School Bus Drama

I have a hate relationship with the big yellow machines. It seems they are designed to get me in trouble. That is what I chose to believe. My bad relationship started and ended at Albany Grade School, although I secretly retained the certification to drive bus well after I became a principal.

It all started over basketball. Albany Grade School served the junior high (grades 5-8) students from two buildings (Albany and Garden Plain), both which had a gym. We had two levels of basketball, so to allow both levels to practice after school, the coach for one of the teams had to drive the students to the other gym. Coaching the younger students meant I had to drive bus.

My first basketball team 1973-74

I never wanted to be a bus driver. Even though we could have used the extra money, I did not want to turn my back on students and be responsible for their safety. Because I had driven vehicles on the farm from an early age I could handle the big machine, but I feared the prospect of young children, narrow farm roads and driveways.

When I agreed to coach, I took the bus driver training with the provision I would not have to drive a route. My only driving would be my basketball team. I would be an emergency backup route driver only if no driver was available. I told my principal that was what I was willing to do. Since my buddy and fellow coach, Gerry, was already a backup driver, and we only had two busses, I felt bus route driving was a distant possibly.

From the very beginning, the bus problems began. My very first practice was scheduled for the day of parent conferences. My bus was the spare bus. It was the oldest, poorest maintained of the fleet. It was parked facing the building to shelter it from wind and allow the block heater to be plugged in. This meant backing away from the building with a bus full of basketball players.

The day of parent conferences the parking lot was packed. Practice would begin later, well after dark. One of the parents’ cars parked directly behind the bus. With the poor lighting, I couldn’t see the car in the mirrors. Yep, I hit it.

Since I wasn’t on a road, I didn’t call the police. I got the parent from the building, got her information, and proceeded to practice, totally embarrassed. My players could tell I was upset, and one of them started a cheer to let me know they supported me. It was a nice gesture, but I had really screwed up. By the way, the parent was the wife of the editor of the local newspaper, but I don’t think the story made the paper.

A few days later, the business manager called my principal demanding to know what happened. The business manager was never my favorite person. I saw him as humorless and a constant critic who squeezed every nickel. He had an insurance claim, but no police report. He was all over me for failure to report the accident. He claimed I was in trouble for leaving the scene of an accident. Fortunately I never got in legal trouble or got a ticket. However it was, School Bus 1, Rick 0.

Bad Relationship #2 and #3

The next few bus issues were all related to basketball trips. Although I did not want to drive, Gerry insisted that I share the drive to and from games with him. We were paid for this, and I think he knew I needed the money. Since it wasn’t a bus route and it was with the players we coached,  I agreed to drive home after the games.

One game was in Thomson which was about 15 miles north of Albany. The game was right after school, rather than the evening start of most of our games. This meant it was after sunset, but still partially daylight when the last game ended.

With the teams all loaded, I started out of town. Before we reached the end of town, a police car pulled behind us and turned on his lights. I pulled over and stopped. He came to the door, and I figured I was in trouble with about 40 young witnesses.

The officer explained I had failed to turn on the running lights. I didn’t get a ticket or even a written warning, but it was still School Bus 2, Rick 0.

In the 70’s, the 55 mph speed limit was imposed by the government to try and save oil after the big embargo. On a Friday night trip to Clystic, I had to drive to the game while Gerry figured out how to get there. It was a long way in the country and all the driving was after dark.

The following Monday, I was called to the principal’s office. The business manager was on the phone, complaining that he had followed our bus on Friday. He said we were driving 70 mph in violation of the law and risking the safety of the students.

I was angry that he would make such statements and said I would not risk the safety of the students. He said he was driving a new Cadillac and that the speedometer had to be accurate and I was wrong. I could only claim innocence. It was only later that I found the bus had a speed governor on it and it couldn’t go over 55. So his speedometer was wrong, but it was still School Bus 3, Rick 0.

Last Straw published next week.