Mike Ervin has just finished brushing his teeth and washing his face when the bus arrives.
Which explains why the line was busy when Ervin called the night before. He hung up, and tried two more times, before he was put on hold. After which a dispatcher warned him to be ready at 8:30 AM sharp.
“I’m in,” says Ervin, “I’m in.”
The bus hits a bump and pops up and then slams back to the ground.
Wham. The bus hits another pothole. It’s too noisy to continue conversation. So Ervin and his companion sit quietly as the bus winds its way through the stolid brick factories and warehouses of the near west side, dropping its other passenger at the hospital. Up ahead, a green light has changed to yellow; if the driver hurries, he’ll beat the red. So he shoves the van into a higher gear, storms through the intersection, and jerks to a halt. Mike Ervin has made it to work.
The results have been a rigid standoff. On one side are the disabled activists, a gutty and determined lot. They have to be. The traumas they must overcome — from heart attacks to paralysis — just to get around each day are monumental.
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Joyce Hughes, the CTA’s chief attorney, won’t say how much the CTA has spent fighting this little legal war. Robert Paaswell, the CTA’s executive director, says he does not know (in his defense, the decision to go to court was made before he took over). And most board members won’t comment, except Charlton. He estimates the tab on outside legal fees for the case is over $1 million and rising. That’s enough money to outfit dozens of buses with lifts.
