When a local business closes, the community around it loses not only its services but also valuable connections, characters, and memories. After more than 50 years of servicing the Philadelphia Main Line, Maxwell Cab closed its doors this year on March 1.
Why would a junior in college who can barely remember a time before Uber and Lyft reminisce about the loss of a taxi company? Maxwell was no limo service—the white cabs with black lettering were no posher than a standard yellow cab in Manhattan. The black interiors were completely ordinary, furnished with stiff seats, loose seat belts, and the smell of an early morning Wawa coffee run. But it wasn’t the vehicles that made Maxwell. It was the drivers.
A retired Philly cop with stories from years of duty. A concertgoer rehashing tales of seeing Elvis’ performance at the Spectrum in 1977. A lifelong Eagles fan still ranting about coach Richie Kotite’s abysmal tenure, more than 30 years (and two Super Bowl wins) later.
There was something deeply personal about Maxwell drivers that made them an integral part of my community’s fabric. They didn’t just carry passengers—they also carried the history of the community and its people. Almost every time a Maxwell cab picked me up at my house, the driver would mention picking up a housekeeper who worked for the previous homeowners decades ago.
Sure, they had some tall tales. One driver claimed that he got drunk with Phillies players at spring training. Another swore that the moon landing was fake. Road rage was perhaps equally widespread; if another car cut them off, middle fingers would begin to fly. But it was those moments—chaotic, but human—that gave an unusual beauty to each ride.
Most Maxwell customers will likely switch to Uber or Lyft. A ride to the airport might get a bit more convenient, but as we cut commute time, we are losing something greater: the conversations, grand stories, and local memories that contributed to our community.
Beyond a few pleasant formalities, how often do rideshare passengers speak to drivers? Uber now even offers the option of a “quiet mode” where passengers can select the option of having no conversations at all. Instead of hearing a decades-old story about Hall of Fame pitcher Jim Kaat throwing a complete game for the Phillies, we’ll probably be glued to our phone, AirPods in, focused on getting that five-star Uber passenger rating for our pleasant silence.
But this story goes beyond the loss of Maxwell. It points towards a larger shift where algorithms destroy the personal touches that made our humanity. As food delivery apps replace local restaurants and we opt for same-day delivery instead of taking a trip to the department store, something greater is lost. These changes are designed for efficiency, but at what cost? Does society really benefit when we save a few minutes but lose the little, but important, moments and stories that make life a bit richer?
An Uber driver may take you from point A to point B, but the character that made the rides memorable won’t be there. Transportation will continue, but the conversations, stories, and charm that made them a journey have disappeared. We can’t bring Maxwell back, but perhaps we can at least cherish the remaining small, but meaningful, moments in life that it helped create.
Blake Fox is a member of the Class of 2026 and can be reached at bfox@wesleyan.edu.
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