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If vast transportation changes are not made, traffic experts predict that by 1970 so many cars will be pouring daily into big cities that the monstrous traffic jam will just about stop all movement. For U.S. commuter railroads, crying out in financial agony, the auto has wiped out much of the balanced, all-day, regular-fare business that once made rail passengers profitable. It has left the rails burdened with the money-losing, morning-evening commuter rush—and even cut heavily into that. The number of passengers commuting by rail annually has dropped from 458 million in 1929 to 224 million in 1959.
Precocious Darling. The commuter is thus a U.S. problem child—but he is also a precocious darling. He is vital to the business life of the big cities, as a group holds more responsible, higher-salaried jobs than his noncommuting brethren. Commuters earn more than $2 billion in New York City, $1.7 billion in San Francisco. The commuter is well-educated, aggressive, articulate—and, as a class, furiously united against everything that threatens to interrupt his daily nest-to-work cycle. To hear him tell it, the trials and tribulations of commuting make Dante's trip through hell seem like a cross-town taxi ride. Items:
¶ In Santa Ana, Calif., a dog ran across the Santa Ana freeway during the rush hour, when the road is a bumper-to-bumper torrent moving at 40 m.p.h. Result: 40 cars were wrecked.
¶ In Chicago, commuters on the Chicago North Shore & Milwaukee Railway were startled when their engineer dashed toward the rear of the self-propelled train, crying, "Don't panic! Don't panic!" No one panicked, and a second later the train plowed into an empty school bus. Commuters picked themselves up, dusted themselves off. It was just another story to tell at the office.
¶ In Los Angeles, a harried commuter found his way home detoured by a stout barricade blocking a road under construction. Angrily he drove through the barricade and over the newly graded roadbed, followed by thousands of other motorists.
¶ In Chicago, commuters riding to work on a bus spied a car speeding away from the police. They shouted to the bus driver, who wheeled his vehicle across both lanes of traffic, stopped the fugitives.
¶ In Westchester County, N.Y., suspicious railroad police entered a commuter's basement, discovered a printing shop for counterfeiting commutation tickets. The commuter's explanation: he liked to outwit the railroad.
Hardly a week passes but the commuter is besieged by some new peril, lacerated by some angry official, or frightened by some dire warning. Last week was no exception. From the New Haven's president, George Alpert, whose road is the second biggest U.S. commuter line and the one in worst financial shape, came an ominous threat—"The countdown has begun"—to end all passenger service. Alpert applied for a 10% fare hike (which would bring New Haven fare hikes to 57% since 1956), but that was only his opener. Unless the New Haven gets government subsidy and tax relief by June 30, warned Alpert, he will ask for 10% fare hikes every six months until fares are 70% above the present. Alpert called his scheme the "commuter service survival plan." It was greeted by the traditional chorus of jeers from irate commuters, blather from self-seeking local politicians.