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Lean Pickings
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A story about New York bicycle messengers
Bicycle Trader, September 1996: Issue #13
by Brendan Mernin
The bicycle messenger is one of New York's most recognizable cultural
icons. To some the messenger stands as a latter-day frontiersman, the
best of New York on two wheels: fast, healthy, independent,
industrious, and free. To others the bike messenger calls to mind a
different set of adjectives: reckless, intimidating, irresponsible, and
menacing.
Without a doubt, the messenger's life does not attract the same people
who flocked to it a decade ago. The government now takes taxes out of
messengers' pay, and because an intensely competitive market has kept
delivery rates steady, take-home pay has declined severely for those
who ride for a living. Some of them are only a step or two from
homelessness. "The good people leave because it's dangerous and the pay
isn't steady", says rider Eric Sabo.
Gone are the heady days of the mid-1980s when legions of athletic
independent contractors roamed the streets for good wages, and owners
raked in profits with hardly a thought of cutting costs. These days
companies are laying off workers, owners are trying to squeeze profits
out of a vulnerable work force, and insurers are raising rates to keep
their revenues rolling in. It all adds up to an industry in flux.
In the late 1980s the advent of the fax machine and the growth of
overnight delivery services cut the market for bike couriers almost in
half. Since then the industry has been consolidating. Robert Kotch, the
head of Breakaway Couriers, a mid-sized messenger company, does not see
an inexorable trend. "I'm not quaking in my shoes. People are looking
for quality, and the big companies can't always provide it."
Kotch believes that the biggest threat to the messenger business is not
consolidation or competition, but rather the skyrocketing cost of
insurance. "My premiums have gone from $2,000 to $100,000 a year", he
says.
Despite the owners' claims of poverty, many messengers and observers
believe that the business remains lucrative largely because the owners
exploit their workers. "First, they don't pay overtime," says Leon
Greenberg, a private attorney who often represents messengers in pay
disputes. "Second, double billing is rampant. That is, the company
bills the customer, say, $15 for the delivery, but tells the messenger
that it charged only $10. That cuts into the messenger's commission.
That is outright fraud, and the owners are very good at it."
Clearly, the economics of the 1990s have put a strain on both bike
messengers and their bosses. In 1994, 'Teamsters Union Local 840' tried
unsuccessfully to organize the 150 messengers at Orbit/Lightspeed, then
a mid-size courier firm. When the union lost by three votes, organizers
claimed that owner Robert Wyatt had intimidated his workers.
Wyatt feels that the riders voted down the union because he treats his
people well. Besides, says Kotch, "Messengers don't want to be part of
any institution. And they don't want to admit it's a career."
Meanwhile, Wyatt's company has gradually phased out bikers in favor of
walkers. Only ten riders remain of the 150 who plied the streets just
two years ago. "My service is not as good," says Wyatt. "But now I save
a hundred thousand dollars a year."
No one really knows whether Wyatt rid his company of bike messengers to
save money, or, as organizers contend, in response to the threat of a
union. What does seem certain, however, is the long-term decline of the
cycle messenger in favor of walkers, faxes, overnight services, e-mail,
and vans. "I see fewer and fewer bike messengers," says Charlie
McCorkle, who owns a downtown bike shop. "I especially see fewer young
messengers."
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