a quick hop, and off we went.  I of course told him I too was a brother, and for a few minutes we talked taxi.  The previous day he had a ride to Yuma, AZ, getting $750.00, much bigger than any fare of mine, personally never topping over $525.00  on various trips to the Tri-Cities in Eastern Washington.  I gave him ten bucks for saving my legs.  

A Sobering Taxi Moment in SW New Mexico

Yesterday, when visiting a local seamstress and her husband who have been doing some sewing projects for me, a friend of theirs, Mike, made his entry to their RV.  Mike, while a good guy, is also a bit jocular, making a joking reference to "hookers."  That is when I spoke up, saying in my many taxi years I had more prostitutes in the cab that I can remember, and their lives were certainly no joke.  

This prompted Mike to say he drove a cab for a year back in 1970 in Pompano Beach, Florida, then recounting that he quit after another cabbie disappeared, only to be found dead two week later, his body left in the cab's trunk, a stark reminder of what every cabbie everywhere faces each day upon entering  their cab.  

Now Mike is not a bad guy but yet another example of the kind of person I mention in my alienated cabbie portrayal of the too typical taxi prototype.  Not dumb but then again, not particularly smart.  While caring about the fate of a fellow cabbie, Mike at the same time can be cavalier about victimized women working the streets.  Even the "high class" professionals, and I met a few, still were only valued for the pleasure generated by their vaginas.  Crass but that is their reality.  It is not funny what some people do to others.  Life and living is a serious matter.  If more people realized that, we would have more time for laughter. 

Early 1980s Seattle Taxi

My cabbie buddy, Bill, sent me a couple of emails describing all the drinking and drugging he witnessed by his fellow Yellow cabbies.  Many were driving drunk and stoned, and not just marijuana.  And not concealing it, parked in front of two favorite taverns.  

Making it worse, some were selling drugs out of their cab.  Maybe that is why, when I started back in September 1987, passengers felt free to light up "crack" pipes in the back seat.  Those were wild days, with wilder cabbies.  Welcome to the American French Foreign Legion, Seattle Yellow Cab version!

What It Truly Means To Be A Professional Cab Driver

 Simplicity is Not the Cabbie's Reality

The biggest mistake, and major erroneous miscalculation behind the rise of app ride companies like Uber and Lyft, was a general misunderstanding and non-recognition of the skill and professional expertise it takes to successfully transport passengers from A to B.  The story goes that Uber's founders could not get easily get a cab one night, placing the blame upon drivers when in reality any cabbie would have been more than happy to have picked them up.  Their ire was misplaced, for in San Francisco and other American cities, the onus for bad service lay with a screwed-up government bureaucracy incapable of regulating an industry they didn't understand.  

For instance, we in the Seattle taxi industry begged the City and County to release more medallions, a plea for more cabs on the streets ignored minus plausible explanation as to why. This kind of response typified what was usual across the country: a regulatory bureaucracy tone-deaf to the taxi industry needs.  And when did the City of Seattle release additional medallions, including one to me?  Only after there were 28,000 Uber drivers working Seattle and King County streets.  Too little, too late as the saying goes.  And nonsensical. 

Currently in NYC, over 75,000 cabs are in danger of losing their insurance coverage because of a failure in oversight over the prime insurer of all those cabs.  There is no excuse, with reality saying regardless of the reason, this kind of snafu should never happen.  It certainly is not the individual cabbie's fault. They made and keep making their monthly insurance payments.  No one can blame them for an insurer's insolvency. 

But getting back to that night when Travis Kalanick and his friend vilified the ever  hardworking cabbie, its clear that they just didn't know what they were talking about.  Given my over 35 years driving a cab, I and my cabbie kinsman around the world know exactly what it means to give our sweat, blood and dedication to getting the sometimes dumbbell passenger to where they are going.  

Just this past January 3rd, 2025, at about 3:30 in the morning, I personally witnessed the kind of professionalism proving the worth of the veteran cabdriver.  They are not replaceable.  They are indispensable.  And in many cities around the world, like at the Guadalajara, Mexico airport, taxis are the rule and not the exception. At about 2:30 AM "she-who-can't-be-named" and I needed a cab to Ajijic/San Antonio and our Airbnb townhouse.  We were lucky.  We met a professional. 

