The Shoreline Bus Company: Shoreline Chauffeur

Al Koch
January 2023

Calumet Region residents during the ‘40s, ‘50s. and ‘60s, were treated to a job-rich industrial smorgasbord featuring steel mills, refineries, chemical plants, small and large businesses, manufacturing factories, and a sundry of retail establishments. Area communities and neighborhoods were home to thousands of blue-collar and white-collar employees and their families, who worked, shopped, went to school, attended church, and participated in a myriad of individual, social, and group-centered activities.

Although most “Region” residents drove automobiles, for countless others, a primary mode of transportation was the bus, save for the local Whiting-Robertsdale oil refinery workers who bicycled, or walked to and from Standard Oil/AMOCO.  However, when one needed a ride to steel mills, downtown Gary, Hammond, Griffith, Chicago, or anywhere within the Calumet Region, a Shoreline chauffeured bus offered convenience, and dependability.

For twenty-five cents workers, housewives, and patrons of every persuasion rode the familiar yellow and white diesel-powered municipal limousine.  Because our family never owned a car, bus scheduled routes and departure times were memorized.  Even though other carriers, and cab companies, served Calumet Region residents, Shoreline Buses were the people’s choice.

The Shoreline Bus Company’s headquarters was located at 150th Street and Columbia Avenue in Hammond. In 1926, Shore Line Motor Coach Company was formed to assume all the bus operations from Gary Railways Company, outside the city of Gary.  By 1929, Shore Line Motor Coach Company had acquired all area bus companies except for the Midwest Motor Coach Company.  That same year after several railway and streetcars companies were dissolved and reorganized, the C & CD – Chicago & Calumet District Transit Company acquired Shore Line Motor Coach Company adding express bus routes to and from downtown Chicago. The one-way fare to Chicago was 40 cents.  This company flourished well into the 1980s.

I was introduced to the bus at age five when my mother took me to Chicago. She worked in Chicago before being married and loved the downtown Loop stores.  Many times, the bus trips involved our annual back-to-school bargain hunt, and post-Christmas clearance sales.  The bus lumbered along streets with unfamiliar names toward downtown Chicago.  Along the way, our chauffeur made numerous stops as wannabe riders waited on corners and nearby commuter stations holding transfers, tokens, and coins for the fair box.

A favorite memory involves a bus ride home from Chicago in January of 1946. Following a successful shopping excursion at Goldblatt’s, Mom and I walked to the bus station to make our connection for the ride home to Whiting.  The vintage bus we rode had a single passenger seat adjacent to the driver.  I was thrilled when Mom gave permission for me to ride next to the driver like a co-pilot. I watched the driver shift gears, punch transfers, and make change.  Every now-and-then he’d activate the lever on the fare box.  Immediately the small-handled wheel revolved, clicking away counting the coins that had been deposited through one of the three slots on the gable-topped, steeple-shaped coin meter. 

It was a snowy day, and from the co-pilot’s chair, I watched hurrying shoppers negotiate slippery intersections dodging automobiles, taxis, street cars, and crowded crosswalks. Boots, galoshes, and street shoes plodded in and out of salt-softened snow as the footwear owners quick-stepped their way across busy streets.  The bus’s long-length windshield wipers slapped at snowflakes and sludge with equal tenacity keeping the view clear for the driver to safely navigate through the hustle and bustle of Chicago Loop’s traffic.  The cadence of the wipers embellished the excitement of up-front seating. To an impressionable five-year-old, riding up front adjacent to the driver was exhilarating!

My fondness and appreciation for Shoreline buses increased as a teenager. With money earned setting pins at the Whiting Community Center’s bowling alley, I was able to forego hand-me-downs and purchase clothes of my choosing and buy needed adolescent necessities like basketball tickets, yearbooks, Hot Dog Louie snacks, White Castle belly bombers, and snooker games at Nick’s.

Occasionally I took the after-school bus to downtown Hammond to shop at two stores of choice: JC Penney and the War Surplus Store.  Penney sold Foremost brand jeans.  Unlike Levi’s, Foremost jeans did not shrink, or discolor, the white rollers on Mom’s Apex wringer-washer when laundered.  I shopped at the War Surplus Store for my black, slip-on penny loafers with tiny tassels.  In 1957, a pair of jeans cost $4.95.   My size 9 tasseled loafers--$6.95.  The students’ bus fare was ten cents.

