195. HELP ME!
Vince Murphy was a local
Elmira TV personality; the
broadcast weatherman actually.
Each night. His day job was
as the bus driver for the
Elmira-Binghamton bus
run. Maybe two trips,
back and forth a day,
something like 80 miles
each way. He was a goof,
mispronouncing words all
the time. But he was fun to
watch because he was so
unshcooled - a map and a
pointer and a big bunch of
stupid weather stuff to try
and say. He never got
through it correctly, ever.
After the big Hurricane Agnes
storm, in June '72, he was
suspended for going on the
air talking abut how, in the
clouds, during the storm, he
saw - I guess while driving
the bus - Jesus in the clouds,
and he knew everything would
turn out OK, eventually. He
sort of gave a homily of this
nature on the TV-weather cast,
and then was suspended and,
I think, lost the job. The TV
job, not the bus driving It was
easy, the drive, - in a
straight line, on Route 17,
called now, 35 years later,
the Southern Tier Expressway.
I hate when they do that.
It's Rt.17.
-
The Elmira Bus Station was
one of my favorite things. I'd
see Vince there at 7:30 most
mornings, boarding up his
bus for a 7:55 takeoff; something
like that. He wore a cool blue
driver's uniform, with a little
cap and all. Had a little cigar
going, usually. He looked like
anybody's Uncle Vince, all
rough and without polish. I'd
get there about 7:30, and there
wasn't much else open - there
was a Dunkin Donuts down by
the hospital about 8 blocks
away, but I never liked it. The
bus station coffee was some
terrible stuff, but it was like
27 cents, in a gross Styrofoam
cup. The white room always
had three or four castaways
in it, a real dump. Folding chairs,
some ancient magazines, and
some bus company propaganda
sheets and travel mags too.
A little later they got this bank
of six or so plastic, connected
seats - real junk - and the
arm on each one had a TV
built into it, small but a TV.
You got like a half-hour for
a quarter, I think it was. Of
course, any of the lunatic
town bums with a quarter
would monopolize, sitting
there forever and taking up
these seats 3 or 4 at a time,
watching TV, watching
stupid morning shows
and stuff like it was
Educational TV. Man,
what a crummy life -
paper bags, old sandwiches,
horrible coffees and
cigarettes, the same crap
each morning until
the rest of the town
started opening up.
Then they'd hit the
streets like a posse,
bums on the move
- to the wienie stands,
Texas Red Hots, M&M
Red Hots, (Elmira had
a bunch of chili and
soup places for whatever
reason). Then to the
newsstands and even
the porno store. It let
them hang around out
front. Bank plazas, all
that. The bus station was
grubby, which is why I
liked it - no pretension,
just tension. Across the
street, from the old days,
was this monstrous, and
incongruous granite post
office, nearly a block long.
(It's still there now, for
rent - with maybe one
or two law offices in the
lower rooms on one end.
For Chemung County
business. The Post Office,
much smaller, has a new
building by the re-built
bus-terminal, as now called.
Back when that older post
office was built they really
took grandiosity to another
level, plus they were real
serious about their 'Federal'
buildings and postal service
things. Across the street,
by comparison, this bus
station looked like a
grease-pit car shack with
some people huddling
around. Especially in the
Winter - which it almost
always was, in Elmira.
Vince Murphy had it
easy, really all he had
to say for nine months
of the year was 'Incoming
darkness and chance of
snow' and he'd have it
all correct. Forget that
Jesus in the Cumulus clouds
business. I never minded
the guy bums, a nod and
a shuffle. You knew they
were beat, already shot to
hell. Once or twice though,
there'd be a girl, or a female
bum. That always hurt. I'm
a soft-touch for others in
need anyway, always wanting
people to be right, feel good. I
take up their causes, and really
feel for those I meet. The girl
bums bothered me - always
dirty, with stained pants, old
shirts. It was a little about sex,
and I knew it, but it was a
sad scene for me nonetheless.
Girls are wonderful creatures,
gracious things, with plenty of
special features and feelings. It
would hurt me to think about
them, (I'm going to say it all,
so go away for a minute if
not cool), blood-stained
clothing, pants, having to
worry about that, bras and
stuff - the kinds of things
that women usually get all
dainty about, these girls couldn't.
Their faces were early-haggard,
sad and scared. Their hair was
horrid, teeth, eyes. Boy it hurt,
constantly felt for them. They
should be at home, where they'd
come from and where, hopefully,
someone could give them love
and care. But, that's the way it
was. They'd hang around there,
some of them just as coarse as
any of the guys. I hated that.
And then, people came and
went, small-time travelers
with bags and a case. Cheap
suits. You could tell they
were definitely like 4th-class
travelers - like me when I'd
take the NYC bus. Off-the-cuff
riders, on a dare.
-
Elmira, you see, kind of
had nothing. All the industry
was, mostly anyway, gone.
What was hanging on -
Hilliard Co., Kennedy
Valve, American LaFrance,
were already troubled
businesses. If you weren't
set up right in little, old
Elmira, there was nothing
but farms around it, and if
you'd been bounced from
any farm-family connection
or inheritance - often by
an older brother or two, a
family problem, whatever
- you could easily end
up here, a vagrant, lost,
in the Elmira bus station,
just waiting for a break.
Back then there wasn't that
kind of social-net as exists
now, with assistance and
money and shelters. You
just took out, and made
friends quickly, with
the dirt. I saw it near
every morning.
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