When Raymond Robinson was growing up in the Bayview on Bridgeview Drive, six Muni drivers lived on the same block. One drove the diesel coaches, another ran the cable car, and another had been one of the first operators for the new Muni Metro trains in the ‘80s.
When those Muni operators came home from work,“they had this proud walk that, ‘I’m doing something for the community, for the city,’” said Robinson, now 62.
Robinson had been working at the U.S. Mint in San Francisco, a facility that produces commemorative coins. His job was inventory control, issuing blank coins as needed for other departments to stamp.
“It’s like working at an ice cream factory. You just get numb to it,” Robinson said.
So, in 1999, when a neighbor told him that the transit agency was hiring operators, he was in.
This November marks Robinson’s 26th anniversary driving Muni buses up and down San Francisco’s hills. He is one of 179 operators who were honored by the SFMTA with the Safe Driver Award last week — an honor he’s won for 17 years in a row.
During a recent interview on an empty bus at the bus yard at 22nd and Indiana streets, Robinson remembered specific details of his tenure at the transit agency.
He received a letter saying that he passed the test in February 2000. “I was ranked No. 44,” he said. Nov. 20, 2000 was his first day of class. He graduated the next January.
The first bus that Robinson drove on the road was the 12-Folsom, a 40-foot standard coach that weighs 11 tons. “I was nervous,” he recalled, “because we were half an hour behind schedule.”
His first thought behind the wheel was how big the bus was. It took some getting used to: the distance when he looked at the back of the bus, how the braking felt different and the huge turn radius.
“When that got easy, they put you on the freeway with the bus,” Robinson recalled. “After that, you’re like, ‘Okay, now this is serious.’”
It takes at least five years for an operator to become truly comfortable with the vehicle, Robinson said. For him, the job was far more than acquiring the skills to maneuver a 40-foot bus — it meant learning to wait for whatever obstacle might be on the road, be it a stalled Waymo or a Critical Mass bike ride, and to then proceed with caution.
“Being in a hurry causes accidents. If you’re behind, you just gotta [accept], there’s no way to catch up. If you try to catch up, you’re driving too fast. You’re creating a hazard,” he said. “You got to sit back, get in the mindset that ‘I’m just going to get from point A to point B as safely as possible.’”
In 2023, Robinson became a line trainer, an instructor who stays by the side of new drivers, giving them pointers on navigating the tight turns in the San Francisco hills.
Some of Robinson’s Bridgeview Drive Muni-driver neighbors, who first encouraged him to apply for the job, prefer to drive buses that pass their neighborhood, such as the 54 Williams — Robinson’s own ride from the Bayview to Balboa High School when he was young.
At the time, he said, there was not yet “free Muni for youth.” The fare was a half-dollar. Or Robinson would use the car tickets: a punch card for students that lasted about a month. Most of his Balboa High classmates from the 1980’s, Robinson said, wound up working for the city in the fire or police departments or at the General Hospital.
Early in his tenure, Robinson drove the 54 bus past his childhood neighborhood. Former neighbors waved at him, got on the bus and caught up.
Robinson also drove the 29-Sunset, one of the longest daytime lines, serving 35 schools across the city. He loved getting little kids to school every day. “I’m not gonna be the reason why you’re late to school,” he would tell the kids. “It’s a blessing to see these kids go to school, and you see them grow up.”
Robinson’s family originally moved to San Francisco from Mississippi to get away from segregation and to look for better opportunities. “Everybody came west,” he said.
Robinson now lives in Fairfield, an hour’s drive from the city. To avoid traffic, he wakes up every day around 3:30 a.m. By 6 a.m., he is ready to take the 36-Teresita from Forest Hill to Valencia and Mission streets.
In the afternoon, he switches to the 48-Quintara, which takes him from the Woods Division bus yard in Dogpatch, through the busy and at times congested 24th Street corridor, all the way out to Ocean Beach.
Robinson says he’s used to the microclimate and the fog rolling in as he heads west. “By the time you get to West Portal, it’s time to put your jacket back on,” he said.
He spends most of his day behind the wheel, but on weekends, he no longer visits the city much. San Francisco has changed in his 26 years driving Muni buses. “When I first started, there was no Chase Center. There was no Mission Bay,” he recalled.
Robinson recalls seeing the sprawling UCSF Mission Bay campus for the first time driving the 55 bus. “When I was growing up, this was a golf range,” he said. “It’s just amazing how that area has boomed.”
On a recent Tuesday, Robinson circled around his bus, checking the mirrors and ramp and turning on the display screen reading “shuttle.” He was heading to the 24th Street BART station.
“Drive safe, hon!” another driver said, waving at Robinson as he left.
He responded: “I see you out there!”
