Related story: The Bus Stops Here

By Michael P. McKinney
Journal Staff Writer

I was driving around Seekonk, Mass., searching for something different.

What I found were a bunch of beat-up school buses. They were in a valley squeezed on one side by Route 195 and on the other by Route 6 ``big-box'' retail stores. I had driven by many times before but never noticed. The scene seemed out of place, like one era being forced out by a new one. I started to picture a story.

I knocked on the door of the small machine shop. A man was chatting on the phone with customers. He had the perfect sounding name of Bud Saunders. I figured he would be nervous, thinking I wanted to do an expose on junkyard zoning violations. I explained that I was just interested in the buses outside, their history and what they symbolize about changing times.

Several days later, I came back for the interview. Saunders didn't see anything especially remarkable in the buses, which worked in the story's favor. He came across as a pragmatic Mr. Fix-it who simply moved from fixing buses to selling high-tech Weed Whackers because that's where the business has taken him. He said the town wants him to eventually get rid of the buses and he will probably oblige.

But as I asked more questions, Saunders saw that there was something symbolic about the buses. A world had changed around him and he just hadn't paid much attention. And his father, Bruce, saw something more than a junkyard, recalling bus drivers long gone and a time when fathers taught sons how to repair the school district's buses. A world, he said, with fewer rules and regulations -- and no computer chips.

Bud Saunders gave me a tour of the buses, showing me one where he had installed a wooden door in the back. It provided easy access to the shelves he installed for parts storage. He showed me another bus that has a hydraulic lift, something the older buses lacked.

The buses took on personality for me. In the story's lead, I described them as ``waiting to die'' rather than ``waiting to be ground up and recycled.''

Photographer Bob Thayer was key in convincing the Saunderses -- who remained nervous about the story's focus -- to take a leap of faith and be photographed for the centerpiece.