Exclusive Interview with Charlie on the MBTA
By Alison Barnet
AB: Let me tell you the story of a man named Charlie who recently returned to Boston and took a ride on—not the MTA— but the MBTA. What brings you back to Boston, Charlie?
Charlie: Well, I’m here to visit my sister who still lives in Chelsea and my cousin in Rox-ber-ry. The family’s so spread out I’ve done nothing but ride forever ’neath the streets of Boston since I got here. Without knowing it, I even changed for Jamaica Plain.
AB: Poor Charlie, you’ve sure seen a lot in your couple of days here.
Charlie: You know, I read a lot to my great-grandkids, and this system you’ve got now brings to mind that story about the emperor’s new clothes. You’ve got long-overdue track work, service suspensions, ceilings caving in, and all those slow zones. Riding the T is not comfortable at all. I almost got hit with a guy’s backpack, and the people on both sides of me were yakking loudly on cell phones. Too bad it’s illegal to touch the driver! All these so-called improvements but they’re no improvement at all! Anything goes, and the MBTA’s fate is still unlearned!
AB: So I want to know what you think of our Charlie card system? You must be flattered.
Charlie: Flattered?! You’ve got to be kidding! You know how they show me holding on to my hat with my left hand, my tie flying, and holding that green thing up with my right? Well, that green thing’s not a ticket, it’s a folder of legal documents. I’m suing! Not only did they defame me, using my good name in vain, they completely missed the point. The old Charlie was a victim, a symbol of protest, not some goofy Forties suit type! My name’s all over the danged place but it just makes me feel like shouting: Get poorCharlie off the MBTA!
Image Credit Yetti Frenkel and Joshua Winer from their mural Memories of Allston
AB: Do you think the new fare system works, Charlie?
Charlie: Long gone are the days of handing in a dime at the Kendall Square Station, I can tell you that. These new-fangled fare machines are kind of tricky; they tell you to follow directions but there aren’t any. And everything costs a fortune! Yeah, I can really sympathize with the citizens of Boston, because back in the day one more nickel hit me pretty hard. It’s a scandal how people, even the elderly, have to pay and pay.
AB: I wonder if you’ve been on any MBTA buses since you’ve been here.
Charlie: &*(^#@! One day, I waited half an hour for a bus. When it finally came, it was packed to the gills, and I knew I couldn’t even get close to a window to hold on to my hat and wave my so-called pass. You know how my wife used to hand me a sandwich through an open window? Well today, even if the windows could open, she’d have to shove it past dozens of riders.
AB: So, Charlie, you couldn’t get on that bus.
Charlie: Yeah, so I finally decided the heck with the buses, I’ll take the train. Well, one night my nephew was due in at the airport, and I wanted to be there to meet him, so I studied the new subway map and figured the best way was to take what they call the Silver Line. So I’m down at Dudley/Nubian Square and what comes along? A bus! So I’m on this bus that calls itself a line and we’re nowhere near the airport, and the plane is due to land at 12! Now all night long, I was crying what will become of me?
AB: Oh, Charlie, will you ever return?
Charlie: Will I ever return? No, I’ll never return.
AB: Any last words for Boston?
Charlie: I’ll see ya in court!
Thanks for the chuckle. Of course Alison Barnet does point out that we have been complaining about the T for a long time.
We have no longner taken pride in our subway system – the first in the nation in 1897.
(Electricity powered the trolleys and there were three stations: Park Street, Public Garden and Boylston. The subway line was a little over half a mile long and was a three minute ride. The underground stations were connected to trolley tracks on the city streets and later to elevated tracks above the city streets.)
My father worked for the MTA in the first half of the 20th century and he had a bump in his nose. He was one of the protesters fighting to establish a union for the workers on the “T.” The mayor called out the police and dad was struck by a club-wielding cop who broke his nose. The chaos was both horrible and momentous. The union won and there’s a photo of my father on the wall of the MBTA union office in Boston: James J. Keyes, one of the early officers of the union. One thing I learned from my union dad: “Don’t be a scab.” It took me a while to learn what that word truly meant: someone who crosses a union picket line. In other words, a union-buster. I think of these stories from long ago when I read about the union protesters and the auto companies. I acclaim Joe Biden for joining the picket line in a show of support for the auto workers.