Psycho Taxi Boy Checkmated

My birthday is tomorrow, or today, depending…Technically, according to legend, I was born at 7 AM, August 21, 1950, in the back seat of a Ford convertible on the way to Emory hospital. The story handed down says my mother’s cousin, Carrie, was in the back seat attempting to keep me from coming by keeping mothers legs together. I was having none of it, and pushed my way into the world.

The next day at the blog begins at 8 PM, so technically it is already August 21, but then, it’s always five o’clock somewhere according to fellow Georgian and country singer Alan Jackson. I have therefore decided to publish a couple of posts that are personal in nature. Without further ado…

Someone did an internet search of yours truly finding my name, Mike Bacon, contained in a blog post. “Is that you?” he inquired. After checking it out, honesty compelled me to reply it was indeed me about whom she had written. If unaccustomed to reading something someone has written about you it can be disconcerting. I write about other people, some of whom like it, some are indifferent, and some do not like it at all. I have always appreciated hearing what others think of me, which seldom happens unless someone wants to give you a piece of their mind.

I met Debbie while driving a cab. As a matter of fact it was an “outlaw” cab because I was in Atlanta and the cab was registered in another county. I was in that particular cab because the folks at Checker Cab Company wanted me to better learn other areas of the metropolitan Atlanta area which would help if I decided to become a dispatcher. Unfortunately, the manager of the company feared I was there to take his job. Long story short, the manager of this particular company, a fat, smarmy type was “in love” with some woman and was apparently embezzling funds to spend on “the love of his life” from the small company which had earlier been purchased by Checker Cab Co. I voiced my suspicions to the supervisor, who happened to be a friend. He told the owners, who did not want to hear it, and I left the company. Later my friend, TDub, informed me an audit had been instituted because of my suspicions and it was found the guy had been, in fact, embezzling funds…

Debbie and I had a short, tempestuous, relationship. Some of my acquaintances thought of her as a “new age” type. She had an apartment in a nice, upscale, area and asked me to move in with her. I was only there a few days because the manager of the property did not want a taxi parked anywhere near the place. Debbie wanted me to talk with the lady in hopes talking with me would dissuade the woman. Even though I told her it would be a waste of time she convinced me to talk with the woman. It was a waste of time, and I moved immediately…

Debbie told me she had been in the import-export business, traveling the world making purchases which she would sell while turning a profit. Upon learning I had been in the sports memorabilia business she said, “So you were in retail, too!”

The last time I saw Debbie she had gotten touch to invite me to her houseboat on Lake Lanier. I was informed she was on the lake as a way of “getting off the grid,” because of a “deal gone wrong.” I did not ask her to elaborate…

After beginning this blog a comment was left by Debbie. We corresponded via email for some time and I learned she had gotten heavily involved with Reikki, and Thai massage. She sent a picture of her and of her house/business in Indiana:

What can I say other than Debbie is a colorful, and quirky, woman…

What follows is from her blog. Rather than providing a link I have decided to print the whole thing. If you decide to read it I would like you to understand something important. The piece is a mixture of fact and fantasy. For the record, I am agnostic. Debbie writes, “I got in the passenger seat alongside Mike…” If one drives a cab in Atlanta it is OK to have a female in the front seat with no passenger(s) in the back ONLY IF THE METER IS OFF! If the meter is on there must be people in the back seat, with the front seat utilized only in that event. This is because there is a law against it, which dates to a time cab drivers would have a woman in the front seat with them who was amenable to administering to the needs of certain passengers, if you get my drift…The police are very strict about enforcing that particular law. In addition, when a cabbie arrived at a “Gentleman’s Club” he was, at the time I drove, given a certain amount of cash per each passenger, which varied at each joint, and the new ones would ‘up the ante’ as a way of having more patrons come through the door. No cab driver would allow ANYONE to sit in a cash seat. So her riding around in my cab while I was on duty NEVER HAPPENED! I will, though, give Debbie “poetic license,” along with the caveat “Creativity comes from the dark side,” a quote from Glenn Frey.

It is written: “Mike claimed that the most lucrative night of the year for Atlanta’s cabbies was the last night of the Southern Baptist convention. After sending their families and attendees away in time for Sunday services back home, a select group of pastors, choir directors, youth leaders and the like stayed on for a little private convening of their own…at the infamous Cheetah strip club.”