In the Early Morning Hours

Believe me, it is never advisable to arrive at an unknown destination late at night or early in the morning but sometimes, given flight schedules, it is unavoidable.  In Bucharest, Romania in 2011, I arrived late.  In late October 2023, after late night and early morning flight arrivals in both Sofia, Bulgaria and Tbilisi, Georgia, professional taxi drivers, as I experienced in Bucharest, brought me to where I would have never found on my own.  That early morning in Guadalajara we had some vague idea of where we were going but we needed a ride, we needed help and thankfully the TAXI GODS provided us with a professional.  We certainly required one.

The distance to Ajijic/San Antonio is more or less 30 miles, the rate to where we were going about $29.00 or 575 pesos.  We stood in a long line queuing up for the taxis who at that moment were inundated by many connective flight arrivals.  Everyone, including many parents with young children, patiently waited for returning cabs to pick all of us up.  Finally, a gentleman in his early fifties motioned us to his cab.  We were off.

This was my second season here, and her third but this time our destination was the smaller village of San Antonio, making our journey a bit trickier.  Complicating everything was our arriving late on different flights, she from Oakland, California, me from Phoenix, Arizona.  First we had difficulty finding each other, then hungry and tired, and somewhat cranky, we got into the cab. 

Our driver, a pleasant, quiet gentleman, was a veteran of twenty-five years Guadalajara taxi.  He knew what he was doing and and where he was going.  Unfortunately, my usually extremely organized SUPER CAPRICORN  companion got our address numbers on Ramon Corona a bit jumbled.  We first found ourselves looking for 8B Ramon Corona when it was actually 14 Ramon Corona we needed to find.  8B was our home address inside a gated community.  

Our cabbie was extremely patient while we figured it out, a circumstance I also knew well, having searched for difficult to find addresses in the dark countless times.  The cabbie was wonderful, never growling or displaying any frustration with these dumbbell gringos.  Once we realized what real street address we needed, we quickly found our destination.  I gave him a ten dollar tip, which is 200 pesos but I should have given him 20 dollars for all his trouble.  Early during our ride I had identified myself as a fellow veteran brother of the toplight, so we both fully understood the situation.  

He was great and was the clear definition of what it means to be a professional cabbie, someone essential to tired and lost tourists seeking their sunny Mexican abode.  Never a complaining word.  Never a snarl though we warranted one.  He handled everything exactly how it is supposed to be done, being extremely helpful while exhibiting the patience of a saint, the toplight a kind of taxi halo.  

It brought to my mind a ride of a few years back where I had to get my blind passenger to her apartment in this very large complex located in Rainier Valley.  The trick for me was finding the right entrance out of too many doors to choose from.  It took me a good half hour to find the correct one.  It was hellish but there was nothing to be done but to keep searching until I found it.  My passenger helped as well as she could but being sightless she caused more confusion than anything helpful.  

As I will always say, welcome to taxi as it really is.  Uber and Lyft will never be able to match the inherent professionalism that is the tried and true veteran cabbie.  It isn't possible which is why, in many parts of the world, taxi will never be replaced, cabs a permanent fixture in the transportation landscape.  Hurrah for taxi! Hurrah!  

And always remember, tip that cabbie well.  He/she deserves it.  My last big tip driving cab was $100.00.  "Are you sure," I asked.  Yes," he said, "you deserve it."  I wasn't convinced but I took that Ben Franklin and was happy for it.  Sometimes you're stiffed and sometimes you're over tipped.  Just like taxi.  Just like how it is.

Taxi Driver Memory and the Hippocampus: It Might be Preventing all of Us from Dying from Alzheimer's 

A taxi buddy sent me a link containing a talk about how it appears that us cabbies, because of the enlarged hippocampus part of our brain, are far less likely to die from Alzheimer's disease than any other sector of the USA population save ambulance drivers.  What cabbies share with them is the necessity to know the streets, hence the big hippocampus and its ability to hold directional information.  What I found sadly humorous is most cabbies were dying before age 70 from many causes other than Alzheimer's.  That I am now 71 means I am operating on "free money.'  I can live it up!  

Of course, the London cabbie's ability to know every damn street of that sprawling city and metro area is known as "the Knowledge."  As I wrote back to my friend, I more or less have the "Seattle Knowledge."  When passengers got snotty about my routing, or wanted to essentially take over, I asked them this very deadly question of, okay, you think you are so much smarter than I am, now tell me "Where is Peach Court East?"  

