IT'S BEEN QUITE A RIDE

From The Beginning, CO-Op Cabs Was Run With A Vision

123 Drivers Who Work The Streets Also Own The Company

Joe Tripodi only used marijuana in self-defence. The prettiest girl
he ever saw was a man. And the retired cab driver says former
heavyweight champion Joe Louis was a bad tipper who broke his seat.

Tripodi, who came to Canada with his Italian family in 1923, when he
was 3 years old, drove a cab in this city for more than 40 years.
He'll be on hand tomorrow in Woodbridge to celebrate the 50th
anniversary of the company he co-founded: Co-Op Cabs.

"We all worked for nothing, nobody got paid," says Tripodi, who
celebrated his 86th birthday yesterday. "A bunch of honest guys that
did a lot of hard work.

"We just made it a success."

Tripodi -- who says his mom made the first pizzas for delivery in
Toronto -- shared stories this week about his career as a cab driver.
No, he doesn't have a PhD in philosophy. He came back from World War
II fighting the Japanese alongside Americans as part of the Canadian
Fusiliers. He worked a little bit of construction, but he has no
regrets about following his cousin into the sometimes rough business
of driving a cab.

He never got roughed up himself, although lots of people ducked out
on fares. Now he laughs at tricks he developed to avoid trouble --
especially how he used marijuana as a first line of defence.

"I never smoked it myself," Tripodi says. "But I used to carry these
cigarettes of marijuana for special cases."

Asked what he means, Tripodi explains about the time three guys got
into his cab and told him they wanted to go to 160 Rosedale Valley Rd.

"I know this city pretty good; there's only two addresses down there,
120 and 130," he says. "Right away I know once I get down there, I'm
in trouble. I got no chance with three guys. This guy is jittery in
the front seat. I say, 'You look jittery, what's the matter with you?'

"He starts jumping up and down on the seat. So that's when I pull out
the cigarette and say, 'Maybe I can help you.'"

The three guys took the bait. "And as we cross Davenport and Yonge,
he says, 'Pull over, driver.' He says, 'We were going to beat the
hell out of you and take your money. I'm going to let you go. I think
you're a nice guy. But I got no money to pay you.'

"I let him keep the cigarette and told him, 'You don't owe me nothing.'"

Tripodi has trouble hearing now, but he thought it was his eyes that
were going when he stopped to pick up a fare years ago. "I picked up
a person on Jarvis and Dundas. It would be a guy dressed up as a
girl. But this guy here was one of the most beautiful women you'd
ever seen in your life. You couldn't tell."

There were celebrities, too. "Douglas Fairbanks Jr. -- in fact, I've
got one of his gloves at home. There was Edward G. Robinson. Joe
Louis. He's cheap, he didn't give no tips."

Louis and his entourage were so heavy, they broke the springs in the
back seat of Tripodi's cab.

Edward G. Robinson did tip, though. The actor handed over a $5 (U.S.)
bill for a $2 fare and told Tripodi to keep the change. "That was a
lot of money back then," he says.

Co-Op was formed in February 1956, by independent cab-owner/drivers
Tripodi, Al Speigel, Milt Cooper and Jack Silver in response to a
growing conglomerate of fleet owners who were setting up cab
companies like Diamond Taxi, Beck Taxi and Metro Cab Co.

Tripodi quit Diamond because its monthly fees were too high and he
joined other like-minded cab-owning independent drivers who figured
if they worked together, they could get volume deals on cars and car
parts while sharing dispatch fees.

Co-Op even worked out a deal with Shell to supply gas at a discount
rate. And the cab company adopted Shell's red and yellow colouring,
and used to have a Shell station outside its offices at 560 King St. W.

The company is still based there, along with the framed first dollar
it ever earned, in October 1957, for a trip from Toronto Western Hospital.

The company is a rarity among businesses: a true not-for-profit
co-operative, with 123 owner-drivers each owning one share -- thereby
having one vote -- in the company. Profits are either divided among
owners or reinvested in the company. Shares cost $100, the same price
today as in 1956. One person has only one vote, no matter how many
cabs or cab licences he or she owns.

"The co-operative way of running a business is very difficult," Co-Op
chief executive officer Peter Zahakos says. "It's not like our
competition, where there's one owner and they decide what they're
going to do. I have to have public meetings with shareholders. They
decide policy. It's very political, like a condominium."

As far as cab companies go, Co-Op is visionary. It was the first to
bring in natural-gas-powered cars in an attempt to go green.

"That fizzled because, to be honest, people don't care," Zahakos says.

"The bottom line, when people have to pay out of their pocket, the
environment doesn't seem to be a priority."

It was among the first to turn to computers to aid dispatchers, and
to allow debit-card and credit-card payment, and it now has gift
cards and simplified electronic chits for corporate accounts.

And it's started a pilot project with four modified Ford Freestar
vans that are completely wheelchair accessible, trying to fill a need
with on-demand transportation for the disabled. WheelTrans must be
booked days in advance.

"We want to see what the demand is," Zahakos says. "What about
somebody who is wheelchair bound and works. He has to stay late but
can't because of the WheelTrans schedule.

"What about a couple who end up with tickets to the opera because a
friend can't go? One is in a wheelchair, but if they have to call
WheelTrans, they can't go because it has to be booked four days in
advance," he says.

"We're looking to emancipate the wheelchair-bound people. Their
friends can go in the cab, too."

The cab industry has changed since Tripodi entered the business in
1949. Long gone are the days of the man in a suit and cap opening
doors for customers, or when customers would invite cabbies into
Christmas and New Year's parties.

At one point, all cabs were owner-operated. But as the city grew, so
did 24-hour demand, requiring cabbies to hire drivers to work in shifts.

Although retired from driving, Tripodi is still involved with Co-Op's
board of directors and remains a shareholder. He owns two cab
licences, which are in effect his pension. He and his wife live off a
government pension and the $1,700 a month he earns in rental fees.
Should he die before his wife, current rules stipulate the licence
must be sold. They're valued at about $130,000.

Zahakos and Tripodi say that's not fair, and they hope the licensing
commission changes the rules to allow spouses to be "willed"
ownership so she can enjoy the pension.

"My wife worried about me every day," Tripodi says. "I have a good
woman. If I die, I have to make sure she's looked after. I have a
home; it's not a big home. The way I'm living is nip and tuck.
Hydro's going up. This is going up. That's going up.

"If we didn't have the cab, things might have been different. We'd be
in the poorhouse."