Jim’s Taxicab Stories

In 1979 I decided to go back to school and enrolled in Lehman College. I used the GI bill, which more than covered the tuition. I got a part-time job as a taxicab driver in Manhattan to make some money. I did it for about a year.

When you start driving a cab you know nothing about where to go and the best routes. You must learn, and, in the beginning, you must ask the riders. It is a frustrating learning experience. It takes a few weeks, and then you will know most of Manhattan. The Wall Street area and anything below 14th Street are a little more difficult as the streets don’t follow a pattern.

Two things I learned not to do like other cabbies were, waiting in line at the airport and having a meal at a Taxi Driver’s diner. The idea is to make money, and these were time-wasting activities. I did each once or twice. Waiting in line is too time-consuming, better to take Queens Blvd. and hope to pick up a fare to Manhattan. The drivers at the Taxi diners would spend 2 or more hours bullshitting. The cabbies were funny and interesting and had a million stories. I had no time for that though, it was time to make money. My supervisor let me pick up the cab at 1 p.m. on Friday and keep it until Sunday afternoon. I pretty much went straight through about 48 hours with just a little rest here and there. Do you know what? I made more than all the full-timers who worked all week. I was dumb, brave, or both. I did not put down the window shield and would take anyone anywhere and anytime. Hookers going to Harlem, no problem, black men in Harlem, no problem, Spanish Harlem, Ave A to D no problem, I will pick you up and take you to your destination, no matter race, color, or creed. With this attitude, I learned my tip income was through the roof. When I came back on Sunday my supervisor was always happy to see me as most times, I was the top earner. One early Saturday evening in mid-town I picked up a gentleman from Argentina, and he only spoke Spanish. So, he gets in and gives directions in Spanish. I don’t understand and we go for about 5 minutes with both of us talking and neither understanding. It was comical but frustrating. No Google translation at this time, as a matter of fact, no cell phones. We are both frustrated at this point, finally, he blurts out really loud “Homosexual”.  I understand I tell him!! You want Christopher Street in the village, he looks at me with a blank stare and nods yes. So, I take him to Christopher Street, and he likes what he sees, and gives me a big smile and a huge tip. Christopher Street in the 70s and 80s was the place for gay men to meet, with tons of clubs and activities. He stepped out of my cab strutting down the street looking for a hookup. A few months into this, I am getting really good at it. I know most of Manhattan and have some understanding of the downtown area. I love going to work, helping people, and most of the time having a full conversation with the riders. Manhattan has so many activities, it was fascinating to be part of the action. At night, it was Disco time, with many of my riders going to clubs like Studio 54. The Ramrod was a gay nightclub in the west village. On a warm night, outside of the club, there would be well over 200 men in leather dressed like the village people. Sex and drugs are everywhere, with hookups happening right in front of your face.  Most cabbies would stay away from the Ramrod, for me, it was tip heaven. From about 2 a.m. to 5 a.m., you could pick up riders anytime, they were drunk, Horney, and about to have sex with the stranger they picked up so tips were huge. Often the make-out sessions in the back of my cab were too much to handle. I laughed most of the time. Once a knockdown drunk guy was going home alone and started flirting with me. He says, “I did a lot of sucking tonight”. I say that is good. He then says, ” I could use one more”, I say sorry I am straight. He goes “Wool, those are the best type. LOL, I laughed with him and told him it was not going to happen. I dropped him off, and big tip again. A little history on the Ramrod: The June 1969 rebellion by patrons of the Stonewall bar against police harassment helped to launch a renewed and more activist national gay rights movement. It also helped make Christopher Street the social and cultural center of New York’s LGBT community. By the early 1970s, the western end of Christopher Street and the adjacent blocks along West and Weehawken Streets, long established with seamen-oriented waterfront taverns, became a nucleus for bars catering to a gay male clientele. One of New York’s most popular leather bars was the Ramrod, which operated here from around 1973 to 1980. It was the site of one of Greenwich Village’s most notoriously homophobic crimes, when, on November 19, 1980, a former transit officer fired into the bar, killing two men