Of all the multiple dumbbells I posed this question to, only one knew that it is off of East Crescent, near 22nd East, on the north side of Capital Hill.  I usually only asked this question after becoming throughly irritated with the idiotic passenger.  

Now a PHD question for all you veteran Seattle cabbies out there.  If I got into your cab at King Street Station and said, "Take me to the intersection of NW Culbertson Drive and Sherwood Road NW?" would you be able to get us there minus GPS routing? I would be surprised if you could because this corner is more obscure than any address found in the Blue Ridge neighborhood bordering the Puget Sound or the westside of Queen Anne Hill. The big hint is that it is in Broadview, west of 3rd Avenue NW. When heading north on 3rd NW and you've come to my favorite small park in all of Seattle, Llandover Woods, you have gone too far, close but no cigar. 

The only cabbie I think who would have known was my late friend, Stacy Anderson, whom I dubbed the "Taxi King."  The guy had the "Seattle Knowledge," the "King County Knowledge," and  both the "Pierce and Snohomish Counties Knowledge."  And I would be amiss if I failed to mention the "City of Portland, Oregon Knowledge."  It is probably true I was a better money maker than Stacy, something he actually somewhat reluctantly acknowledged but when it came to knowing the streets, I was a trifle mouse compared to Stacy's elephant.  He was incredible.  There was no one else like him in Seattle's taxi industry.  More than King, he was Emperor.

All this is a lead up to an excerpt taken from the Jan 19th, 2025 edition of the New York Time's "Metropolitan Diary."  It is a great example of the cabbie memory, and a fun story to boot.  

Familiar Feeling

Dear Diary,

I started traveling to New York City from my hometown, Toronto, in the early 2000s.  I would visit once or twice a year, usually with my children. As they have gotten older, I've been making my annual trip solo.

On my most recent trip, in November 2024, I stayed near Lincoln Center. When it was time to leave, the hotel doorman hailed me a taxi to me to the airport.

After I got into the cab, the driver and I began chatting about the delicious smelling rice and oxtail stew his wife has just dropped off for him. He told me we had spoken previously about Indian and Senegalese food.  I must have looked confused because he then claimed that he knew me.

I had not been to New York in a year and was incredulous that this man could possibly remembered a random conversation with a passenger from 12 months ago.

Then, suddenly, I remembered him too.  He had told me the last time we spoke that he was sending one of his teenage children to live with his parents for a while so they could get to know one another.

He explained this time the child was back home and that all had gone well.

After getting out of the cab at the airport, I turned back to him.

"Thank you," I said. "See you next year!"

Patricia O'Connell

_______________________________________________

Nice story.  In Seattle over the years I had many random repeat passengers but more than usual, it was the passenger remembering me.  For all the many reasons good and bad I stood out from the usual taxi herd.  Someone in my life affectionately calls me "donkey."  Maybe I am remembered for my braying.

You Tell Them, Mister Priestley!

The following quote is taken from an essay/lecture "What About the Audience," concerning the future of live theatre in the United Kingdom, cira 1961.  It can be found in a collection of JB Priestley essays published in 1966, "The Moments and other Pieces."  How this applies to taxi and taxi regulators and regulation is how Priestley is concerned about the adverse affects of television upon live stage drama, and how it could disappear.  

Where this applies to taxi is twofold.  The first issue is having regulators devoid of ever having driven a taxi.  I have written this elsewhere but how can you assist and regulate an industry and task you know nothing about?  And secondly, because of this lack of real knowledge and expertise, it opened the floodgates to Uber and Lyft, effectively dealing the American taxicab a near deadly if not completely fatal blow.  While the most of the regulators were great people, they just didn't have the background to know everyday taxi reality.  And even when told, which I sometimes did, that they didn't know, did it change anything?   

And what about the British stage, what has happened to it since 1961?   That I can't tell but what is true is that in the USA, there is more television programming than ever but again, I can't comment on the quality since I have barely watched the medium since 1987.  I read books instead. How old fashioned!   Here is Priestley. The quote is from pages 259 and 260.  While reading this, keep in mind the context of taxi and you will see how this relates to our diminished craft of driving crazed humans to home and hospital. 

