“We’re not going anywhere— we’re going back in time,” a parent said to his child, who was quizzical as to why the 9098 was not moving. This bus— with its joyful pastel palette of pink and light blue— had been in service for over a decade, from 1958 to 1971.
Here in 2024, we were, in fact, in the past— we were at the New York Transit Bus Festival, held under the Brooklyn Bridge in the Emily Warren Roebling Plaza.
The bus festival was a hit among children and families— an honest surprise to childless me and my fiancé. We ran into our first parent-child duo on our way out of the parking deck— the parent said to their child, “Are you excited to see the buses?”
The child answered in a single-word exclamation: "BUS!"
Heading towards the Brooklyn Bridge, kids ran under our feet while their parents walked their dogs on the lawn and along the waterfront; entering the plaza, we could see at least four vintage buses welcoming all who entered them.
Above seats of plastic or upholstery, we read advertisements that would have plausibly been on these buses during the time they ran, while volunteers and well-placed signage offered up bits of New York history, as well as an incentive to engage in this history: scavenger hunt booklets for kids and kids-at-heart.
“Most times [when] we’re tabling, it’s a lot of unhappy people— so this is a really positive event,” said an MTA worker, who asked to remain anonymous.
I can imagine that in a usual day, most people would approach an MTA or New York Transit employee with a complaint they demand be heard.
Next to us, a volunteer happily passed out goodies like buttons and maps. He engaged shy children in conversation, and answered their questions as if it were the first time anyone had asked.
I remember being that kid; I remember that little seed of an artist who loved knowing things, who loved her sensitivity, who loved standing still and feeling the space she inhabited.
In this present moment, as children chattered and interrupted each other around me, I stood, afraid to approach other adults with my questions about buses.
Sitting on the cheery 9098, listening to the conversations between children and their parents, I remembered a bit of the world before inherited mental illness made me have to grow up— a time before my sensitivity became overwhelming for both me and my loved ones.
Because of my mental health (or lack thereof), I didn't get a driver's license until I was twenty-two. For much of my life, I've been reliant on public or semi-public transit— Disney-owned buses when I worked in Florida, NJ Transit trains, the PATH, the subway, the light rail— to get me to work or class. Today, I can drive— but driving in and out of New York City is notoriously difficult. I rarely feel a need to drive in when I can catch a train or bus so quickly, so easily, so cheaply from my home across the Hudson, in New Jersey. I love having access to public transportation. I often forget this love when I am using it.
In this space, unwanted approaches from older men have sometimes blurred my perception, have fogged my sense of myself as a person among other people; I have been singled out from the crowd, no longer anonymous, for the remainder of my journey.
A 2018 survey completed by the NYU Rudin Center for Transportation Policy and Management found that my experiences are unfortunately considered normal: "75% of female respondents [in the NY/NJ area] have experienced some form of harassment or theft while using public transportation [... One question in the survey] asked respondents how many times they had experienced harassment. Most respondents had trouble quantifying the exact number and provided answers like, “Too many to count,” “Not sure— it’s taken place over my entire life,” and “Countless.”
I've tried to write poems to be able to communicate my conflicting feelings of gratitude and anxiety, of freedom and confinement; I haven't been able to finish even one.
But how could I recall any of this at the Bus Festival? The latter half of my love/hate relationship with public transit was bound to be forgotten until we arrived back home.
Any baggage these buses had once held had left with their last passengers. There was no hint that anyone ever could have been frustrated by such charming, colorful vehicles; any negativity must have been washed away with the refurbishments.
Events like the New York Transit Bus Festival are important, I think. Creating a space to celebrate public transit— a part of the background noise of daily life— is lovely. It must be loveliest for the kids, who have not yet become overwhelmed by this background noise, who are still able to hear its music.
https://wagner.nyu.edu/rudincenter/2018/11/pink-tax-transportation-womens-challenges-mobility