It always makes me nostalgic when contemplating the MBTA's proposed overhaul. One remembers a blustery Boston afternoon, perched atop a Route 39 bus winding its way through the Back Bay. The year? One needn't say but women did not wear pants. Each stop presented a tableau the proper Bostonian matron, the eager college student, the Irish copper on his beat. The wheeze of the old diesel engine, the rattle of the windows created a specific sound track. One should say, you will never get that soundscape again

In Charlestown, the milk truck stop that doubled as the community bus was a lifeline. A place that always kept the village secrets, hopes, and dreams, the way the bus connected Sullivan Square to distant relatives was truly special. A misdelivered package, a heated exchange all could spark the ignition to a perplexing crime. It has been outlined that the best mysteries would be resolved with the help of the bus driver and a keen eye.

Then one's recollection takes me to the North End, where the buses squeezed between pushcarts and vocal vendors. Each ride held a whole world of clandestine encounters and interactions behind glass from fleeting expressions to furtive plans. A seemingly banal ride could start unexpected excursions and dangerous rendezvous. Do not forget those were pre-GPS times, relying on the driver's inherent understanding.

Can't you agree that these recollections and emotions will be entirely lost? What a pity!

The quest for efficiency should never eclipse the human spirit.