and wounding six others. The Ramrod on the Hudson River waterfront was one of New York’s most popular leather bars in the 1970s. It was the site of one of Greenwich Village’s most notoriously homophobic crimes in 1980. On a Friday evening, I get a woman and her business partner that want to go to the East Village. I heard them talking about the ad in the NY Times about their business just opening. They are all excited and I am happy for them. Everything is good and they start chatting with me. Then suddenly, she yells, “ You are taking me the wrong way to run up the meter, I know what you guys do”. This was the first time I got this. But I was going in a straight line to the location. She says it is back the other way. I start getting a little annoyed by the constant accusation that I am cheating on her. So, I tell her, your location is five minutes straight ahead, if you don’t want to pay the fare, you don’t have to. It shut her up for a few minutes, but she starts up again. At this point, I am 2 blocks away, so I keep quiet. You should have seen the look on her face when I said she was at her location. She was stunned, I think she would rather me have been running up the fare, rather than being at her location in the quickest time possible. She looked confused but paid the fare, with no tip. Then she realizes and gives me a small tip. I could not resist saying “Lady you need the tip more than me”, and gave it back. LOL it was fun to say, she stormed out of my cab. Often, I would motivate myself to drive longer. I would justify it by saying if I do one or two more fares and I will get myself a really good meal with the money. One Sunday morning around 5 a.m. I take a fare to Ave. D as my last fare of the night. Now Ave. D in the 1970s and 80s was a very dangerous place. I drove to this guy’s apartment building, and he says I have $5.00 but will go up to my apartment to get you the rest and your tip. Now he was a dirty-looking guy, high on drugs. I thought about walking up this his apartment with him. I had not gotten beat on a fare and did not want to start. Fortunately, I decided to just take the $5.00 and wait a few minutes. The stoned guy stumbles up to his apartment, I know for sure he is not coming down. Damm, my first and only beat fare. I carried an icepick for protection and was so tempted to go fight for the rest of the money. With it being my last fare of the night and weekend, I did make the best decision and drove back to the Cab company in Chelsea. My supervisor knew I did not look happy and asked me what was wrong. I told him about getting beat, and he laughed a little bit. He told me it was common, and that I should not let it get to me. Lesson learned. The next week, I picked up an African American hooker around 11th Ave. She looked stunned when I picked her up. Getting beat out of the fare did not change my approach. Pick up everyone, no matter what, and get the big tips. She starts talking to me immediately and says, “ Most cabbies won’t pick me up, you are ok for a white guy”. She then pulls out a switchblade and is doing something with her bag. She looks at me and says, “You are not afraid of this are you?” I tell her she is the coolest passenger I have ever driven. We had the greatest conversation the whole ride up to an apartment building on 123rd street in Harlem. I don’t think she wanted the conversation to end. She gave me a $50 tip, which was huge!!! I always liked it when driving someone most people would pass up turned into a win-win situation. She even gave me a hug goodbye. One Friday in the early afternoon, I picked up this guy who looked like a stereotypical mafia thug. He has a leather jacket, jeans, slicked-back hair, the whole part. He gets in my cab and says “I just got out of prison, I need to go to a loan shark, get some money, get a hooker, and get laid. He asked me if I could spend the time driving him doing this and he would take good care of me. To me, this was exciting, so I said yes. We drive somewhere on the lower east side and he finds a loan shark for money. I wait for 30 minutes or so with the meter running. The whole time a guy was watching me carefully from the Loan Shark’s storefront. He comes back in all excited, it has been years since I got laid can you drive where the hookers are? Sure, I tell him. “I will take good care of you buddy”, he says. All right; this is fun, not ordinary. So, we are laughing and talking as I drive over to the west side to get him a hooker. I drive over there, and he looks around like a kid in the candy store. Finally, he picks an African American hooker, and she gets in the cab. I could see she was a little bit of a nasty woman. We were all kind of laughing in the car, and then she said I am taking the wrong way to run the meter up. Now, you know I don’t like this at all. I stay quiet. She keeps it up, and