Published in the Philadelphia Inquirer, South Jersey Commentary, on July 14, 2000.


A celluloid fantasy comes alive

Giving chase to a bus from inside a taxicab fulfills a Humphrey Bogart-inspired dream.

By Sidney B. Kurtz

Long-buried ambitions are sometimes realized in astonishing ways, and in unexpected places. It happened to me across from Independence Hall, at the northwest corner of Sixth and Chestnut Streets, to be exact.

I was preparing for the July 8 wedding of my youngest son, Stan, at Beth Shalom Synagogue in Elkins Park, Pa., an edifice designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. The day before the wedding, 50 guests were to fly in from Canada, California and other points west. These people had to be entertained.

I had a brainstorm. Since I spent several years as a tour guide on one of those cute, little Center City trolleys, wouldn't it be uniquely interesting if I took them on a tour of historic Philadelphia?

Everyone agreed it was a great idea, but a tour refresher was a must. So I availed myself of the free bus transportation available at Pennsauken's Cooper River Plaza and rode in comfort across the Benjamin Franklin Bridge.

Despite the warm, humid weather, I hoped to cover the area between Penn's Landing and Logan Circle, get tape-measured for a tuxedo, and return to Sixth and Chestnut in time for the 1:55 p.m. bus.

By the time I reached the bus stop that afternoon, I was pooped. I purchased a hot dog from a vendor, plopped down on some steps, and waited for my ride.

There's plenty besides Independence Hall to see at Sixth and Chestnut: tourists, horses pulling buggies, trolleys, and . . . hold it, that looks like my bus! No. The destination sign reads "Wanderers." It must be a busload of tourists.

Wait a minute. That driver looks familiar. That IS my bus. "Hey, wait for me!" Too late.

Now I was stuck in Philly until 4:30, more than two hours away. Why wasn't "Cooper River Plaza" on the bus sign? Who changed it to "Wanderers"?

I wanted to get back to my air-conditioned apartment. Suddenly, my salvation appeared - an available taxi. I whistled it down. As the driver reached over to open the rear door, to his surprise I hopped into the front. This was it. My chance to fulfill a 50-year-old wish born when I first saw Humphrey Bogart as tough private eye Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon. "Follow that bus," I demanded, "and step on it!"

The cabbie glanced curiously at me. "Either we catch 'Wanderer' or it's a hot afternoon in the park," I explained. Off we sped into the heavy traffic, at 15 miles per hour, following the bus along its circuitous route.

At Walnut Street, I saw the bus still one block ahead. "We'll never make it," I moaned. "There's too much traffic."

My cabbie, however, his humdrum routine suddenly enlivened by the thrill of the chase, was less pessimistic. "We'll catch him, buddy," he murmured, grim and tight-lipped. After all, the honor and self-respect of cab drivers past and future were at stake.

We gained three car lengths at Eighth Street. At 10th Street, two more cars turned south. At 12th, we were still two car lengths and a UPS truck behind "Wanderer." What would Bogart do? "A five-spot if you catch him!" I yelled. The cabbie abruptly found openings where none had existed.

Only one block to go. If that bus made it to Broad Street and down Market, the race would be over. He'd be at the bridge in no time.

At the last mini-second, fate swung in our favor. UPS pulled into an "unloading only" zone. The bus pulled over to pick up a passenger. The two cars in front of us passed the bus on the left.

My cabbie swerved triumphantly in front of "Wanderer," blocking its path. The fare was only $2.75, but, as promised, I gave him an additional $5.

The bus driver saw me and opened the door. "How come the destination sign reads 'Wanderers' instead of Cooper River Plaza?" I screamed. "It cost me nearly eight bucks to catch you."

The bus driver was not impressed. "This is a substitute bus. It doesn't carry the apartment house sign," he said. "You getting on, or walking across?"

It has been 45 years since I walked across the Ben Franklin Bridge, and it was tiring even then. We exchanged dirty looks, and I sat down. It had been an interesting morning - a learning experience, as my son would call it. And a job well done. Humphrey Bogart couldn't have handled it better.


Sidney B. Kurtz is the author of a family memoir, The Jewish Rectangle: An American Adventure. He lives in Pennsauken.


Other works of Sidney B. Kurtz