Photo by Jeremy Brooks
Our week continues with obituaries written by you, dear riders, in memory of the Muni lines that are being eliminated this Saturday. Dates for the death of these lines changed several times, giving many of you the chance to really think up a good obituary for your favorite line. Rider Whole Wheat Toast penned this obituary for the 20-Columbus with a note to the line’s history.
The 20-Columbus, also known by its name as the 20-line, died in
The 20-Columbus was born on July 2, 2007, as a result of the disastrous discontinuation of the 15-Third, which rendered indirect connections from Columbus Avenue to the Financial District. Not only did the route serve residents of North Beach, it also served commuters from the Marina, and students at the nearby Galileo High School. While often empty at times, it was a pretty fast way to get from Galileo to the Embarcadero Center whenever a student wanted to take his friends out for shopping after school, or as an alternative to the stuffy 30-Stockton bus.
October 15November TK, 2009 December 4, 2009, the 20-Columbus was discontinued with no regard to the residents and people who use the route every day, and was replaced by a rush hour, longer-vehicle service known as the 41-Union, which also had its share of cuts, being reduced from a Presidio-Downtown route to a Pacific Heights-Downtown route.
May the 20-Columbus rest in peace.
from Whole Wheat Toast
Here at Muni Diaries, we love stories about Muni experiences that make your day. Rider Andrew sent this recap of how the drivers of the 20-Columbus can brighten a morning:
On no Muni line were the drivers as consistently friendly as 20-Columbus. Smiles, “good morning!”s, and perfect curb-loading stops, year-round. When I once asked why, the driver responded, “Well, all the passengers are nicer on the 20, too.”
And how true that was! Travel options abound from my stop — Hyde and North Beach — to the business district, and the daft among us would snatch whichever was quickest, usually (and, now, forevermore) the 10-Townsend and 30-Stockton.
But we 20-Columbus riders were a self-selected bunch, those with the foresight and experience to avoid the 10-Yuppie and the 30-Pink Bag. Those with the spare four morning minutes to walk from the Transamerica Building — “the outskirts” — to our soulless cubes. Those with some long-buried childhood love of the smile from the driver, the nod from fellow passengers, and the ample legroom.
Oh, the legroom. You see, the 20-Columbus was articulated, and empty, at an unsurpassed rate, which tends to eliminate nearly every major rider complaint. There were no jars of urine, no screaming children. No unbathed patrons. No chatty Cathys, no Muni DJs. No Two-Seat-Takin’, Big-Balls-Havin’ guys, although if there were, no biggie!
So, 20-Columbus, your drivers and passengers will miss you, and we thank you. For your solitary mornings, for your easygoing clientele, and, above all, for showing us that, yes, human decency extends past the curb.
If you’re curious about the history of this short-lived line, check out California Beat’s obituary for the 20-Columbus.