Mahmet writes:

Sahib:

I hope this reaches you through the United States postal. I've noticed in what must be the world-wide SR News (exactly what IS a sewer raccoon, sahib?) - I get the blog in New Delhi & nearly everyone does around here- that you were/are a cab driver. I come from a long line of Indian riskshaw operators. My -great-great-great grandfather was one. (He attaches snapshots.) I now operate a fleet of motorized auto-rickshaws, and my question is this: Why would anyone in his right mind ever leave - asuming you have left - the profession of Ferrying? (editor's note: red ink is mine.)

............................... & etc.

(signed) Mahmet

SRN answers:

Mahmet, (we knew a man name of Mahmet, but obviously not you for he is dead)

You pose a very good question. Why would I have left a job that relied on tips and allowed me to escape the jaws of the IRS?

Thank you for expressing your view from India. Below is a poem for you, Beck's Minions. I worked for a Yellow Cab franchise owned by another fleet man perhaps like you, George Beck.

Sir, your satisfaction with the taxi business, I think, has to do with your possession of a fleet of auto-rickshaws. If I could talk to one of your sole rental operators, I wonder what he or she would say?

SRN

ps If you read the blog as you say you do, you know what a sewer raccoon is. Don't you have sewers in India?

Beck’s Minions

We are Beck’s minions bold and brave
each day we go a-driving
And some are bald and some don’t shave
Yet all each day are striving

We pay our money and take our chance
Piloting Yellows by the seat of our pants
Through the maelstrom of traffic we fearlessly dance
And at flag-up our loads are still living

We cabbies are lowly, many assay
Our job does yield little station
The dregs of the work force, bottom-rungers, they say
Back-washed from proud civilization

But didn’t we cheer the maudlin, brace up the drunk?
Didn’t we ferry them all, dog, chippie and monk?
Didn’t we treat them as equals though some might have stunk?
Yes, with verve and no small dedication

So take heart, fellow driver, heed what’s here writ
You’re a hero, a champion, a darer with grit
That you can’t quote the market
Doesn’t matter one whit
It’s your guts that call forth admiration

I’m proud to be with you, black men and white
Together on call on the streets day and night
We perform our service. Getting rich? No not quite
Yet to us be there be joy and libation

Yet to us be there be joy and libation


[David Dix. Cab No. 296. 8-73]

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