The Other Side of Midnight

by Mike Heffernan

  I was only with Burgess Brothers’ Cabs a few months. At the time, I used to shift around a lot. If there was nothing doing at one stand I’d go to another.

  I had my own taxi at Churchill Park Cabs which later became Golden Cabs. It was a 1972 Grand Marquis. It was beautiful; it was like a big ship. I’m telling you, buddy, you could sit eight people in there—four in the front and four in the back. Having my own car I found that I didn’t want to work. I was better off working for someone else because then I was committed to it. When I had my own car, a young guy—single—I was gone. I didn’t work half the time because I didn’t need to. If I wanted a few dollars I’d sign back in. I was into work for a few hours to make a few bucks, and then I was gone again. But when I got married and had youngsters, I went at it, and I stayed at it.

  I was with one stand for twelve years. They were up in centre city—that general area. They had a little stand there for years. I could’ve left there and went to a better stand. But I liked the people, and I liked the area. Sometimes, it’s not all about the money. If you’re content, that’s where you stay. I was happy, and I did all right.

  That area has got a hard name, but I never got into any trouble up around there. That kind of stuff wasn’t heard tell of thirty years ago. I’ll tell you why. I knew the crowd from Cashin Avenue and all the boys from the blocks. I grew up with them, and then I went taxiing with them. Sure, I lived on Cashin Avenue for eighteen years. I’d end up driving that crowd downtown, or to a party, and then they’d phone to pick them up and bring them back. I can’t say I had any trouble with violence. That was never a problem for me. Not with that crowd, anyhow. I had to kick a guy out one night, a young guy, who was going to Shea Heights. He was best kind when I picked him up in Kilbride. When I got halfway out to Shea Heights he went cracked. He had a beer in his hand, but I didn’t mind that. The next thing, he was going to hit me in the head with it. I hauled the car in, and I gave him one good kick out the door. I didn’t care if he had to be killed. You can’t let them walk over you. Forget that.

  When I first started at my last stand they had twenty-seven cars, and when I left they only had four. They never went after the business; they never went after the contracts. The stand owner had an opportunity to buy Jiffy Cabs when Jiffy Cabs were nobodies, and he passed it up. He should’ve done it, but he wasn’t into it enough, I don’t think. He wasn’t going cracked making a whole lot of money. Now he made good money, and he was happy with what he had. Going back thirty years ago, there were guys waiting two years to get on with that stand. That was the stand to be on. That was the money-maker. When they were really busy there weren’t a whole lot of taxi stands around that area. That was the stand to be on if you could get on there.

  The stand owner did a lot for people, too. He was a good guy. He did a lot for drivers over the years, and then a lot of drivers stabbed him in the back. They were getting their cars repaired and getting loans off of him—stuff like that. They never ever paid him back. He never told me, but I heard it a number of times. Drivers that drove with him for years, the older guys, will tell you the same thing. Now he wasn’t an angel, either.

  They’ve been into the bootlegging for years. It’s to the point where if you ask a random person on the street where to get a bottle at three in the morning they’ll probably say this stand. Here’s a case in point. We had three men come in five-thirty one morning who wanted a bottle. I was just getting ready to go home. The dispatcher said, “No, we don’t sell nothing here like that.”

  “Reach under the counter, give me the bottle, and here’s your thirty bucks.”

  Then you would get the call when people are on the go at all hours of the morning to pick up cigarettes, mix and ice—different things. They want it delivered to such and such a spot. That happened a lot on weekends. But a lot of taxis are basically the same.

  If you can get talking to a real honest taxi driver out there, he shouldn’t be at it. He’ll never make anything. He won’t make any money if he’s on the up-and-up. You might get an older man, a retiree, who just wants something to do part-time. You might find a few like that who want to get out of the house. Honesty is the road to poverty. You got to hustle every dollar you can off the meter. My son, that’s the name of the game.