now the macho mafia guy starts chiming in about me going the wrong way. Now my father and my brothers and I do have a temper. Mine rarely goes off, but I feel myself getting angry. I spent hours with this guy and could have done more fares driving than waiting for him. I am reaching my boiling point. The hooker and the mafia guy just out of prison keep up hassling me. All right; it was time for me to blow. On 34th street somewhere around 6th Ave. I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could, bringing the cab to an abrupt halt. The hooker and mafia guy go slamming into the middle divider. I get out of the cab and scream “All right you mafia asshole, let’s see how tough you are.” I was crazy and wanted to fight him to the death right there and then. As I have learned throughout my life, most bullies back down when you confront them. The mafia guy was scared, LOL. He says sorry man, I am just crazy about getting laid, drive us to the hotel, and I will take care of you, all is good. The hooker just shut her mouth and was quiet. I look around and everyone is watching us. So, I decided to just drive them to the hotel. At the hotel, I heard the hooker whispering, “Don’t give him a tip. “The mafia guy was back to being cool, he gave me a great tip and we parted ways. In 1979 the club scene was crazy, even in lower Manhattan. One Saturday night around 1 a.m. I have two young couples in my cab looking to go to a niche club a block from the Holland Tunnel. The girls were really cute, and they were ready to dance and party. As I pull up to let them out at this club a guy runs up and grabs one of the girl’s purses and runs away. Now, you would think these girls would ask their dates to do something, but you would be wrong. These two guys were scared, I saw it and knew they were doing nothing. The girls must have known this as they emphatically asked me, “Go do something, he stole my purse”. So, what was I to do? It just looked like some kind of setup to me, all sorts of thoughts going through my mind. The girls and even the guy dates are hysterical asking me to do something. Finally, I say, screw it and said I would go get her purse back. The thief was now about a block away by the dividers of the Holland Tunnel. I got them out of the cab, floored it, and could see the thief. I was 6ft, 200 pounds and in good shape, so off running for him I went. I jumped over the divider and tackled him like I was playing football. I tackled him so hard that his whole face was scraped and bleeding. He was taller but skinnier than me. What I did not realize is that he was a junkie all high on drugs. He had no idea I was behind him tackling him. He stayed on the ground mumbling. As I saw his face bleeding from the ground scraping, I felt sorry for him. This is no way to lead a life, I thought to myself. At this point, a port authority cop comes up and thanks me, puts cuffs on the guy. Putting cuffs on him was easy for the cop as he was still on the ground moaning about the take-down. After a little while the cop says, thanks so much for what you have done, I can go, and is there anything he can do for me? I think for a second, hey, those two girls with the chicken dates did not pay me the fare. Screw that, I had to fight for her purse at least she can do is pay the fare. He said sure, called them over, and told them to pay the fare. The girl was just complaining about all the stuff she could have lost if her purse had not found. Do you know she paid the fare but left me a zero tip? LOL, I was pissed as I thought I earned an extra tip. The cop was pissed and said he would get her to tip me. I said let it go, it is a story  I watched a lot of the 1980 Olympics and loved following our hockey team. On Friday, Feb 22, 1980, the USA played Russia in the semi-final game. No one gave the USA team a shot to win. I got to work early to pick up some fares because I was going to find a bar and watch the whole game. I believe the game was in the early evening and I got myself a seat at the Blarney Stone by the garden to watch the historic game. The game was thrilling! The whole bar, including myself, was shouting USA the whole game. When we won, the bar was electric, and no one wanted to leave. This is one of my greatest memories. Team USA would win gold against Finland a few days later, but the real game was against Russia. This was one of the few times it was hard to get motivated to drive the cab. I was so excited by the USA upset over Russian it was hard to focus on anything else. About a month or so after the USA won the gold medal, someone going too fast rammed into the back of my cab in the Chelsea area. My neck and back got hurt a little bit from the accident and I had to stop driving the cab for a while. I could never get back the motivation to drive a taxi again but sure did enjoy the entire experience.