Although I continued umpiring, it wasn’t enough money to rent an apartment so I started driving a cab.  Driving cab in St. Paul is way different than Philadelphia.  In Philly I got great tips for speeding, cutting across traffic lanes, making all the yellows, etc.; in Minnesota passengers cried, “Please let me out!   I want a different driver!”

Well one night I’m first-up at the Greyhound Bus Station hoping for a long fare going to the suburbs.  Just as the bus is pulling in, the dispatcher goes, “Who’s first at the Bus?”  Knowing this usually meant a blood run from St. Joe’s Hospital (a block away) to St. John’s Hospital (only a $2.50 fare with no tip), I stayed quiet craning for a passenger coming out of the station.  Well, the cabbie behind me must have reported in, because the next thing on my speaker is “Forty-two, are you first at the bus?”

“Yes,” I said.

What could she have in there?

“Forty-two, St. Joe’s to St. John’s blood run.”  So I leave my prized spot, and hopes for a long fare, for St. Joe’s.  Ten minutes later heading back by the Bus Station on my way to St. John’s, there’s this lady frantically waving her hand at me.  I pull over.  She was the last traveler out of the station and all the cabs were already gone.

“Thank God!” she says, “get me out of here as fast as you can.”   I thought fine I’ll get her in my cab, deliver the blood, and then take her where she wants to go.  She had the two heaviest suitcases I’d ever tried to lift.

“What do you have in here?”  I asked.

“Two dead bodies,” she said.

Tomorrow:  And One Beautiful Bod

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