  The last going off, the stand owner only had two cars. But he got no overhead. He got his operator’s licence, he got his taxi licence, and he got a cellphone. Say, for instance, there’s four of us here sitting at the table. I got the cellphone because I’m next out, and then I get a call. If you’re next out, you get the phone. Then you pass the phone onto the next driver. There’s no dispatcher, and there’s no stand.

  It’s just too bad that the stand owner had to let it go down that far. He could’ve had it all—for sure.

  I heard he recently got into an accident. I wasn’t talking to him, but I heard he got into an accident one Friday coming down over Hamilton Avenue. He smashed up the car with three women aboard. Two of them got injured. Apparently, he was going too fast. He has been known to speed. He can get from here down to your house in three or four minutes. He’s one of those. He doesn’t care about speeding tickets; he was always like it. But this time he hit a pole or the back of another car, or something along those lines.

  Now there’s only one car down there. The guy who owns that must be there twenty-five years. One time, he used to work day and night. But not so much anymore.

  I haven’t taxied now in about five years. I got fed up with it; I got poisoned with it. You got to live in the car to make a dollar. I was up to the stand one night—it was pissing rain out—and all the boys were lined up waiting on a run. It was the middle of the week, and there was nothing doing. This guy came in off the street soaking wet. He wanted to go to Placentia. I couldn’t say anything because there were three drivers ahead of me. I had to wait for them to refuse the run before I could take it. It ended up that no one wanted to take him. I went out to Placentia and dropped him off in the pouring rain. I never had a problem, and he gave me $125. When I came back to the stand, one of the drivers was still there waiting on a run.

  I took on a regular job, and the wife worked at the time, too. I was missing everything taxiing because I was working weekends. On Fridays, I’d drive the truck, get a shower and then hop in the taxi until six o’clock Saturday morning. I’d go home and sleep, but you never really sleep. You’re up again at eleven o’clock. You’re back in the taxi then at three o’clock until Sunday morning. By that time, you’re just about worn out. You’re not fit to look at. I was crooked because I wasn’t getting enough sleep. I did that for a few years, but then the wife said, “Look, you got to give that up.” And so I did.

  I can’t say I’ll never go back taxiing because I might have to do it tomorrow. Never say never when you’re talking about taxiing. What you make is no amount, but it’s enough to keep you going from day to day. But the thing about taxiing is you always got a dollar in your pocket. Taxiing is a job when you can’t get a job. If all else fails, you can always hop behind the wheel of a taxi and go to work.

  A Note on Sources

  Historian Graham Hodges wrote, “Taxis and cabdrivers are as ubiquitous in print and visual materials as they are in the streets.” The sheer volume of popular literature documenting their experiences is, to some extent, overwhelming. But very little has ever been written on the St. John’s taxicab industry. The life they lead has always had a curious fascination for the public. It seemed obvious, then, that an unbiased look at their working lives was necessary and long overdue. The Other Side of Midnight: Taxicab Stories relied on thirty-eight interviews conducted with St. John’s taxicab drivers as its main source of information. This book took more than three years to complete; it could have taken much longer. One of the problems was the matter of degree and scope. In selecting critical details about the taxicab industry and the lives of its workers, other aspects were brushed over, such as the stand owners and the role of the suburban taxis, those taxis license
d in municipalities adjacent to St. John’s.

  Several monographs provided historical context and a general understanding of how urban taxicab industries operate. Taxi: Urban Economies and the Social and Transport Impacts of the Taxicab by James Cooper and Ray Mundy described the development of control and “the conflicts between those that wish to further regulate and those who wish to deregulate.” Taxi: A Social History of the New York City Cabdriver by Graham Hodges brought together news reports, films and the writings of taxicab drivers to create a history of the community taxicab drivers compose.