"The truth is, so long as drama is presented, in no matter what form, the Theatre remains central, the enduring core. Though writing, direction, acting, may have to be adjusted to the new media, as indeed we know, the Theatre is still at the heart of the whole matter.  Take it away and you would see a rapid deterioration in film and television drama.  We hear people say that so long as they have television sets and can pay an occasional visit to the cinema, it does not matter to them if there if there is not a single stage left in England.  But if these people expect dramatic entertainment from their screens, then they should realize that although they do nothing for the Theatre, the Theatre has already done a great deal for them. It is in the playhouse, and nowhere else, that performers come together, and writers, directors, actors, are severely tested, learning if they are wise what is essential in the presentation of drama.  I have declared before now that if I were responsible for a large film studio or a television network, and I knew that the Theatre was in danger of disappearing, I would feel it was my duty to subsidize or altogether maintain a playhouse, so that my writers, directors, actors, could face the challenge of an actual audience, coughing when it is bored, silent and intent when it is properly held. And when such writers, directors, actors, had triumphantly survived this test, they would return to their studios refreshed and heartened, feeling closer for some time to their vast invisible and remote audiences."

The regulation of the taxi industry remains upside down.  Lessons have not been learned, the nonsensical embracing the senseless.  Do I think the current regulators in Seattle and King County would suddenly resign their high paying positions and relinquish their authority and jobs to folks like me who could, if allowed repair the damage done to the industry?  As I always end when I pose this kind of question, we all know the answer.

And two "can't miss"  Priestley plays you should read or see performed:  "An Inspector Calls" and "Johnson Over Jordan." 

A Taxi Poem

The impetus, inspiration for this poem comes from another cabbie writer, Sean Singer, who plied the NYC streets for 6 years.  His book of taxi poems is "Today in the Taxi" published by Tupelo Press in 2022.  All of the poems begin with "Today in the taxi" which I found interesting, making the very personal experience that is cab driving somewhat impersonal, which it can never be, you the urban cabbie dealing with every situation and hazard known to the human species.  Hence, the poem now on this page.  I recommend Sean's book. It sells for $19.95.  Tupelo's telephone number is 413-664-9611 and their email address is contact@tupelopress.org.  

Not A, or The but My Taxi

It must be, and no other manner or way

should it have been when driving a cab 

it being my cab whether a later shift

or my medallion it was me and my cab searching

the taxi streets, a modern centaur one

body one mind bonded in purpose transporting

every possible imaginable passenger dreadful

or kind down busy highways and darkened 3 AM

in the morning streets it was me and my taxi

no other than we in partnership making that

big money, each day and night getting home

safely to a warm bed either alone or together, it

was always us me and my taxi. 

 _____________________________

My original version does not have the spacing between sentences but either way I find it captures in short form the experience of driving a cab.   Is this only my second taxi-themed poem ever?  It might be.  For me, I stayed too long in the business, instead of getting my necessary paper allowing me to set up shop as a clinical psychologist.  Not only would I have made more money though my usual average over the years was $40.00 per hour, but as I have said repeatedly, there is only so much accomplishment in getting passengers efficiently from point A to B.  I was good at it but better if I had helped folks unravel the knot of serious emotional trauma.  From my first professional psych job back in 1974, I found, for whatever reason, that I had the ability to speak to and reach the very chronically mentally ill.  Of course that skill matched the requirement of taxi, where the human condition in all of its forms stepped into the back seat, the cabbie's version of the psychiatric couch. 

Regrets?  When one is aging, yes, certain decisions can come back to haunt.  I still have time to recoup what I lost but certainly wished I hadn't backed myself into this corner.  Some will say, and have said, that I was one of the greatest cabbies to ever work beneath the taxi toplight in Seattle or perhaps anywhere.  

The problem with that honor tough is simply financial.  In America these days, if you are the GOAT in any area, you are making millions of dollars.  Instead, a taxi "GOAT" is regarded little more than an farmyard animal, an actual goat munching grass or straw in the pasture.  That's the issue.  That's the problem.  

As I mentioned earlier my friend Stacy Anderson, who I nominated and crowned as the TAXI KING, was one of the best at what he did in any taxi city or country. What was Stacy's ruling empire?  I am sorry to say nothing but a very large dunghill that smelled to high heaven. So it was and so it is, that's the sad story concerning this taxi biz.  Gee whiz!

