Not every kid has a school bus driver who built his own house, was hired to photograph the Grateful Dead and used to casually jam with Neil Young.
But the 50 kids who ride Jonas Grushkin’s bus do.
Built around an assortment of creative passions, Grushkin’s life is, in a way, one big juggling act.
It’s his attention to his peripheral vision, he says, that keeps it all together.
In some instances, that’s a literal truism. Behind the wheel of the Durango School District 9-R electric bus, Grushkin quietly surfs traffic, waving cars through intersections while conversing, and at times singing, with students over the bus’ PA system. His joy seems to percolate through the bus’ speakers (he was recently honored as a Boys & Girls club “Champion of Youth”).
In other senses, Grushkin’s commitment to his peripheral vision is about looking for the intersections of his creative pursuits. Armed with his own artistic sensibilities refined over decades, it’s with a keen eye for intersectionality that he has married his passions for the visual form, photography; the physical, carpentry; and the audible, music.
“That’s very exciting,” he said, his weathered hands clasped in his lap.
In 1981, the Grateful Dead responded to the many photographs Grushkin had sent the band, and asked him to come document them and their followers for a book. In 1983, “Grateful Dead: The Official Book of the Dead Heads,” was released.
He set down the camera after that, and focused on learning carpentry. It was in La Honda, California, where Grushkin worked building barns and playing music that he occasionally found himself jamming in bars with Young.
Like many others, that passion endured, too. Grushkin built his home on the Florida Mesa with the help of his wife, La Plata County Treasurer Moni Grushkin. The home is itself a monument to the family’s creative endeavors over time.
“The Rim,” as the property is called, holds a studio overlooking the La Plata Mountains where vintage cameras peer out from shelves and a keyboard is at the ready. Grushkin’s father’s letterpress – which sports a “G”-shaped pedal – sits idle in the corner.
When he arrived there in 1991, the land had little on it save for a gurgling well.
“I was here maybe a minute, and I said, ‘Let’s make a deal,’” Grushkin said.
The home there reflects the Southwest Colorado landscape upon which it sits. Solar power runs the well pump, a wood stove churns out heat in a corner finished with a river-rock backsplash, and lamps Grushkin crafted of gnarled snags light darkened corners.
A Steinway grand piano guards the entrance to the living room – “I love to improvise. I can play for hours,” he said.
In the opposite corner, Grushkin has a complex stereo setup where he can play off a phone, vinyl or reel-to-reel tapes.
“I long for the purity of things in life,” he remarks, at times lamenting the modernization of his creative pursuits.
The transition to digital photography meant less time in a dark room and more on the computer; the evolution of musical form meant the disappearance of albums, of which Grushkin has recorded two, and the photographs and liner notes that came with them.
“I want to do another CD, but I’m not sure if people are using CDs anymore,” he said with a chuckle.
However, the hours spent behind the wheel of a school bus means hours of exposure to the unadulterated creativity of youths.
“You get what you get immediately,” Grushkin said. “They show their cards immediately, and you get to see the truth.”
Nine years ago, Grushkin walked into the 9-R bus barn and asked about a job. His house was built, his two boys were grown and he wanted to spend less time on a computer. Driving was a new juggling challenge.
“It is the best multitasking job you could ever take on,” he said. “… It was the perfect thing for me.”
Over the quiet hum of the electric bus, Grushkin and his kids talk, sing and make jokes. They’ve written books together and they exchange music back and forth. From behind the wheel, it seems, Grushkin has unlocked another chest of unforetold creative possibility.
“We have a brick outside that says ‘Dream.’ And I think that’s something you should never forget – looking at a situation saying, ‘I can. I can make something of this material thing,’ or ‘I can make something of part of my life,’” Grushkin said. “There’s endless possibilities, and if we just tap into the creativity and explore it, the returns are just incredible.”
rschafir@durangoherald.com