  The St. John’s City Archives contained a sizable trove of primary sources painting a clear picture of an industry in a constant state of turmoil culminating in the 1989 Commission of Inquiry. The Commission’s final report was vital, providing a comprehensive overview of the city’s role as the industry’s regulator. From studying the city’s archives, it’s clear that, by the end of WWII, the city had begun a more systematic approach to licensing and bylaw enforcement. The earliest complete list of St. John’s taxi stands dates from 1951 when the number of taxi stands peaked. RNC Certificates of Conduct, memorandums between the city clerk and the taxicab inspector, and taxi commission meeting minutes are common throughout the files. There are even handwritten notes from one former taxi inspector detailing the process of licensing as well as extensive lists of unlicensed drivers the city wanted “rounded up.”

  The Centre for Newfoundland Studies and the Provincial Archives are relatively silent on taxicabs. But it was at the CNS where “Cab Fares and Regulations for the City of St. John’s” was located. While the city began regulating the taxicab industry at about the turn of the century, this regulation, passed in September 1912, the predecessor to the Taxi Bylaw, appears to be the earliest known to still exist. Other files, like “Agreement with Hotel Taxi Drivers,” included daily expense sheets invaluable in determining the social makeup of the drivers and their clientele. Mainstream news reports from the two local newspapers, The Evening Telegram and The Daily News, provided accurate descriptions of wartime and post-war working conditions. Under the Magistrates Court section of The Evening Telegram, a number of assaults against taxi drivers were reported. We know about these cases because some drivers took their fares to court to get paid.

  The Other Side of Midnight: Taxicab Stories set out to understand St. John’s taxicab drivers. This book presents some rare opportunities to travel some very odd roads. Taxicab drivers are neither saints nor swindlers. They are ordinary men and women who, in the routine of their daily working lives, often experience extraordinary things. If this book has made them more human, then it has succeeded.

  Acknowledgements

  Over the course of more than three years, I interviewed approximately forty taxicab drivers. They were open and generous to a stranger with a microphone who wanted to know about their daily triumphs, trivialities and indignities. One driver was the type of informant non-fiction writers and documentarians hope for but which are a rarity. He availed himself to multiple interviews and introduced me to his friends and co-workers. Thank you, sir. You’re the finest kind.

  For their constant love and inspiration: my partner, Lesley, and our beautiful daughter, Anja. Without my parents and in-laws, Frank and Marie, the road getting here might’ve been a rocky one.

  Creative Books has shown me unwavering support and patience. Thank you Donna Francis and Pamela Dooley. And Todd Manning and Amy Fitzpatrick, for making my words look sharp.

  A writer is only as good as his editors. My friend and colleague, Joan Sullivan, and Ed Kavanagh helped transform the manuscript. Joan deserves special thanks. Through working together on her theatrical adaptation of Rig: An Oral History of the Ocean Ranger Disaster, Joan, as well as the cast and crew, instilled in me a confidence that helped bring this book to its conclusion.

  The Other Side of Midnight: Taxicab Stories would not have been possible without the hard work and dedication of a number of talented artists.

  Darren Whalen designed the graphics. Thanks for always being there.

  Wanda Nolan’s conversations with a female taxicab driver provided vital observations.

  Photographers Jared Reid, Steve Payne, Seamus Heffernan and Jacob White made these taxicab stories far more accessible.

  Gerard Collins’ keen insight and practical advice made me a better writer.

  A lot of people were helpful and encouraging: Joel Thomas Hynes, Ron Hynes, Craig Francis Power, Keith Collier, Katrina Rice, Lorraine Endicott, Jason Conway, Helen Miller, Robin McGrath, Morgan Murray, Christopher Martin, Kerri Cull, Paul Collins, Ryan Cleary, Mary Power and Emily Gushue.

  Many organizations also offered support: Newfoundland and Labrador Arts Council, Helen Creighton Folklore Society, CBC, Writers’ Alliance of Newfoundland and Labrador, City of St. John’s Arts Grants Council, Our Times, This Magazine, The Telegram, Centre for Newfoundland Studies, Eastern Edge Gallery, The Rooms and the Arts and Culture Centre.