Only Once a Month at Best

This blog is winding down, soon there will only silence, no motor sound, no more speaking and writing about that NW Seattle town.  To other tasks I am bound.  And besides, life is a circus and why be bored reading the ravings of a aging taxi clown? who no longer smiles, displaying a perpetual frown. 

New Year's 2025 Taxi Comments: Big Taxi Lunkhead Hits the "Pickled Pepper Big Time"

Happy New Year!  Pour the Local Beer!

Yes, it's the new year but what does it mean for Seattle and USA taxi?  Is taxi a mere after thought, faded to disappear like the carrier pigeon, extinct and forgotten?   Probably not, at least not in the bigger cities, though taxi much diminished but surviving.  The real serious issue facing taxicab in 2025 are much higher insurance rates.  State of Washington insurance rates for every kind of of insurance increased on average by almost 23 %.  My last annual taxi insurance was more or less $5000.00.  If I was still driving, I would be looking at about a $1,200,00 increase.  In terms of taxi hours, that translates into 40 hours averaging $30.00 per hour; or 30 hours averaging $40.00 per hour.  I use these figures as they were my usual take, depending on the day and business climate.  As any honest cabbie will tell you, regardless of how much money they are making, good or bad, the grind, the wear and tear on the body catches up to you, which means higher insurance is a further economic burden.  If insurance costs weren't so dire, I would consider starting a taxi company here in SW New Mexico, because one is needed but I would be paying the same rates as if I were owning cabs in Seattle or Chicago or New York.  That isn't logical but does Progressive care? Of course not. 

When You Are Not A Great Cabbie, You're In A Pickle, And for Howard Lev, That Was His Solution

Back in the early 1990s, I knew I a big lunkhead of a cabbie, Howard Lev.  He was the typical case example of the dopy, alienated white American male attracted to America's Grand Marginal Industry, cab driving.  But Howard, braggart Howard had a plan that was much smarter than Bigheaded Cabbies like me.  He had a recipe for pickling Hungarian peppers and, wouldn't you know it, his "Mama Lil's Peppers" have overtaken the condiment world.  They are on grocery shelves everywhere.  In the Dec 12th, 2024 issue of the Seattle Times' Pacific magazine, there was the goofy Howard happy as a pickled pepper.  Good for him.  And call me a Big Sour Cucumber Pickle, jealous as a spicy pepper in a jar, looking on enviously from afar. 

The Great Ford Crown Victoria 

Taxi buddy Bill sent me link about a NYC Yellow Cab Crown Vic retired at 575,000 miles.  The video showed that the car was in incredible shape.  My last Crown Vic, starting at 103,000 miles, brought me up to over 450,000 miles before I retired it and sold it to a neighbor.  I assume it is still running.  It was burning a bit of oil on the original engine but still, on the highway I was still getting 20 miles per gallon.

Gasoline Prices for the New Year

Anyone in Seattle won't believe it but 2 days ago I filled up for $2.39 per gallon.  Recently, the national average was just under $3.00.  Despite GOP rhetoric, during Biden's last year in office, America's oil industry produced and sold more oil than ever before.  Don't believe me?  Look it up.  

I Never Liked MV

MV took over the billing of King County's Metro account, which once was an incredible money producing account but MV destroyed it.  In my last taxi months, I dropped it.  And now recently, they have been months behind in paying accounts served.  But the real culprit is KC Executive Dow Constantine, the great LIberal-I-Love-Everyone as long as everyone thinks I do.  Where do these people come from? Ron Sims, Mr. Constantine?  Heaven help the hard working cabbie!

New Year's Day First Ride Over the Mountains

A goal of every Seattle cabbie was to get that long ride east over the Cascades.  Driving Farwest Taxi, my first one came on Jan 1st, 1989, taking a BN train crew over to Wenatchee, WA.  Good fare.  Over $200.00.  I got caught in a blizzard coming back.  Best part was the story the crew told about their last cabbie.  He was such a bad driver they put him in the back seat and drove the cab themselves to Wenatchee.  That was funny.

The Passing of a Once Chicago Cabbie

Most probably don't know but my friend Marty (Martin Crafts Campbell), who died this morning at 5:33 AM in Las Cruces, NM, at age 78, drove cab for a few months way back when in Chicago, something like 1968.  He had a gun pulled on him.  Rough place to drive a cab, Chicago.  RIP Marty beneath that Toplight in the Sky.