Evidently I regaled Debbie with tales of cabbie daze. Unfortunately, she is writing a couple of decades after the fact and has obviously misconstrued some things. For instance, I never drove as “Cab load after cab load of these church guys were carried from their fancy midtown hotels to the club all night long.” As a matter of fact my most memorable trip to the infamous Cheetah Club culminated with one of the three passengers in the back seat being ARRESTED. To make matters worse, the drunken fool claimed to be an assistant DA in some small town in South Carolina. I asked them nicely to “tone it down.” Two did, but the fellow in the middle refused to comply even when the other two begged him to be quiet. He ridiculed me for driving a taxi, constantly making disparaging comments. I took more than necessary because no cab driver wants to lose a fare. I was fed up with his verbal abuse so pulled over on Spring street and ordered them out of the cab. The assistant DA began screaming, “YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM!” I AM AN ASSISTANT DA!” I replied, “Mister, I don’t give a shit who you are. If you were the Attorney General you would have to abide by MY RULES because it is MY CAB, and when you are in MY CAB I AM THE SUPREME CAB CONTROLLER!!!”

The other two passengers attempted to talk sense to the idiot, but he was out of his mind DRUNK, and refused to listen. They exited the cab, but Mr. Ass DA refused, so I called the dispatcher, who notified the police. Upon arriving the cops wanted to hear what I had to say, which pissed him off IMMENSELY. He continued to talk, saying things like, “Why are you talking to a lowly CAB DRIVER. YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM! I AM AN ASSISTANT DA! YOU SHOULD BE TALKING TO ME!”

One of the cops responded, “Sir, I don’t care if you are the Attorney General. I want to talk with the cabbie. If you do not SHUT-UP you are going to JAIL!” This pissed him off even more and he continued his drunken blather, so was slapped in irons and taken to jail. After leaving I got back into MY CAB and started to drive off. The two quiet drunks said, “Hey, you ain’t gonna leave us here on the side of the road are you?” Before hitting the gas I said, “Call a CAB!”

I will admit that during convention time I drove “Cab load after cab load…” to and from strip clubs because that was my JOB. But I never drove “church guys” because it was a well known fact that the church types preferred staying in their rooms to watch porn. Anyone around during that time will tell you the rentals of porn videos was off the charts at every hotel in the city when the religious types came into town. Business was so bad at the strip clubs many of the girls did not come to work and most of those who did were sent home.

With this in mind I give you…

Psycho Taxi Boy on a Terribly Hot Sunday Night with the Southern Baptist Convention

13 January 2017

“Want to go for a ride? We haven’t talked in awhile…”

I recognized that drawl…
Mike Bacon…miscreant, Atlanta Chess Champion cum gypsy cab driver…
Against my better judgment, I said ok.
“Meet me out front in half an hour.”

The uniquely infuriating Mike Bacon aka Psycho Taxi Boy…
Our last big blowup was 5 or 6 months before.
He had insulted me to the limits of my patience…over some alleged
scandalous behavior of church leaders.
Now Michael had no patience for religious types.
I had little myself, but he had brought his point home
in a stunningly dreadful way.

Now, word for word, no one on the planet has a better command
of the English language than a denizen of the American South.
They are easily the most colorful, artful and entertaining of the speakers.
They certainly do the most with the least.
Homespun wit and native intellect merge in a wickedly punchy brew.
Consider the likes of Tom Robbins if you don’t believe me…

Having ferried all manner of people from around the world in his cab
all those years, Michael had an endless supply of quirky stories.
Ever the acute observer of the human condition, driving cab allowed him
to travel the world from the comfort of his front seat…affording him
not only a unique education, but the freedom to compete in chess tournaments and still keep a roof over his head.
We had met in his cab, in fact.
It was Halloween night, but that is another story…

Michael had surmised that I was still somewhat in the chokehold
of old time religion and needed some wising up.
There was nothing defensible in religion, according to Michael.
We debated the topic hotly one more time.
He told me exactly why he had no faith in those hypocrites.
Michael waxed virulent that day and we blasted apart.
I was still stinging from his attack months later…

Mike claimed that the most lucrative night of the year for Atlanta’s cabbies
was the last night of the Southern Baptist convention.
After sending their families and attendees away in time for Sunday services
back home, a select group of pastors, choir directors, youth leaders
and the like stayed on for a little private convening of their own…
at the infamous Cheetah strip club.
Now the only strip club that was open on a Sunday night was the Cheetah.
Cab load after cab load of these church guys were carried from their fancy midtown hotels to the club all night long.
Mike went into shocking and sordid detail, much to my horror and dismay.
He just wouldn’t let up!
Tempers flared!
I didn’t care if I ever saw Michael again!

