Destiny made me do it

Paratransit driver lovingly shuttles the developmentally disabled

By Todd Telford
The Portland Upside
May 2009

Driving a paratransit van is rarely a job that one aspires to. For me, it’s a job I fell into, then looked back at the hidden wisdom leading me there. Like many, I didn’t see it coming.

My path started with doing outside sales in the insurance field, working a corridor encompassing the top 30 miles of the state from the Willamette River to The Dalles. I wasn’t making enough money to survive, but there were parts of the job I enjoyed. I liked driving around, constantly reminded of the beauty of the land. And I got a kick from visiting little old ladies in rural lands, although it was my job to always leave their homes with a check in my hand.

I fell into sales, an offshoot of starting out in a family business, and I thought I was pretty good at it. But cold-calling and the inherent batting average that would send anybody to the minors jarred my ego. With so little wind in my “sales,” I found myself looking for my next vocation. I analyzed the parts I liked about my previous career, such as driving and working with seniors. I then subtracted the pressure of sales and came up with paratransit driving.

currying around the Portland metro area in a 13-passenger van designed to transport the physically and developmentally disabled turned out to be much more than I imagined. There are people who’ve spent much or all of their lives in wheelchairs and were near shut-ins because of that status. Now services like ours give them back their friends, the city, the thrill of shopping and being a part of everything. You can see it in their eyes when you secure their chairs. They are so thankful. I naturally defer the credit to those who started programs like these over two decade ago, but I don’t mind basking in their adoration anyway.

Coming in, I was a little afraid that I’d see equal amounts of despair and joy, with many people lamenting their lot in life and the futility of limbs that will never move again of their own accord. But despair is almost completely absent from my job. Of course, not everyone is upbeat, and I do encounter behaviors that don’t reflect the best intentions. But nearly everyone is happy to see me. These clients are thankful for the service, and they engage me as a worthy human rather than a laborer attending to them.

Like many folks stampeding through the core years of their life, I told myself that I might want to do civil service and volunteering someday if I had the time. Well it is the time, and now that I’m in this deep, it’s hard to fathom doing anything else. For me, working with the developmentally disabled is an unexpected treasure.

I start every work day in the early afternoon picking up a boisterous group from their work site and taking them to their individual group homes throughout western Washington County. Their functional ages are from three to about 12. Some have Down syndrome and many have speech impediments. Yet it’s hard to fathom just how much fun we have every day. I liken it to being an activities director sitting around the campfire with his group on the fifth night of a three-week summer camp. The jubilation, the anticipation, the comradeship, the teasing are all there. I participate with my riders in a complete willingness to be goofy.

We make funny noises. We sing to the radio. Occasionally we have burping wars. There’s the young woman who puts her shoe on the bar adjacent to the lift so that before I deploy it I might spend a moment squeezing her big toe. There’s the guy I always let steal my hat. He’s also the one who sings Christmas carols any time of the year when he’s happy. There’s the one who lives to be teased so he can respond in mock indignation. There’s the one in the wheelchair who always asks me how my cats are doing, prompting a hush from the crowd as I relate the latest stories of penny chasing, rude awakenings, and paper bag hide-and-seek. And every day these folks express fascination with my every tale, whether rehashed or unique.

I’ve never been a father, but sometimes with my gang on the “fun bus” I get a glimpse of the dad I’d be. I even see a little of my own father in how I tease and play with them. I sometimes wonder if I’d keep this job if I won the lottery. Yes, I might travel the world awhile, but I’d soon return from my sabbatical to see those faces again. It’s hard to imagine driving any less than part-time.

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Todd Telford has been a freelance motorsports photojournalist since 1982. He now makes his living as a paratransit driver based in Tualatin.