The Rites of Life: Last Stop

By Liz Barry | Audio slideshow by Kim Raff

Bus 16 grinds to a halt along a stretch of Appomattox farmland.

The driver, Becky Shorter, peers into the rear-view mirror at the child behind her.



“OK, Ashley,” she says, as the door clanks open.

It’s June 6, the last day of school for Appomattox public schools. Becky has arrived at the last stop of her 36-year career.

“Can you give me a hug before you go?”

Ashley Morgan, 8, is a third-generation bus rider. In decades past, Becky delivered Ashley’s mother and grandmother to school.

After a quick embrace, the last child is gone. Becky heads back to the bus yard, past cow pastures and haystacks. The bus streaks yellow against the hazy horizon.

It’s quiet except for the rattle of the motor and gears. The floor is littered with the plastic tops of Kool-Aid bottles she passed out as a treat. The heat leaves beads of sweat on the back of Becky’s neck.

Becky sighs, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“I can’t believe I’ve been doing this for 36 years.”

The big goodbye

Meanwhile, more than 20 people with banners and balloons have gathered at the bus yard to surprise Becky. When Bus 16 rolls in — nearly 20 minutes later than expected — the crowd erupts into cheers.

Becky pounds the horn.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She is speechless. Her husband, Bill, is there, with her children, grandchildren, fellow bus drivers and students — some adults now — from years past. They flood her with hugs, cards and flowers.

At age 66, Becky bids farewell to a career that has spanned more than half her life.

Her husband sheds a few tears; Becky does not. But inside emotions churn. Becky feels torn between excitement for what lies ahead and sadness for she must leave behind.

The past 36 years swell with memories.

Becky drove all five of her children, spawning stories that get rehashed to this day. There was the time Becky kicked her son Kenny off the bus for misbehavior, and forced him to walk home alone. And the time she sideswiped the assistant principal’s yellow Volkswagen while parking at a crowded sports game.

Becky was a friendly face to countless school children. They told her their secrets, solicited help with their homework and asked for the answers to their burning questions, most notably, “How long is infinity?”

For Becky, driving school buses was more than just a job; it was part of her identity. The surprise party at the bus yard reminded her how many lives she touched.

Now she is ready to let go.

As the commotion dwindles, Becky cleans out her bus. Her husband urges her to stop sweeping, to forget the mess.

Becky stops for a moment. “They can’t fire me today,” she chuckles.

She finishes the job anyway.

At 3:23 Becky clocks out for the last time, and heads home.

A new journey

Two days later, the pang of sadness has been replaced by total excitement. Today, Becky and Bill hit the open road for a 28-day journey into the west.

Retirement has been in the back of Becky’s mind for several years. Her wrists, shoulders and knees ache from years in the driver’s seat. And the constant kid chatter seemed louder this year than years past.

After a particularly rough afternoon bus ride, Becky decided to make this year her last. The details of that day have faded, but Becky still remembers the noise, and the throbbing headache that followed. It was time.

More Americans, like Becky, are working into their late 60s and beyond. In the last 30 years, employment of workers 65 and older has increased by 101 percent, compared to a 59-percent rise in the total workforce, according to the U.S. Department of Labor. As the baby boomer generation grays and medical advances allow people to live longer, the influx of elderly workers is expected to continue.

Becky retired to spend more time with her husband and nine grandchildren. She plans to continue old pastimes, like bowling, and try new ones, like water aerobics. And with her mother approaching 90, Becky now has the flexibility to take care of her mother, should she need it.

But like so many, Becky is not 100-percent retired. She plans to work part-time with her husband, delivering empty buses around the state. She will work because she wants to, not because she has to. It’s something extra to fill her days, and gives her some extra money.

For now, all that lies ahead for Becky is the open road. With bags packed and trunk loaded, Becky and Bill pull away from their home in Appomattox in a red Chevy Impala.

This time, Bill is driving.

Letting go

It’s Aug. 25, the first day of school for Appomattox.

Becky stands under the shade of a large oak tree at the end of her driveway, waiting. She came on impulse, knowing that in a few minutes her old bus will pass.

She stands with Dusty, a 4-month-old Labrador puppy, who sniffs the ground and pulls impatiently on his leash. Becky calls him her “retirement dog.” He is her companion during the idle days at home.

Almost three months have passed since Becky stepped off Bus 16. Since she is used to summers off, it does not sink in that she has retired until today.

Becky woke up early, although she had nowhere to be. She almost called the bus director, as a joke, to tell him she had overslept. Later, she babysat her grandson, Logan “Butterbean” Shorter, and went shopping with her granddaughter, Lindsey Glover.

Now it’s just past 3:30 p.m., and Becky waits in the August heat.

Her ears perk up at the sound of an engine rumbling in the distance. She shakes her head. Just a car.

Minutes pass before Becky’s ears perk up again. Once again, she knows before the vehicle comes into sight that it’s not a bus.

Finally, she hears it. She walks toward the edge of the road, pulling Dusty close on the leash.

Becky waves, a grin on her face, as the bus passes.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeep.

Small hands wave back through half-open windows.

In seconds, the bus is gone. For Becky, it’s strange to see the bus go by without her.

With Dusty tugging at the leash, Becky walks slowly up the long gravel driveway, back to her husband, back home.