Whiting High School dismissal was 3:38 pm. (School started at 8:08 am), I ran directly from Oliver Street to the bus stop on the corner of Atchison and 119th Street and caught the 3:50, 5B bus.   Sometimes I carried a couple of textbooks home just for show-and-tell, but on days I went shopping in Hammond, my school locker served as book depository.   In turn, after shopping, I raced to the Hohman Avenue bus stop across the street from Goldblatt’s, in front of Cousins’ Jeweler, and caught the 4:50 bus back to Whiting.  I needed to get home before my parents from work, as there were chores waiting to be done.

After graduation, my allegiance and dependence for the Shoreline grew during the years I worked at Inland Steel as an apprentice and journeyman machinist. From August of 1958, until I left for college six years later, the bus was my primary means of transportation to and from work. Even after I purchased an automobile, I took the bus rather than engage in the hassle of parking in one of the company’s lots.

Truly, the Shoreline was a bus for all seasons. During hot humid weather, windows were opened, allowing industrial aromas to filter in and out among sweaty riders.  Occasionally, a renegade gust of wind would direct diesel fumes upward. When mixed with coke oven dust, refinery vapors, and blast furnace smoke, breathing became a challenge. When conditions were just right—bus patrons could hear resident pigeons’ coughing!

During cold weather, frigid temperatures dictated the closure of windows.  Steel mills, oil refinery, and industrial workers adapted accordingly insulated in layered flannel, wool, sweaters, heavy coats., scarves, hats, and gloves. Several riders wore heavy boots and galoshes.  Many on board had not  shaved or showered adding their personal perfume to the confined atmosphere inside the bus. Even with the vehicle’s heater operating efficiently, riders kept internal thermostats comfortable through frequent nips of libation. Old Grand Dad, Jim Beam, and Jack Daniels were frequent companions on the Shoreline. I don’t know about the bus, but the passengers were well-fortified with 80 proof anti-freeze. Jackie Gleason’s, Ralph Kramden, would have loved driving a Shoreline bus!

Poetically, the Shoreline bus was a symphony for the senses. Years before the Beach Boys’ #1 Top 40 hit record, the pulsating rhythmic shimmying of the buses’ wheels, gears, diesel engine, and mechanical systems enhanced the bus’s interior ambiance with “Good Vibrations.”  Inside, the bus was illuminated by daylight and electric lights.  Advertising posters bannered areas above the windows enticing passengers to purchase a variety of products.  The sounds of air piston-activated bifold entry and exit doors blended with the clickety-click of the fare box as it counted deposited coins. And the periodic tonal signal energized by the pull cord announcing a passenger’s intention to get off the bus were choreographed and presented with inspiring efficient expertise.

 At times, adverse winter road conditions caused the bus to be late.  In the early morning darkness, I waited on 119th Street, in front of Bercik’s Service Station, gloveless and bare-headed, in teeth-chattering, bone-numbing cold, holding an A&P shopping bag with work clothes and lunch.  Mercifully, just before I froze solid, the 5A yellow and white,  industrial limousine arrived. As soon as the bus’s folding front doors opened, I’d step onto the bus, and with nearly frozen fingers, simultaneously slip a quarter in the fare box and search for a vacant seat. On many occasions the bus was crowded, and I had to stand.  

Passenger clientele varied with daytime, evening, and nighttime hours.  A sundry of shoppers, students, shift workers, and those with random travel needs filled the fare box morning, noon, and night.   Both genders of adults, adolescents, and children utilized the convenience of Shoreline buses going to and from destinations.

The rider’s patience on the 5B bus route was often tested on Hohman Avenue by frequent train traffic delays while entering or leaving downtown Hammond.  Workers who rode the bus to Inland Steel were frequently halted as the Indiana Harbor ship Canal bridge raised to allow boat passage to industrial docks. Regardless, seasoned pilots of the Shoreline limousines were unperturbed, as they adjusted to a variety of Calumet Region roadway challenges encountered along their routes.

