Sometimes, it’s about people, and sometimes it’s about places. After almost eight years and more than 8,300 rides as an Uber driver, I’ve revisited my life journey hundreds of times. I’ve spent most of my time here on Earth in Mobile, Alabama, and her nearby communities. So many memories!
For example, every time I drive through the Brookley Complex, I recall the stories my parents told me about my birth at Brookley Air Force Hospital. My dad was an air traffic controller in the U. S. Air Force, stationed far away from Mobile.
My mom’s doctor guesstimated my arrival for late October 1955. My dad subsequently obtained a two-week leave of absence to be present for my birth. Of course, doctors were not always as accurate as those in the present. So, he got another two weeks. But, again, in air traffic controller jargon, I was neither on course nor on glide path.
So, he pled for an additional three days. Still, no baby. The military allowed one more day. Nope. That was it. He had used every option, even borrowing as far into the near future as possible.
On November 28, 1955, I decided I was ready to enter the outside world, just a few hundred yards from Mobile Bay. But we eventually met when Dad managed to accrue enough off-time. He never seemed to hold it against me, even as my parents retold the story over the years.
My Uber travels took me through neighborhoods that included memories of my times at my grandparent’s homes. My father’s parents lived on Charles Street, just a few streets from the old Malbis bakery on South Broad Street. Our family lived two doors down from “Big Daddy” and “Big Mama.” One of my earliest memories is sitting on my grandparents’ porch, drinking milk left on their front porch by the milkman.
My mom’s parents, “Grandpa” and “Nanny,” lived in a more upscale neighborhood on McDonald Avenue, north of Ladd Stadium. My memories included a “rumpus” room on the first floor of the two-story home. They had two kitchens, one upstairs and one downstairs. They also had a separate apartment in the backyard.
One of the more unique features was a bathroom that opened to the backyard, intended for the hired help who worked in their yard. I guess that was a compromise to accommodate folks who would otherwise not be allowed inside to visit the “facilities.”
Each year, their house hosted Senior Bowl parties, intended initially to schmooze the top customers of their family business, which they founded on Mardi Gras Day in downtown Mobile in 1933.
That brings up another memory. The company my grandparents founded was eventually located on Telegraph Road just south of the Chickasaw line. I started working at Finch Warehousing and Transfer Co., Inc. at fourteen. After graduating from the University of Alabama with a degree in Transportation, I spent much of my life working at the family business.
Our family no longer has a business there. That story is too long to cover here. I published a book in 2009 that chronicles a portion of my time there. It’s called “An Act of Congress, the Real-Life Story of Power and Politics in Family Business.” But that’s not the subject of this column.
My Uber rides often take me within the vicinity of our warehousing business. Most of my memories of my time in that area are very positive. My passengers never leave from that area, nor do they arrive nearby. I sometimes drive by the buildings just to reminisce about the challenges and mostly victories during my time there. More than anything else, I think about the wonderful people who affected my life while I was there.
Time has changed the places I’ve spent much of my life. I think about the people who affected my life and are tied to the places I drive. I miss them. Friends, co-workers, clients and customers, vendors, and just plain folks fill my memories as I drive through.
I drive through neighborhoods that remind me of childhood friends, school teachers, neighbors, coaches, and people I’ve had the privilege to know. Fourth grade at St. Pius Catholic grade school around Sage Avenue. Football and baseball teams at Sage Park. Fifth through eighth grade at St. Dominic with the Sisters of Mercy, who taught us much more than reading, writing, and arithmetic.
I spent my high school years at McGill Institute during its final year as an all-boys high school. We studied across the street from the all-girls Bishop Toolen High School. Besides studying the fairer sex, we had actual subjects taught by the Brothers of the Sacred Heart.
Each time I pass these places, I conjure up warm memories of the people I grew up with and around. During part of my adult life, I sold residential and commercial real estate in the same territories where I now transport ride-share passengers to their destinations. My various careers, volunteer opportunities, political involvement, and life experiences have taken me to every nook and cranny of my hometown.
I will retire soon from the Little Sisters of the Poor, a “place” that is as human as anywhere I’ve been.
I drive by where my wife and I raised our children and built memories. These drives remind me of their growth and the challenges they’ve overcome. No matter where I spend the rest of my life, my home will always be the streets, corners, parks, and buildings in Mobile, Alabama.
I stated in the first paragraph, “Sometimes it’s about people, and sometimes it’s about places.” But the truth is that I never drive by a place without thinking about the people who’ve affected my life. I’m grateful for those places and those people.
God Bless!
Tommy
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