This story may seem a bit pointless . . . especially on Christmas Eve because it has nothing in it that even remotely pays homage to Jesus or Bethlehem or anything about Christmas.  That will come tomorrow on Christmas Day, but what this story will do is reflect on a few of the people I got to know in my six months on the streets of Fort Worth.  To say they were characters would be an understatement.  To say they had character might be stretching it in one situation, but in others I would say they had character as well.  One of them I am still in touch with today and is the reason I will be writing tomorrow's story because they were the first person I related it to when it happened 29 years ago.  They asked me to tell it in this blog for my Christmas story and tomorrow I will tell you which one it is.

#77 Ray

Perhaps the most colorful character I ever met in my life was Ray, the owner/operator of cab #77.  When I had a race team a few years down the road I numbered my race car after his taxi.    Ray wasn't actually a friend, but just an acquaintance, but you were constantly aware of his presence and he had figured out a way to make the taxi business work for him like nobody in the history of the hack business and he made a ton of money doing it.  His chrome yellow Checker cab was dripping with chrome and sported SS Craigar Super Sport magnesium wheels.  The windows were so darkly tinted passengers that did not know him feared to get in the taxi with him, but that was fine with Ray because he seldom had a fare.  All of his fares were personal pickups that came from the radio.  All day long it was one personal pick up after another.  He didn't need to pickup strangers. 

It took me over a month to finally catch on to what he had put together and it was brilliant. Very illegal, but brilliant. He was working the system instead of the system working him.  When he got a dispatch for a personal pickup at an address he had a cross reference of that address to another location that only he knew and it wasn't a pick up, it was a delivery.  He was using the Fort Worth taxi system to dispatch him to deliver weed to his customers and nobody suspected anything.

The cab company could care less what he was doing as long as they got their daily money and he had an enterprise even Cheech and Chong would have envied.  Every now and then I would be in a taxi line behind him and someone would get out of the car (usually another driver) and the smoke would billow out from the door for a moment until it was shut, but otherwise you would have never guess what was really going on inside #77 unless you had been observing for awhile.

Believe it or not, #77 had little tolerance for anything stronger the marijuana and didn't even condone alcohol . . . especially if a driver was drinking and driving (and there were some who did).  As Ray would put it a joint would make you pull up to a stop sign and wait for it to turn green.  On alcohol you would run it and kill someone.

The Night Dispatcher

I used to remember his name, but I have now forgotten it, but talk about a an astute man with street smarts that was quick to think and look out for the drivers he was responsible for.  The following story is only my testimonial among hundreds I have heard from others.

It was almost 2:00 AM and closing time at all the night clubs.  I received a call to pickup on south Henderson at a nightclub that only catered to Hispanics and when I arrived three men got in and they spoke very poor English.  Two got in the back seat and one got in the front.

 I immediately was on guard.  This is a situation you try to avoid.  A driver has little protection in a setting like this if a robbery or assault takes place and it is also difficult to keep an eye on all three passengers at once.  Then one of the passengers gives me a destination address on Rosedale in the middle of an area called "Stop Six".  This was a part of Fort Worth I would never go at two in the morning.  I was one of the roughest parts of a black only area and I could not figure out why three Mexican males were wanting to go there this time of night.

I got on the radio and called in "five-one"

"Go ahead five-one"

"Do you see the address where I just picked up 3 male passengers?"

"Yes. That would be (and he called out the name of the club)"

I told him where they wanted to be taken and he immediately issued the following statement.

"All drivers stay off of the radio.  Five-One, report in every 30 seconds minimum and at every controlled street intersection."

Just like that he had picked up on my concern and responded in a way that made me feel safe whether I was or not.

I reported in as told and when we arrived at the destination my passengers got out and got into a pickup that was parked there and drove off.  I quickly left the area as well thanking the dispatcher for his quick observation.  He told me I had done exactly as I was supposed to do.

Sandy

Sandy would eventually become my step daughter, but in 1981 I was trying to get over the loneliness I felt because her mother had spent most of those three years on the road with me and our breakup had been pretty traumatic.  I had looked her and her sister up and we eventually all split the rent on an apartment together.

Sandy was the head bartender at one of the largest C &W nightclubs in Fort Worth and she could see how I was working 20 hour days and barely getting by.  She also knew my radio background.  One day she told me she had a proposal for me.  She had talked to her boss and they had a gig open at the nightclub four nights a week for a DJ to keep customers dancing and active during the live band breaks and it would pay me exactly what my payment was each week on #51.  I jumped at the opportunity.  Suddenly I could go to work everyday and only have to make gas money before making a profit. I didn't have to work the vice at night.  I made enough to live on during the day and I actually had fun at night. (and during the day)

Believe me, it was a relief not to have to keep my rear view mirror focused on the eyes of my passengers all the time and make pickups on South Henderson at 2:00 AM.

Three months later Sandy's mother and I got back together and got married and Sandy became my step daughter.  Between us we dropped the"step".  She will always have a special place in my heart.