7th Ward Chronicles
by: Clarence Williams

 

When last we visited the Chronicles, we were on board the Haynes Boulevard bus coming from Lincoln Beach. The bus driver was going through a trying ordeal at the hands of the young black people on board the bus. Our original theme, as I recall, is how Tyrone Robichaux become the first colored bus driver in New Orleans. I'm working my way to it slowly. Anyway, the scared young white bus driver was trying to endure the ordeal to get to Franklin Avenue where he could unload this unruly group. Unbeknown to the rowdy bus passengers was the fact that this was his first time driving the Haynes Boulevard bus. In fact, it was his second week of working for New Orleans Public Service. He had only been in New Orleans a few weeks from Baines, Louisiana, a hundred fifty or so miles north of New Orleans. He had been lucky to get this job. His first week on the job he had driven the Tchoupitoulas line that began a block from Canal Street and went all the way up to Audubon Park Zoo. He had loved it. He was doing fine until one day he was in the lunchroom and some of his co-workers and a manager were making offensive jokes about colored people, he had shown his displeasure and ended up with the Haynes Boulevard line, the one dreaded by all drivers. It was about a twenty-five minute ride to Franklin Avenue, but he was obligated to make stops if he saw people on the road. He saw a middle-aged Black man flagging him down and he stopped. The man boarded, and because the bus was packed, he stood near the driver. The driver saw that the man smiled at him, and it made him feel safer somehow. Then his tormentors lit into him again.

"Mr. Pink man, Can you tell me why they don't have no colored bus drivers?" A youth said. "Aw, I tole you he ain't nothin ' but a statue", another said. "A statue can't answer."
"Well, I guess I'm jus' gonna hafta drive as it is my ownself," another youth said as he made his way to the driver. He pulled out a knife and stood over the driver.
"Pull this motherfucker over," he said, his face a menacing mask.
The driver dutifully pulled the bus over to the side of the road.
"What....what do you want me to....?
"Get the fuck out that seat," the youth told him.

The driver took off his cap. Sweat was rolling down his face. he had very red hair and a splash of red freckles all over his face. No doubt he was called Red. Then the man who had gotten on the bus spoke. He was tall and dark and he had a deep, even voice. "Leave that man alone," he told the youth.

"Look Pop, you stay out of this," the youth said.
"Leave that man alone," he said, this time louder and with more authority.

The youth opened his mouth to say something but he just kept it open. A low murmur spread though the bus, but it was as if the rowdy young people had lost their boldness. The man addressed the bus driver. "Don't you come from Baines, Louisiana," he asked the driver.
The startled bus driver looked at him. "Yes," he said, "but how do you know?"
"You don't remember one morning about two years ago me and my wife were on our way to Angola to see our son when our car broke down right there at the Baines turn-off and how you helped us to get it started?"
"That was…..yes, it was you, I remember now. I…I thought there was something about you when you got on, but I…I've been having a hard time and….
The bus was suddenly quiet. "See," he told the young people. "This man helped me and my wife one morning when we were near his home up north. He went out of his way to be nice to me and my wife. He brought us to his home and him and his wife and his children treated us like family. And they didn't even much want us to give them anything. And y'all want to take advantage of this man." He turned back to the driver. "Yeah, I remember you telling me you wanted to move to New Orleans for a better opportunity. How long you been here now?"
"Just a few months," the now relieved bus driver.
"And, how's the family?"
"Good. We're living with my mother-in-law for now. But, I want to change that as soon as I can."
The man smiled, "You know I know about that," he said. The he said, "I still remember your name. It's Horace, isn't it?"
"That's right," the bus driver said. And you're Jack. Jack Stepper, And your wife is Cyndy."
"And your wife is Loretta," the man said.
And they exchanged phone numbers, and by now the bus was back on the road, and it was quieter now and what noise and disorder did exist wasn't aimed at the bus driver.
But, the youth who had had the driver move the bus to the side of the road was a die-hard, and he kept staring disrespectfully at the man and the driver until the man, Jack Stepper, started a conversation with him that soon had the attention of all the passengers.
"What's your name, young fella?" he asked the youth, who just shrugged. "What's your name?" he asked again.
"Why?"
"I just asked?"
"Why did you just ask?"
"Hey forget it," the man said. "You don't have to give me your name if you don't want to. I just wanted to know what name to tell Uptown Lucky and Ole Man Jiver when I see them."
The young man's mouth flew open involuntarily. "You……you know Mr. Lucky and Mr. Jiver?" he asked timidly.
We're very good friends," the man said. "And I can give your description to them and tell them that you don't know how to respect your elders and I'll let them handle it from there."
The youth swallowed hard. "I…I know how to respect my elders, sir," he said.
"You do?" the man said.
"Yessir," the youth said.
And it swept through the bus that he knew Jive and Lucky, two of the most prominent Steppers in all of Uptown New Orleans.
"You gotta prove to me that you know how to respect your elders or else I will make it my business to go Uptown tonight and see Jiver and Lucky," he told him.
"Please , sir, what do I have to do to show that I respect my elders?" The youth said imploringly.
"Well," the man said, "You seem to be a leader, so that will make it easier to find out who you are," He looked at the bus driver, then back at the youth. "This bus driver is a good friend of mine, and he has been disrespected. I want you to convince everybody on this bus to stop and apologize to the bus driver for the way he was treated. And, I want to see real and sincere apologies, or else I won't believe it."

So as it happened the bus took longer than usual to empty at Franklin Avenue, since everybody exited from the front and they all had something to say to the bus driver. And, the youth who tried to take over the driver's seat? He stood right near the driver and Jack Stepper, just to make sure that the apologies were sincere.

And, before leaving the bus, the driver asked Jack Stepper what part of New Orleans was he living in.
"I'm a Seventh Warder," he said.

Now, we still haven't gotten to how Tyrone Robichaux became the first colored bus driver in New Orleans, But we're getting to that. To be continued…