Then the soft drawl of his voice that late afternoon…
Much as I hated to admit it, I missed him…
his surly, recalcitrant humor, his edgy droll outlook,
not to mention the peculiar metaphysical experiences
that spontaneously erupted whenever we got together…

I got in the passenger seat alongside Mike, unsure of how to reconnect.
He was a little tucked inside, as well.
He drove toward downtown Atlanta in silence.
Then a little cautious chit chat.
Things eased up. It was good spending time with him again.

First stop…one of the most expensive hotels in the heart of midtown.
Three well-dressed gentlemen got into the back seat.
Destination: the Cheetah club.
Mike dutifully dropped them off, wishing them a good night.
Moments later, 2 men emerged from the club with hookers
on their arms.
They drunkenly waved Michael down and squeezed in.
The cab suddenly reeked of alcohol, cigar smoke and cheap perfume.
Repugnant! I rolled my window down.
Destination: the hotel we had just come from.
I squirmed uncomfortably.
There was too much activity in the back seat for me, but Michael was unfazed.

Finally they exited the cab, only to be replaced by a clump of men
filling the back seat once more, nervously requesting the Cheetah.
They didn’t seem the type, but looks could be deceiving, I reasoned.
None of them seemed the type, but perhaps I was naïve.

Three pale, overweight drunk guys clambered into the back seat
upon their exit…all sporting wedding bands.
Back to the nice hotel.
The men were foul-mouthed…pretty vile, actually.
I glanced at Mike a few times, wincing at their remarks.
He remained impassive.
‘It is what it is,’ I could almost hear him say.

As the night wore on, the fares were rowdier, more crude.
The same sickening circuit.
Too many scantily-clad women draped over their fat arms.
Then some lines of cocaine were snorted in the back seat.
I was churning inside, wondering how I could escape the cab.
I’d had enough!
The men were nothing short of bestial, despite their fine suits,
expensive watches and other ostentatious trappings of wealth.

I overheard their conversations. There was no escaping it.
I was already mortified, but things were about to get worse…
A snatch of conversation held me riveted.
The men were bragging about their conquests, each one trying to best the others.
That’s when I heard them mocking their wives…their mistresses…
and their congregations.

My blood boiled, my stomach turned…
I realized what night it was…
Sunday night- the infamous last night of the Southern Baptist Convention.
The fine suits, conservative haircuts, wedding bands, their coarse mockery,
the long line of cabs making the non-stop circuit between the Cheetah
and the fine hotels.

“Michael! Please get me out of here!!!”
Michael finished one more run…for emphasis.
Then he pulled to the side of the road so I could retch.
I shook with revulsion…and understanding.
He had exposed the rabble of southern Baptist preachers.


Dedicated to Ms. Debra Robinson

Taxi Taxi


All these streets are never ending
Tie ’em in a knot
Drive me through a red light
Waiting for everyone to stop
Sing to me like Pavarotti
Sing to me of Spain
Take me to you operetta
And make it rain
Taxi, taxi, give me a ride
I’m gonna take you to the other side
Taxi, taxi, turn off your light
I’m gonna ride with you all night
Take me to your meditation
Take me to your door
Show me love’s sweet revelation
Lying on your floor
Hole me in your arms forever
Take me to the end
Drive me to the edge of nowhere
And sing again
You’re as cool as Colorado
And Orpheus on fire
Crash the car into a rainbow
Here with me tonight
All the satellites are shining
In the starry sky
I can feel your arms surround me
Higher and higher
Taxi, taxi, taxi, taxi
Sing to me like Pavarotti
Sing to me
Taxi, taxi, give me a ride
I’m gonna ride with you all night
I’m gonna ride with you all night
I’m gonna ride with you all night
(repeat 2 times)
Taxi, taxi

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