Riders on Shoreline’s Whiting route continued east on 119th Street, stopping at designated corners for waiting patrons: at Clark Street in front of Woolworth’s, New York Avenue in front of Central Drug Store, and Schrage Avenue in front of the Standard Hotel. The now fully occupied bus continued east and turned right entering Front Street; then, onto Dickey Road.  Past the Union Carbide plant, the bus crossed the railroad tracks and stopped at one of the gates at the Standard Oil Refinery, so S.O.CO. employees could disembark.   

Half awake, and shivering, it took considerable effort to maintain stability with each stop and start. With one hand holding the shopping bag full of clothes and lunch, and the other hand firmly grasping the bus’s ceiling-mounted grab bar, it was a challenge to keep one’s vertical balance.  The bus rumbled, swayed, pitched, bounced, and rattled along navigating chuckholes, crumbling asphalt, and unevenness of Dickey Road.  All the jostling served to test one’s bladder control.  Riding the Shoreline was not only an adventure, but it was also a character builder par excellence!

 After crossing 129th Street, on Dickey Road past Marktown, the bus stopped at Youngstown Steet and Tube Company in front of the Mill Gate Inn; from there, onward to Indiana Harbor. The Shoreline’s rubber-wheeled road transport traversed the Indiana Harbor Ship Canal bridge, past Inland’s Coke Plant 3, the now-shuttered Cast Armor Plant, (Inland subsequently purchased this facility and it became Inland Steel’s Plant #4), to the corner of Dickey Road and Watling Street home of Standard Forge Company, whose giant steam hammers created tremors that shook buildings, streets, and passengers on the Shoreline.

Turning onto Michigan Avenue, the bus passed businesses like the Indiana Theater, Harbor Hotel, and Milt’s Menswear Store.  Less than a minute later, the blue-collar express arrived at its designated bus stop, the corner of Michigan and Guthrie.  Even at this early hour, several patrons were seated on bar stools inside the corner tavern. I exited the bus and walked the few short blocks to Inland Steel’s Plant #1 Machine Shop– my industrial home for the next six years. 

My most poignant Shoreline excursion, and the last bus ride I ever took, was the day I was rejected for military service. Drafted in August 1963, my pre-induction physical classification was 1A.  However, when I reported for induction that October, the military reclassified my rating to adjusted medical standards and I was sent home. Both my older brothers had honorably served in the military. Now it was my duty to serve, but I was deemed medically unsuitable to do so.

At 6:30 that morning, the bus arrived in front of the East Chicago Post Office at Chicago and Kennedy Avenues where the draftees boarded.  With the Shoreline bus filled with inductees, we headed to Chicago for formal induction before boarding a train to Fort Knox, Kentucky where we would begin basic training.   Now, in the early evening of that same day, heading back home, I was the only passenger on the bus—emotionally it was the loneliest ride I ever took.   Feelings of rejection, low self-esteem, and embarrassment filled my mind.  At 22, I was at a crossroad, uncertain what I should do.  Unknown to me at the time, the impact of that solitary ride became a major turning point in my life.  Subsequently, after considerable review and thought I decided to become a teacher.

All in all, reflecting on the experiences, events, and lessons learned, I enjoyed those times.  Each moment helped me become the person I am. Since transitioning from the steel mill to the college campus and classrooms, I did not have an opportunity to ride a bus again.  However, every now and then as a public-school teacher, I’d climb aboard a scholastic “cheese wagon” as chaperone for a school-sponsored student field trip.  With remembrances of riding the Shoreline bus, I’d muse about those long-ago adventures.

Without question, it wasn’t the same.  Even so, I readily recall the sights, sounds, and fragrance of a steel-mill bound Shoreline bus crowded with mature blue-collar workers.  With heartfelt appreciation I’d think about the cordial, skillful, competent bus drivers and Shoreline Bus Company employees who worked behind the scenes throughout the years, providing safe, dependable, and memorable transportation.

Today, as a well-seasoned geriatric, I often think about the seventeen-year-old steel mill shift-worker apprentice carrying his brown-bag lunch, thermos, and work clothes in an A&P shopping bag waiting for the Shoreline Chauffeur, and the positive, constructive difference those times made in his life.