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Along the eight-lane highways that stretch forth like tentacles from San Francisco, it was the time of day that tries men's carburetors: the evening rush hour. Everyone wanted to get home at once. Trapped in a snarling, bumper-to-bumper tie-up, Salesman Bink Beckmann reacted with unusual calm; he had a unique way of keeping his blood pressure down. On a tiny slip of paper he scrawled, "Hold dinner; traffic tie-up"; then he reached behind him into a cage, seconds later sent a homing pigeon fluttering out of the car window. A pigeon fancier, Beckmann carries eight pigeons on his daily rides to and from work, keeps his waiting wife informed of delays with pigeon-powered bulletins to their San Rafael home.
On the other coast of the U.S., deep in the tunneled bowels of Manhattan's Grand Central Terminal, Publishing Executive Cal Estes boarded the New Haven railroad's 5:11 to Riverside, Conn. From long experience with the New Haven, he, too, expected trouble. Through his mind flashed the unhappy vision of a late train, of his wife preparing dinner without any warning that he would be late. There was one way to prepare for the worst. With an air of quiet desperation, he went to the bar car, began drinking Scotch on the rocks as the train pulled out. The drinks were not wasted. By the time the 5:11 got to Riverside, it was 40 minutes late on a scheduled 47-minute run.
Bicycles & Kayaks. Beckmann and Estes are resourceful examples of a special and hardy breed of U.S. citizen: the commuter. Like the U.S. postman, the intrepid commuter lets neither howling storms, nor packed trains, nor jammed highways, nor endless delays keep him from the completion of his appointed rounds between work and home. He is willing to endure all the journey's perils for the sake of pursuing success in the city and the good life—or cheaper living—in the suburbs or exurbs.
Out of a U.S. working force of 66 million, commuters make up a scant 10 million. Yet their daily cycle from home to work accounts for a larger volume of passenger traffic than any other type of weekday travel. Six million of them get to work and back home by auto, 450,000 by train, 3,550,000 by bus, subway or rapid transit. Others ingeniously make the trip by airplane, helicopter, bicycle, motor scooter, powerboat and, in the case of one hardy California commuter, by kayak.
The great postwar exodus to Suburbia has scattered commuters through the U.S. countryside surrounding great cities, put a crippling strain on the arteries that feed the metropolises. A few foreign cities also have problems in handling the commuter torrent: London and Paris groan beneath its weight, Tokyo hires students to push commuters tightly into rush-hour trains, and Calcutta's commuter rails are so crowded that people ride prone on the roofs of coaches. But in the U.S., the nationwide flight to the suburbs has created a huge problem for almost every major city. And the problem is due to get worse.