At 6:45 a.m. on a morning when the temperature was -20 F I received a call from the bus coordinator. Two of the three buses in our little town wouldn’t start due to the cold. He asked me to see if my little bus would start. If it would I was to pick up as many kids as would fit and take them to school. The school was located thirteen miles away in the neighboring community. Our little town may be tiny, but there are a lot of children. The three regular buses are normally fairly full.

I dressed for the cold and ran out to my little bus. Compared to the big buses it looks like a baby bus. It’s not nearly as tall and far shorter. A normal bus has seats for eight-four passengers if you squish three to a seat. My baby bus had seats for only eighteen. The only reason I had a bus at my home was because I drove the activity bus to our little town the night before. The activity arrives at the school at 5:30 p.m. to bring any kids who have stayed late for tutoring, sports, or other extracurricular activities home. There aren’t that many kids staying late from my community so I use the baby bus to save fuel. Instead of returning the bus the same night I take it back the next morning since I have to go to work in the neighboring community anyway.

It was cold. My door opened with a crack. My bus had an engine core warmer plugged in, but so did the other buses that wouldn’t start. I turned the key. The bus belched thick, grey smoke, but then the diesel engine started to chug. I got in on the radio and told the supervisor the bus was running. I could hear the stress in his voice as he repeated his instructions to pick up as many students as I could safely fit. He had 150 kids to get to school from this community and not enough buses to get them there. I was thinking the eighteen kids I had seats for wasn’t going to help much.

The other bus that was running in town radioed and asked if I would go to the west side and pick up kids there. When I turned onto 4^th South and the line of kids saw me they broke into laughter. Their smiles pushed so hard against their frozen cheeks I thought their cheeks would shatter like ice. The baby bus doesn’t get the same respect as the big buses. The baby bus is the “Little Train that Could” compared to the big diesel locomotives. When I pulled up beside them and opened the doors I heard one boy say incredulously, “No way!”  He was wondering if he could survive the indignity of riding such a little bus.

More than three-quarters of my eighteen seats filled up on that first stop. Normally morning runs are quiet because all the kids are still half-asleep. The severe cold and the surprise of the baby bus had fully awakened the kids. They chattered and laughed loudly as we continued. There was a large number of kids at the next stop. Like the first group they looked at the baby bus with wide eyes and grins as it pulled up beside them.

“Three to a seat,” I called as the new group started filing on.  Three to a seat was asking a lot since all the kids wore bulky winter clothing and toted backpacks. I got up to help arrange kids. A mother, who had walked her student to the bus stop, stood outside saying nothing but giving me a look that said, “You really think you are going to get all those kids on that little bus?” I was thinking the same thing.

The seats ran out very quickly. However, there was a large empty space in the back of the bus. It was there because six seats had been removed to make room for a wheelchair lift.

“Shall we stand in back?” asked some of the high school students. The sign in the front of the bus announced an occupancy limit of 32. That’s how many could be seated if all the seats were available.

“Sure,” I said. I didn’t want to leave any of the kids at this stop waiting out in the -20 F cold for another bus that might not come for thirty minutes. Bigger kids gave their seats to the younger kids and squeezed shoulder to shoulder in the back behind the seats. No one complained. They laughed at the fun and felt warmer standing close. One of the students counted heads. I had thirty-one on that little bus when I pulled away. The other bus that was running was packing them in. Somehow she was able to pick up all the remaining kids in town. They were sardines in a can, but no one had to stand.

“It was kind of like the miracle of the fish and the loaves,” said the supervisor, with relief, when all the kids had been taken care of. Several parents had taken their kids to schools rather than have them wait in the cold. That had helped.

I drove slowly and carefully to the high school. If anyone was watching the kids unload they might have thought they were at the circus watching a large number of clowns pile out of a tiny car. I had a difficult time keeping the grade-schoolers in their seats on the way to the elementary school. They wanted to stand in the back.  They arrived at school late, but they arrived alert and excited. All the buses were running by the afternoon run, so the stress was over.

I attended the town Christmas celebration that night. Several elementary students waved at me excitedly as I got in the chili line. “Hi, Tory!” they called. They had been on the bus that morning. After getting my chili and a roll I found a seat near a covey of middle-school girls. Middle-schooler’s generally won’t make eye-contact with their bus driver let alone talk to them. That’s why she had to speak twice before I realized she was speaking to me.

“That was crazy this morning,” she said with a smile.

“It sure was,” I answered.

The girl next to her chimed in, “I was, like, ‘that little bus isn’t going to stop for us.’ When it did I was, like, ‘No way!’”

“Everyone at school was talking about it all day,” added the first girl. “It was so much fun.”

“I don’t think it would be so fun a second time,” I said.

They laughed, but I don’t think they were so certain. There was no need for a second time. That was a bus ride I will never forget. I will never look at “the baby bus that could” the same again.