"Crap," says Angie Young, stepping off the curb at the corner of 24th and Hoffman and gazing southward down the street. "I'm going to be late for work again."

Young, 45, is a clinical laboratory technician at Abington Memorial Hospital just north of the city, and she relies on SEPTA to get to and from work every day. But the company's recent restructuring has made that very difficult.

"I sometimes wait for six, seven hours out here," she says as she lowers herself back into a canvas Eagles folding chair that she takes to the bus stop these days. "Sometimes I break down and just call a cab, but that's expensive. And I work in a hospital—I can't show up stinking of cloves and B.O."

So she waits.

But it's not really a bus she's waiting for. The last remaining vehicle in the SEPTA fleet is actually a 1992 "Mini Mover" rented from the U-Haul corporation. Under new SEPTA guidelines, lucky commuters who do manage to catch a ride during the truck's intermittent tours of the city are loaded into the back.

Some riders have already complained about the subpar conditions, particularly the lack of light and ventilation.

Many thought

SEPTA

's problems were solved when last month's labor dispute was settled before transit workers were forced to strike for better wages and benefits. In fact, disaster hadn't been averted so much as momentarily dodged.

"We made a lot of crazy promises in those labor meetings," says Faye Moore, Septa's general manager. "Dental coverage, maternity leave, free rides to work. I never should have signed that contract. This guy Ted in human resources dared me."

SEPTA

's financial straits were just too dire to continue without rethinking the transit company's entire business model. "We were basically left with two options: Either raise fares to $27 per ride, with $9 transfers, or cut back on some of our services," Moore says. "And we all know nobody wants a rate hike."

So, at a news conference last week,

SEPTA

executives announced massive layoffs of all subway, regional rail and bus operators. Its entire motorized fleet was soon sold for scrap, and all railcars were auctioned to theme restaurateurs.

"Technically we are still honoring our labor contract," Moore explains. "It's just that there's only one driver left to benefit from it."

That driver is Hank Leonard. With his broad smile and signature glazed look, he makes the rounds every day in the Mini Mover.

"I'm proud and happy to be the new face of SEPTA," he says during a brief pit stop at a 7-11 to ask for directions.

Leonard is 91 years young and, due to a clerical error, was never made to retire when he turned 65. He had seniority when SEPTA made its job cuts.

"I'm proud and happy to be the new face of SEPTA," he says again, as if he hadn't just said that.

"Hank's great," beams longtime SEPTA customer Loraine Marvin of Society Hill. "He always helps me in and out of the truck. My bad hip, you know. And he's quite handsome."

A typical day for Leonard begins at 5:30 a.m., when he wakes up and makes himself breakfast on his George Foreman Grill. "Usually it's grilled cheese because that's really easy. And I was always burning myself on the frying pan when I made it the old-fashioned way. So my niece, she gets me this Foreman Grill," he explains. "And so I use that."

After breakfast, Leonard grabs his route schedules—a six-inch pile of pamphlets—and heads down to the U-Haul office near his house to pick up his truck. (In what

SEPTA

brass believes is a cost-cutting move, they require their driver to re-rent the same truck every morning and return it each evening.)

"Old Hank's a nice guy, but maybe a few bulbs shy of a marquee, if you know what I mean," says Tonya Wallace, U-Haul morning manager. "Sometimes we talk him into renting a handtruck or a carpet steamer, just to fuck with him."

Once he's behind the wheel, Leonard hits the road in search of customers. "They're pretty easy to spot," he says, gesturing toward a horde of men and women in business attire waiting on a corner. They scurry as Leonard pulls over to pick them up, one tire up on the sidewalk.

He gets out and, after some struggle, lifts the back door open. Several customers remind him to take their money and tokens. At another stop, Leonard—with the help of one of his young passengers—pulls out the loading ramp to allow a woman in a wheelchair to board. "Now, everybody hang on to her when we get going," he suggests kindly.

"We've learned to band together," says passenger Malik Thompson of Queen Village, by Zippo light. "We hold each other when we hit a bump. We're all trying to help each other through it."

"Sometimes the truck just stops and doesn't move for what seems like an hour," says Margaret Yang of Port Richmond, her voice trembling. "And we don't know if old Hank's taking a lunch break or if he's become confused and just wandered away from the truck. Our lives are in his hands, really."

A surprising number of Leonard's passengers are understanding of the pressures and problems inherent in his role as the only driver for an entire metropolitan mass-transit system.

"He's like Santa Claus. It's amazing that he's able to make all the stops in a reasonable time frame," says Brandon Halloran of Germantown. "What I mean is, it would be amazing, you know, if he was able to do that. Of course, he isn't. I'm buying a car next month."

Still, SEPTA's street-level customers are, according to polling, 30 percent more satisfied with their commute than those who travel by subway. The transit company's idea to open up its underground tunnels to foot traffic has been met with mixed results.

"It's kind of horrible," says commuter Brian Carpenter of Grays Ferry. "It's dark and damp and miserable, and half the time you're not really sure what you're stepping in."

"So many rats," offers Ned Weymouth of South Philadelphia. "So many rats. So many rats."

U-Haul of Fame: All of Old Hank's passengers seem to know him by name.

But there is an upside to the cessation of rail traffic, according to Moore. "We had a real problem there for a while, with frustrated SEPTA customers committing suicide by standing on the tracks when the trains pull into a station. And because so many of our trains were late, those people might be down there on the tracks for hours, just waiting."

According to Moore, SEPTA has not received many complaints about the canceling of regional rail service. "Well, we don't check that voicemail box," she confides.

As the sun sets on Philadelphia, Hank Leonard is slowly cruising through Olney. WJJZ, not quite tuned in properly, struggles through the static. The lonely bus driver sings along, even though the songs were not written with lyrics. Then he becomes philosophical.

"You know," he says while making an illegal turn, "This is the time of day I savor. The sun is going down. The traffic is thinning out. The glare makes everything sort of pink. And my passengers are peaceful and calm. Or at least they've stopped knocking and banging on the sides. They're always banging on the sides. And I say keep it down. But, you know, it doesn't really matter."

Eventually, Leonard finds his way back to the U-Haul office to return the truck. Night manager Thomas Greene surveys the vehicle, making a note of each new dent and scrape on his clipboard.

"Old Hank is tearing the shit out of this truck," laughs Greene. "He brings it in here with leaves all over it, mud, busted headlights, you name it. Once he returned it with a backpack dragging from the bumper. I don't even wanna know."

"We are very happy with the new arrangement," Moore says. "Hank's experience and loopy sense of humor have made the transition a smooth one. I think it's very reassuring for our riders to know personally the guy who's trying to drive them to work each morning."

But it is that rigorous schedule that may cause some trouble between management and the last remaining member of the transit workers union.

"I was promised Tuesdays off," says Leonard, sipping from a glass of milk on his living-room couch. "Either they give me my day off each week or I'm going to go on strike. My arms get tired driving. It's a long day. Stop that banging! It's a long day." He sighs heavily, then falls asleep.

April Fool's Day, 2004