I arrive at the police station with apprehension. This, after all, is HUPD. I find the Harvard Escort Shuttle Service in a tiny corner office. I had expected a "Pizza Ring"-like operation: visions of drivers flying out the door in fireman-like fury raced through my head. But I saw no panel of phones, no running drivers. Amazingly calm for an operation that received 26,042 calls, transported 26,030 people, and traveled 48,717 miles last year, according to John C. Miller, Escort Service Supervisor.

But behind the numbers, the callers and the miles, are the dedicated, sleep-deprived drivers. "I want to try to help the riders understand what the drivers do," Miller says. Surely, driving around from 11 p.m. to 4 a.m. must make for some interesting experiences. Dedicated investigative reporter that I am, I sacrificed part of my Thursday night to bring you the truth. I went into that building with a mission: to seek out the lesser-known stories of the shuttle service.

7:23 p.m. Back at the station.

A calm Richard Bolware '90-'93, dispatcher, is training two new recruits. "There is this guy who always calls," he says. "I'm not sure what his name is exactly. He calls himself '007.' He says very crazy sort of Dennis Hopper-type-movie things: 'I'm down here at CIA headquarters; come pick me up. I need an escort from Nashville, Tennessee to New York City.'" Michelle R. Kawamoto '95, one of the trainees, jumps in. "He calls here and has these theories about who assassinated JFK. Sometimes they'll put him on the PA system and everyone will listen."

Thinking about how my future could use a friend like Oliver Stone, I am eager to find out who killed JFK. Bolware reveals, "He told me it was the Chinese secret police. Some ambassador. I don't remember his name."

7:33 p.m. Still at the base, waiting-my escort is late.

I repeatedly urge Richard to give me the perfect story, representative of the escort service's dedication. He can't think of anything off-hand. "There was this one time when nine people came running up to the car..." He cuts himself off, claiming he can't tell me that one. But the car has arrived for me now.

As I leave, Michelle reaches into a drawer. "Here, you'll need this," she says. Ready to pack a weapon. I put forth my hand. She offers me a pink marshmallow sugar-bunny. I graciously decline and exit the office.

7:48 p.m. I meet the escort.

In the tank-sized, white shuttle car, the tunes are blaring and the heat is blasting. I give the opening speech that I'd been preparing for a week, now.

Me: "I'm trying to find out about stories and interesting happenings on the Harvard Escort Shuttle. I'm looking for you to share anything you have with me: humorous anecdotes, great stories, anything exciting" (I look at her warmly, trying to gain her trust).

Liz Barnel '95: "How long am I driving you around for?"

7:52 p.m. On the beat at Longfellow.

Liz remembers, "Over there I got stuck in the van when it was icy. I couldn't move, and there was someone behind me honking and someone in front of me, honking...I couldn't do anything. I have the radio, so I'm calling them to get HUPD or something to get me out and there's no one coming."

There's nobody there, as sometimes happens, so after waiting for a few minutes we leave.