Published: October 30, 2009 05:28 pm      

Cantankerous bus at the motor pool generates timeworn expression

West Virginia University invested a lot of resources into the Personal Rapid Transit system that connected the downtown campus, where the historic Woodburn Circle and old Mountaineer Field gave a classy, mid-19th century look to the school, to the Evansdale Campus with modern appearing Creative Arts Center and Towers Dormitories. However, the back-up buses that carried the overflow, or were pressed into service when the PRT went down, were not state-of-the-art.

In order to deal with using antiquated machinery, WVU had a great crew of mechanics at the motor pool. They could take the most challenging projects and transform them into safe, functional vehicles. For two years — from mid-August of 1977 to mid-summer of 1979 — I was one of 10 campus bus drivers who depended on the mechanics to keep the fleet of buses going. I really loved the concept of working out of a motor pool.

The kid I replaced injured his wrist in a freak radio-installation accident. To make a long story short, it can be dangerous if you cross the positive poles on a 24-volt electrical system in a bus while you’re wearing a wristwatch. I didn’t think radios were such a big deal anyway. With the bus engines running, we couldn’t hear anything. Most of the buses had rear-mounted engines, but the shake, rattle and roar of windows, metal and motors respectively all combined to make the driver’s seat a decibel-rich environment.

When the PRT was down — and it was down frequently in the winter — the students were usually happy to see a campus bus pull up. The mechanics at the motor pool arrived at work early every morning and did all they could to make the buses operational and safe. Most of the mechanics were older guys who knew the old ways of repairing vehicles. They melted lead with hot irons to do body work, and forged metal plates to replace broken springs.

We parked the buses behind the motor pool most of the time unless they needed some work. When it was cold, like zero cold, the bus drivers usually tried to leave spaces in the garage for the use of the first guys out. It would probably be the only time a driver would be warm all day long. When we got a new bus, the driver using it would always park outside. All of us had pride in seniority.

At some point during my brief bus-driving career, WVU purchased a fleet of buses from another city. The buses were gray when we got them, and the mechanics in the motor pool were eager to paint them with the distinctive blue and gold paint that adorned all of the campus buses. I don’t know how many there were in the newly acquired fleet, perhaps six or eight, but they were different from the rest of the buses we drove.

The big city buses had real fabric seats for passengers, and had a solid city bus feel. We had driven around in old Blue Birds for so long, that I was looking forward to taking one of these big old city buses on its paces through Morgantown. Driving a school bus after spending five years as an over-the-road truck driver was kind of a driving let-down. One of those big old heavy city buses looked like a new challenge to me.

I wasn’t at the motor pool when the city buses arrived, but I knew the mechanics had been working hard to get them road worthy.

It was actually kind of exciting. We were going to take a major leap forward in terms of comfort for us and our passengers. There wasn’t a ceremony when the mechanics were ready for the buses to come on line, but “Suds” Powell, our transportation director and Don Brock, the head bus driver, were in the motor pool when one of the mechanics fired the first of the “new” buses up.

The city buses had an air-ride suspension system that was fed by a compressor in the engine compartment. When the engine was shut off, the bus frame rested on the shop floor. However, after the compressor filled the air system, each of the rubber boots on the axles started filling with air. I watched as the bus started to raise up similar to the way a camel stands up. Me and all the other people there looked at it like it was a UFO.

About that time, another mechanic started the next city bus on the line. The air lines hissed and moaned, and the compressor belched out smoke. The general commotion prompted all of us to take a step away from the bus as though it might explode at any moment. Finally, after a few minutes of watching the bus rattle and shake while the compressor labored to fill the rubber suspension boots, one of the mechanics shouted: “You might as well shut her down, fellows. I don’t think we’re gonna get this one off the ground.”

Needless to say, the expression: “I don’t think we’re gonna get this one off the ground,” lingered among bus driver circles for as long as I worked for WVU. I never saw the city buses again. They vanished, much like they arrived. But the expression grew legs and still makes me laugh when I think about those days. Nowadays when I say: “I don’t think we’ll get her off the ground,” when I work on cantankerous machinery, I get a funny look. Back then, everyone knew what it meant.

Bill Archer is a Daily Telegraph senior editor. Contact him at barcher@bdtonline.com.