When JorDann Crawford loses her job as a bus driver, her family won’t have enough income to cover living costs — the biggest being the $2,200 rent on their two-bedroom Santa Rosa home.
She’ll get another job before Jan. 4, the mom of three pledged as she steered a Golden Gate Transit bus along Highway 101 on a recent morning, adding that she’s already applying on her iPad during lunch breaks. If not, severance pay, unemployment benefits and savings will fill the gap. But just in case, she’s steeled to move into a trailer the size of the bus she drives with her fiance and kids, ages 9, 5 and 8 months.
“I need to be prepared for it,” said Crawford, 29. “Financially, we won’t be able to stay above water.”
Crawford is one of 88 bus drivers, among 146 employees of the agency, which owns the Golden Gate Bridge, operates buses in the North Bay and runs ferries and buses to and from San Francisco, who will lose their jobs after the holidays and their health care four months later.
They are the first in what may be a wave of unemployed Bay Area transit workers as other agencies, including BART, Muni and Caltrain, grapple with gaping budget holes and uncertainty about when commuters will return to offices and a coronavirus vaccine will be widely available, signaling an end to the pandemic.
They’ll join more than 2 million unemployed Californians as the virus surges and the state clamps down on the economy, dimming hope for transit’s recovery anytime soon.
On Nov. 13, Crawford sat in the break room on Perry Street in San Francisco, between Third and Fourth streets, listening on speaker phone to a tense 3½-hour meeting as the Golden Gate Bridge, Highway and Transportation District’s board of directors debated her fate. Public transportation ridership plunged during the pandemic, they said, and the district was hemorrhaging at least $1 million a week and facing a $48 million deficit, with $51.6 million in federal relief money drained by the end of November.
By next month, bus service will already be cut by 55% and ferries 73%. District leaders decided they’d either hike tolls by $2, or raise tolls by $1.25 and furlough workers, or lay them off, to shrink the deficit.
Tolls currently top out at $8.70 per car and were raised 20 to 35 cents in July, part of an incremental five-year increase.
A couple of directors said they grew up on the edge and understand how workers feel. Another said her husband received a layoff notice a month ago. Others said the cuts are painful, but there is simply no work for some employees. The board voted 11-5 for layoffs in the end.
Director Brian Sobel told The Chronicle that the district “had some anecdotal information that people didn’t really want to deal with the toll increase.” Public hearings would also take time they didn’t have, he added.
“We’re bleeding at $1 million to $2 million a week,” Sobel said. “We’re talking a $48 million deficit and, at the same time, realizing we are dealing with people who are losing their jobs, and it’s a struggle for people.”
“We love our drivers and everybody at the district, but if there isn’t work for them, you shouldn’t pay them out of taxpayer dollars, tolls, rates, anything. It’s sad to say, because I know a lot of them, they’re wonderful people, but that was the challenge,” he said.
Union leaders also opposed a toll hike, which they said would disproportionately hit low-income drivers, but proposed furloughs as a compromise. Laid-off workers understand that the district needs riders and revenue to stay afloat, but feel hurt that other options — including the toll hike or spending capital reserves — weren’t pursued.
“Our lives don’t matter,” said Crawford, who’s worked at the district for 3½ years. Her monthly take-home pay was about $3,500.
Drivers interviewed said they love their co-workers and their jobs. Some worked straight through the pandemic — buying their own gloves, masks and wipes when supplies were scarce in the early days and constantly worrying they would bring the virus home to their families — while others cobbled together leave to care for kids out of school.
The district’s workers have been relatively unscathed by the virus. There have been 11 coronavirus infections among more than 800 employees, two of which were from workplace transmission, spokesperson Paolo Cosulich-Schwartz said.
But now, many more workers are stressed about losing health care as the pandemic rages.
The first thing bus driver Lisa Reed thought about when she heard about the layoffs was her 8-year-old daughter Arissa. The girl had her second hernia surgery in a year in early October. She’s in pain again, and Reed rushed to book an ultrasound appointment after she got her layoff notice and before her coverage runs out. Fortunately, the family just enrolled in her husband’s plan, but it will be more expensive, she said.
After the vote, she sat her kids down and told them the family would be spending money only on essentials.
“I know it’s unprecedented and no one has been here before,” Reed said in a phone interview. But she wished the district would “just try and listen to us, to try not to have this devastating effect.”
Bus driver Chris Garland said he can do without a lot — television, internet, car, groceries, even negotiate with his landlord if he can’t pay rent on his San Leandro home — but his wife and 19-year-old daughter both have medical conditions and need prescription medications. His wife works, but enrolling in her insurance would take a huge chunk out of her paycheck on top of his lost income, he said.
“I can’t deal without health insurance. It’s incredibly stressful,” Garland said on the phone.
Until Jan. 4, workers are still reporting to the job. At 7:47 a.m. Friday, a week after the vote to cut Crawford’s job, she rushed up to the employee health screening station at the district’s yard in San Rafael toting a backpack, lunchbox and camouflage mask. She halted to get her temperature checked by a co-worker.
She’d awakened at 5 a.m. The evening before, she left her three kids with her mother, then waited for her schedule for the next day to be released. It turned out to be a relatively easy: She could have been asked to show up at 3:19 a.m. for a 16-hour shift. Instead, she might be done by lunchtime.
Crawford breezed into the break room just long enough to leave leftover chili in the fridge for a co-worker.
“Stay safe out there,” she told a fellow driver on her way out.
Crawford hopped into a shuttle that wove its way to the city’s main transit hub. At her bus, she counted to make sure only 11 people were on it — COVID-19 maximum capacity — and asked one young woman to take a backup bus behind them. Crawford, her fingernails painted pink, took the wheel and eased the bus onto Highway 101 headed north. Just before Novato, she picked up a man who shuffled on board wearing a soiled mask. His ticket was for a local, not an express, ride. Crawford let him on anyway.
Union leaders criticized the decision to make cuts at the lower levels of the organization. The average full-time bus driver made $80,000 to $100,000 a year before COVID-19, Cosulich-Schwartz said.
Layoffs and pay cuts still don’t fill the gaping budget hole. The district will drain emergency funds and operating reserves, and if transit ridership and bridge traffic don’t increase before the end of the fiscal year, the agency has to find other ways to raise revenue or cut costs, he said.
In a typical year, half of the district’s tolls are spent on the bridge, while the other half supports buses and ferries. Toll dollars provide nearly half of the bus division’s operating revenue.
San Francisco resident Dan Streetman takes the Golden Gate Bridge occasionally; his wife used to commute every day. He said raising tolls would make him think twice about paying that much for a regular commute.
“It’s just a challenging situation for everybody to be in,” Streetman said. “You think of a toll as a use tax and it seems pretty fair, but in a current situation it’s probably quite regressive, since wealthier workers are working from home and people who are driving and commuting are essential workers.”
But the small-business owner also feels the pain for laid-off workers.
“How can we spread the cost so that everybody shares the impact?” he said.
Crawford’s fiance got laid off in July, but found work with a tree-cutting company during wildfire season. The couple planned to make more money, buy a house, then get married — but those plans are pushed off for now. Crawford said she’s grateful for her partner, who assures her everything will be fine, but she still needs a job.
“You hope for the best,” she said, “prepare for the worst.”
Mallory Moench is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. Email: mallory.moench@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @mallorymoench
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Golden Gate bus drivers losing jobs at troubled transit agency: ‘We won’t be able to stay above water’ - San Francisco Chronicle
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