The trams and the occasional freight trains that went by were a constant source of fascination for every kid in our neighbourhood, and a good source of primitive bling and pocket change. The big steel wheels flattened many a coin for us, and if you drove a nail through it near the edge you had the beginnings of a neck ornament. We had plenty of change, too, because we used to crawl under the platforms after the coins that commuters had dropped between the gaps in the planks. For some reason, the 64th Avenue station was the most lucrative.

In prestige, the conductors and engineers were right up there with firefighters to us kids. They were always friendly, and seemed to like their jobs and the passengers–even kids. Most of us got our parents to buy us a ticket punch and a belt-mounted change dispenser so we could “play tram” on our own.

I remember longing for the day when I could reach the leather straps that hung from the ceiling for standees. And then there were the exciting trips to the “end of the line” in New Westminster, Steveston, or downtown Vancouver.

Riding the trams never got old, as bus ridership does, and the Skytrain experience doesn’t come close to life on the trams. It’s too bad the politics of transportation on the Lower Mainland eliminated them so soon. Most commuters would jump at the chance to sit back and enjoy the view, a converstation, or their newspaper, rather than fighting gridlock twice a day. Heck, the trams would probably be equipped with Wi-Fi and cappuccino if they still ran.