THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 27, 1996 TAG: 9610240037
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K3 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: REAL PLACES
SOURCE: BY ANGELITA PLEMMER, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: 121 lines
TALL STREET LIGHTS barely illuminate the cool morning darkness on Norfolk's Monticello Avenue, where a tattered, bearded man waits patiently on the corner.
As Cliff Hayes brakes to a squealing stop, his first passenger of the day boards, clinking his coins into the fare box slot and shuffling to a seat in the middle of the bus. Seconds later, his breathing labored and eyes closed, he's asleep.
It's 4:43 a.m. The No. 1 bus to Granby Street, Ocean View, the Amphibious Base and Pembroke Mall has miles to travel and fares to keep.
For five years, Hayes has maneuvered his TRT bus along tree-lined Granby Street, rumbling past dingy diners and cheap motels in Ocean View, and rolling along suburban Shore Drive in Virginia Beach to Pembroke Mall before returning to downtown Norfolk.
More than 400 people climb aboard each day. Deli clerks, car washers, the mentally impaired, gardeners, waitresses, fast-food workers, students, retirees. Not many lawyers or stockbrokers ride the No. 1.
Most of the fares are regulars like Terry Germick. Germick's been riding the No. 1 for the last year and a half. He gets up at 3:30 a.m. to catch his first bus at 5:37 at the Oceanfront and transfers to Hayes' bus at Pembroke Mall.
``How about them (Kansas City) Chiefs?'' says the 32-year-old Germick, who has to be at his job as a lawn care worker by 7 a.m.
Hayes knows him by his first name. Nobody on buses has a last name. It's a subculture of familiar faces and instant friendships. Above the constant vibrations and grumbling of the bus' engine and the endless stop-and-go, riders trade discussions on football, baseball, politics, parenting, children, and trendy hair-dos.
At the center of it all is the 53-year-old Hayes, who serves as driver and psychiatrist.
``People generally like bus drivers - even bad people,'' says Hayes, who's been married 32 years and has two grown sons with master's degrees. ``They'll sit down and tell you everything.''
It's 9:45 and Hayes is on his second run, heading out to Ocean View. The No. 1 is one of about 50 bus routes that crisscross Hampton Roads with more than 20,000 riders a day. The morning rush is over, but the smells of morning riders - stale cigarettes, early morning coffee, cheap perfume, mothballs, packed lunches, starched uniforms, dirty boots, beer and a hint of body odor - still linger.
Jim Tatum, a worker at the Union Mission, boards the bus.
``I get an early start,'' says Tatum, who's been working since 4 a.m. ``I take a break at around this same time. I go get something to eat and get away,'' he says.
``You see the same people here all of the time. You'll find some people who are a few screwballs loose - but Cliff knows how to get along with them.''
Even the rabid sports fans. Sports is always a hot topic.
``I think the Yankees are gonna take it,'' says Hayes, skillfully leaning an ear for Tatum's response while guiding the bus.
``I don't think so,'' says Cheryl Kelly, a deli clerk on her way to work at Farm Fresh at Wards Corner. ``Darryl Strawberry, you know how he's going to play. You know he's going to wrap that little toe up and keep on playing.''
It's about 10:30 a.m. when a short, heavy woman wearing a Wendy's uniform boards the bus at the Little Creek Naval Amphibious Base.
``Hey! How you doin'?'' she says when she sees a familiar face on the bus.
She takes a seat behind the tall, middle-aged man wearing jeans and tennis shoes.
``I haven't seen you in a while,'' he begins. ``Where have you been?''
``I'm still working,'' she says, pointing to her Wendy's cap. ``I'm trying to take care of my kids.''
``But I'm taking my ex-husband to court,'' she says. ``He's in the Navy, and he makes enough to support two families.
``I finally realized, why should I have to struggle so much?''
``That's right,'' the middle-aged man agrees. ``Why should you have to suffer? You don't deserve that. You need to get yours.''
``Well, I'm going to get mine and then some of his, too,'' she says, smiling.
``All right now, I'll see you later,'' she says, and they hug one another quickly as she gets to her stop. ``Take care of yourself.''
``You, too,'' he adds.
A short, older man with a khaki-colored jacket steps gingerly off the bus.
``He and his wife rode the bus together for 27 years,'' Hayes says, watching the man walk across Duffy's Lane near a demolished McDonald's in Ocean View.
``They were a nice couple. But his wife died about two or three weeks ago. He took it real hard. . . . Sometimes, people just want you to listen to them.''
But there are times when Hayes has to do the talking.
Like the time a young man boarded his bus, carrying a gun in his pants.
``He was really upset,'' Hayes says. The man had discovered his wife was cheating on him.
``He said he was going to kill the guy,'' Hayes says. ``I tried to talk him out of it. I told him, `Hey, man, it's not worth it.'''
Long time no see, buddy,'' an older gentleman says to Hayes as he plops down beside another man he recognizes. It's a quarter past noon.
The odor of beer surrounds him. His talk is loud, but friendly.
``What's been going on? Seen Jack lately?'' he asks.
``Nope, ain't been around much,'' his friend chuckles.
A few seconds of silence.
``Seen Joe lately?''
``Nope, ain't seen him around either.''
Back and forth, their banter continues until their stop comes up.
``See ya later,'' the first man remarks to Hayes as he steps heavily off the bus.
As Hayes waits for new riders, his shift nearing the end, the first gentleman returns and peeks through the bus door.
Giving Hayes a quick smile, he mumbles something incoherent and throws up two fingers in the peace sign.
Hayes waves goodbye.
``He doesn't feel any pain today . . . no sir . . . none at all.
``I make sure he's sitting down before I pull off because he might wind up on the floor.''
As Hayes pulls up to his final stop back on Monticello Avenue, it's nearly 1 p.m. He's a little behind schedule. Waiting for new, inexperienced drivers and dawdling passengers has cost him precious minutes.
Leaving the motor running, Hayes disembarks, handing over his cargo to another driver as passengers watch him disappear into busy street traffic.
``To drive a bus, you have to have a real good personality,'' Hayes says, ``because the job will drive you up a wall if you let it.'' ILLUSTRATION: Photo
Passenger Terry Germick talks football with TRT bus driver Cliff
Hayes, who has worked the morning shift on bus No. 1 for five years. by CNB