Bus-Driving Blues Man Retires From CTA After 28 Years

CHICAGO — For 28 years, Toronzo Cannon lived the double life of mild-mannered CTA bus driver and world-touring blues musician. Last week, he left the driver's seat for the last time.

"That last ride was slow, man," Cannon said. "I was working the No. 37 route that goes from Lincoln Park to downtown to the Blue Line on Clinton Street. Drove a 10-hour shift, and had less than 10 people on the bus. I just glided out and went missing. Those who know, well, they know."

Cannon, 52, didn't start playing guitar until he was in his early 20s, a few years before he first started driving a bus on what became an unlikely journey to international acclaim as a modern purveyor of Chicago Blues.

Working at the CTA was supposed to be a short-term gig while he attended college to become a social worker. When that didn't work out, Cannon kept on driving. He kept playing guitar. His work behind the wheel became a muse. He often jotted notes for songs while stopped at red lights.

The windshield-view driving the CTA's "57 Laramie" bus, a 45-minute route that stretches from the West Side to downtown, inspired Cannon's song, "The Pain Around Me."

"You got liquor stores everywhere on my side of town. I don't want my kids to go outside 'cause the thugs are hanging around. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to sing this song ... but this is what I see," Cannon sings on what might be his most well-known tune.

"You got the preacher man in the church giving folks false hope. Never see a politician around unless they want your vote. Women walking around with skirts on so tight, looking in cars as they go by saying, 'You want some fun tonight?' ... This is what I see."

Cannon got his start playing blues jams. He started booking gigs at local blues clubs, always returning to his "office" behind the wheel of CTA bus. On lunch breaks, Cannon would park the bus and broker deals with record companies and talent agents while stalking West Side sidewalks.

"I'd walk around needles and broken bottles down by Madison and Pulaski, arguably one of the most dangerous parts of town, in a full CTA uniform doing a deal on three-way call trying not to become a target for whatever," Cannon said.

Cannon says his double life didn't sit well with some local musicians who say bluesmen who work full-time jobs aren't fully devoted to their craft.

"That gets my goat. They don't know what I had to do to keep up with them. I had to work 10 hours, still do those deals on the sidewalk on my lunch, play the gigs and then go to work at 4 or 5 in the morning to do another 10 hours," he said.

"I did it my way because I'm cut from the cloth as Muddy [Waters] and Albert King. They drove tractors and trucks and played the blues. Even Buddy Guy drove a truck and worked at a gas station. I'm doing real man s--- out here."

Still, there's no doubt keeping one foot on the brakes of a CTA bus slowed Cannon's music career. And after almost 20 years touring overseas, he never got used to that.

"I'd come from postcard places — London, Paris, Spain and Armenia. I didn't even know where Armenia was, man. ... And I'd come back on the bus, sitting there thinking about how I just saw the Eiffel Tower, again. I was just in the Alps. And I don't have time to argue about no $2.50 fare with someone who's got an attitude," Cannon said.

"It was my Clark Kent kind of deal. At night, I have all kinds of fans, and then I'm back at work at 4:30 in the morning, and can't be a minute late, or they give someone else your route. All I could think about was: Why can't I be playing the blues all the time?"

He always knew the answer: Bus driving paid the bills and offered a chance to retire with a full pension — working-class luxuries that sadly elude many Chicago Blues musicians.

Still, Cannon kept writing original music and driving the bus. He counted down the days until he reached his goal: 26 years and a day on the job at the CTA required to collect on his pension. He worked a bit longer for good measure, even through the coronavirus pandemic that killed three co-workers, until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Bus driving can wear you down, man. I was burning the candle at both ends, quick. And there started to be a strangeness in the air. I started being desensitized to traffic, people walking in front of the bus, people who don't want to pay. The last couple of years I was just gritting my teeth," Cannon said. "Let me tell you, I got tired of seeing co-workers around my age die."

Driving a bus on the West Side, where Cannon spent most of his CTA career, didn't exactly provide the healthiest work environment.

"Lots of bus drivers are unhealthy because we can't get up and use the bathroom anytime we want, gotta wait till the end of the line. Drivers have bladder problems. We're always pulling on the steering wheel. That can give you the carpal tunnel," he said. "Where can you go for your lunch break in a food desert? You've got 7-Eleven and JJ Peppers and fast-food places."

An early CTA retirement offers Cannon a chance to focus on staying healthy and living a musical life that too often got confined to daydreams.

"I'm going to be 100 percent on my blues. Working on my writing and my health, which is first before anything else," he said. "This is the moment of my blues, and it's about what I had to go through to put food on the table, drive that bus and deal with what I had to go through ... burning that candle at both ends."

Cannon said he'll miss his CTA co-workers, even the bosses who wanted him to stay behind the wheel a little longer and who the Chicago Bluesman had to tell there's no bus-driving encore in his future. So, if you want to catch Cannon in action, a bus fare won't cut it. You'll have to get a ticket to a local, socially distanced gig — Friday night's show at Space in Evanston, for instance.

Or maybe someday — as soon as possible, Cannon hopes against hope — you'll see him back up on a stage in one of those postcard places where the CTA can't take you.