Adventures in public transit
To challenge MARTA, a group of advocates ride
On the second day of the new year, a group of public transportation junkies met in front of the Haagen-Dazs shop downtown, brought together by their disdain of cars, their love of trains and buses, and their disgust with the shortcomings of MARTA.
The five men and two women, along with 30 or so other members, call themselves Citizens for Progressive Transit (motto: “putting the public back in public transportation”). They first met after Robert Bryant, the guy wearing a shirt emblazoned “Bus Hugger,” transplanted from Portland, Ore., to Atlanta — and quickly threw up his hands over what he found to be substandard public transportation.
Bryant placed an ad in April looking for commuters who share his frustration with MARTA and who want to improve the public transportation experience. In the months since, those who responded to the ad have met with MARTA CEO Nathaniel Ford, who agreed to listen to their complaints and suggestions quarterly. CPT also has won a $5,000 government grant to work as liaison between MARTA riders and MARTA officials, and the group is in the process of applying for nonprofit status.
“We’re MARTA’s biggest fan and their biggest critic,” says Bryant, a server at swanky Joel who says he tries, often unsuccessfully, to ride MARTA from his home in Kirkwood to the north Atlanta restaurant. “And because we’re not on their payroll, we can be both.”
Today, the group’s mission is to use MARTA to trace the commute of Gov. Sonny Perdue. They plan to ride from his office at the gold dome to his mansion 10 miles to the north, in Buckhead. CPT chose this route with the hope of illustrating the confusion and under-use that plague public transit in Atlanta and, hopefully, to report their findings to the governor.
Upon reaching the Capitol steps, Michelle Marcus, CPT secretary, calls over her shoulder, “We’re going to ask Sonny if he’d like to come.” The man behind the Capitol’s front desk, however, says the group can only request an appointment with the governor. They leave a card.
After departing the Capitol at 3:05 p.m., the group, with much shuffling of this week’s and next week’s MARTA passes, squeezes through the turnstiles of the Georgia State rail station. After switching trains, from westbound to north, Bryant’s T-shirt attracts the attention of a fellow rider. The man happens to be an employee of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency and a regular MARTA commuter, who, like CPT, yearns for more MARTA riders to reduce congestion and smog.
“There is a feeling that MARTA is for the blue-collar folks,” the man tells Bryant in a grandfatherly voice. “It’s an incorrect perception, but perception is reality.”
Closing in on 3:40 p.m., the minute at which the CPT members are due to catch the No. 40 bus from the Lindbergh Center rail station to Perdue’s sprawl on West Paces Ferry Road, the group gets nervous. Even these seasoned MARTA riders are lost upon leaving the train. The No. 40 isn’t listed among the half-dozen or so buses that stop at Lindbergh. CPT member Paul Grether asks a MARTA employee for directions. Grether then motions toward a sign at the north end of the station, with an arrow pointing toward the No. 40. The group runs a good four blocks to the bus.
The bus driver tells the huffing CPT riders: “I’ve never seen this many people on this bus at one time, ever.”
They giggle and explain their mission.
“So Sonny wasn’t on the bus last time you drove?” Marcus asks.
“No.”
As the bus nears the mansion 15 minutes later, CPT Vice President Rebecca Serna expresses doubt. She worries whether the bus will return anytime soon if they do jump off at Perdue’s address. Perhaps they should just ride it out; it’s a long walk from the governor’s back to MARTA. “You want to take a vote?” she asks.
They decide to hop off at the mansion.
Minutes later, the driver pulls to the curb of the governor’s mansion, despite there being no stop there. Total commute time: 55 minutes.
Marcus wants to leave a note for Perdue, but the mansion’s iron gates are locked. The sign off to the side of the gate says, “Closed.”
Walking back to the bus stop, stepping among the pansies and monkey grass and the suspicious absence of sidewalks, Serna asks, “Do you think we could set up a meeting with Sonny Perdue? Like, put together a little scrapbook about what we found today?”
The group agrees.