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In their homelands, they were engineers, professors, doctors and business people. Now, they drive cabs.
There are more than 9,000 taxi drivers in Greater Toronto. Depending on whom you ask, as many as 40 per cent are professionals who have been unable to find work in their chosen field.
Their own Canadian dreams shattered, they work so their children can have a better future.

LEON KALEMKERIAN
It takes no time for a dream to turn into a nightmare – Leon Kalemkerian found out the hard way.
The electronics engineer, now 59, emigrated from Iraq in 1995 to provide a better life and more opportunities for his three children – and a job for himself.
“All I wanted was decent work,” says Kalemkerian, a graduate of the University of Technology in Baghdad. He worked as an engineer in Baghdad for 22 years and was the maintenance officer for three plants. “When I went for my immigration interview, the officers told me happily that Canada needed engineers.”
Kalemkerian has been driving a limousine for nine years.
He says he tried everything possible to get his qualifications recognized in Canada. “I was told I have good work experience but I should (have) Canadian education,” says Kalemkerian. He completed courses in ethics and law at the University of Toronto but it wasn’t enough.
“I said I was ready to go to university for an advanced course for a couple of years. But I was told I needed to go back for five years,” he says. Kalemkerian, who had a young family to look after, says it was not an option for him. He started working as a technician but says he was laid off four times “because I was over qualified for the job. I could build machines all by myself but I couldn’t even find work as a technician here.”
Finally, a friend advised him to either start driving a cab or a limo. He opted to drive a limo in 2000. It means he never has to worry about money but it has also killed his dream. “There’s nothing wrong in driving a cab or a limo but you know, I didn’t study so hard at university for this.”
Kalemkerian admits he is bitter but tries to keep his anger at bay. “I try not to think about it because it makes me very, very angry,” says Kalemkerian. “If I had known this is what I will do here, I would have never come. I’m just happy that my children have all gone to university and are doing well professionally. I’m proud of them.”
He has a 29-year-old son, a 27-year-old daughter and a 23-year-old son who is studying business at York University.
Recently Kalemkerian’s son-in-law, also an engineer, tried to persuade him to apply to the board again to have his credentials recognized. The younger man said things have changed and there was a good chance he might be accepted.
Kalemkerian says it was an emotional moment but told his son-in-law that “my train has passed. I doubt I can ever work as an engineer again.”
GERD STIPPINGER
In an indirect sort of way, Gerd Stippinger blames women for where he is and what he is doing.
“If it hadn’t been for women, I just might have still been in Vienna,” says Stippinger. “Would I have been a limo driver? I honestly don’t know.”
Stippinger, a soft-spoken and articulate 65-year-old, has been driving a limousine – “Mercedes now,” he gently reminds – for almost 20 years. He has chauffeured celebrities like Cindy Crawford, Tom Cruise and Penelope Cruz and others on the Forbes list of billionaires.
Some have offered him jobs, others have asked him if he will buy them cigarettes. He has said no, and yes.
Stippinger was born in Vienna, Austria. In 1968, when he was 24, he met an American tourist and they fell in love. He followed her, married her and studied business at the American Graduate School of International Management at Thunderbird in Arizona, gaining an MBA.
He was hired by the Hilton Group of Hotels after graduating in 1973. He was moved around a lot and, in 1978, was sent to Toronto. His marriage had come undone and he welcomed the change. But soon after he got here, Stippinger was reassigned to Lesotho in South Africa.
At the same time, he met a woman from Alberta, fell in love and knew he had to stay in Toronto. He left Hilton and took a job at a travel agency. It went bust in 1988.
When a former client offered him a job as a limo driver, Stippinger said yes.
“I wanted to stay afloat and thought it would be a good experience for some time.”
It became so much fun that Stippinger admits he never sent out resumés for hotel jobs again.
While others may find driving people tedious, Stippinger says it can be a challenge. He puts his management skills to use while driving celebrities and business people around the city.
“Most of these people are visiting for a short period of time but have many appointments to keep,” says Stippinger. He asks regular clients to send him their itinerary in advance so that he can plan.
He scopes the route, checks for road closures in advance and is hardly ever late for appointments. “That’s why I have regular clients,” he points out. “It’s not just driving, a lot of planning also goes into it.”
There isn’t as much money in driving limos as in cabs. An average limo ride costs about $80 an hour – he gets a couple of fares randomly almost every day but the bulk comes from visiting clients. There are some weeks when he is booked Monday to Saturday; other weeks when he has no bookings at all.
But the excitement of being with people who appear on TV and in newspapers regularly has prevented him from jumping to the other side. “I know in some way I am contributing to their life. I feel good about that.”
REZA HOSSEINIOUN
He lists The Economist as a must-read every week and talks about the current economic downturn with the savoir faire of an expert.
“Everything about economics is fascinating,” says Mohammad Reza Hosseinioun. “I was not able to (pursue it) as a career but I never gave up keeping up with what is happening.”
Hosseinioun, who goes by the name Reza, has a PhD in economics and now drives a cab in Toronto. It’s not what he wanted to do but, for the lack of any choice, is what he was forced to do.
Reza, 54, was born and raised in Mashad, Iran. In 1981, as a 22-year-old, he went to India to study economics at Bhopal University (now known as Barkatullah University Bhopal).
He completed his PhD in 1988 after which he came to Canada and applied for refugee status. “There was so much instability in Iran,” says Reza. “I could not have returned without getting killed.”
In Canada, his dream fizzled.
For the first year, he tried to find work. He was repeatedly told he needed a sub-thesis or he should go back to school. But he couldn’t afford to go back to studying, so he started delivering pizzas. In 1990, he applied for a cab licence, and has been driving ever since.
“You know, things worked out the way they did but I wish I had someone to advise me then,” says Reza.
“There are loans available and I would have happily studied again. But I never knew about it. I didn’t even know how the system worked, there was no Internet and I was totally alone.”
Since then, Reza has helped other immigrants. “I cannot get them the jobs they want but I do help them get information that helps.”
TEJPAL BATH
Days after graduation, Tejpal Bath was offered his dream job: living in a village and caring for cows, buffalo and horses.
“When I was offered the job, I jumped at the opportunity,” says Bath. “I knew as a child I wanted – to tend to sick animals.”
Bath, 35, was a veterinarian in northern India.
In Canada, he drives a cab.
“I always thought I would be a vet here, too. But it didn’t work out that way,” he says.
Bath studied veterinarian sciences at Punjab Agricultural University in northern India, graduating in 1997 after five gruelling years. The work was satisfying. But in 2001, he visited his brother in Toronto and met some old friends. “I thought it was a decent life (in Canada) and I could also practise as a vet,” says Bath.
He returned home, opened a small animal clinic and applied for immigration at the same time. The clinic was doing well, but he and his wife decided to give “Canada a try.” They and their son, now 9, moved here in 2006.
Within months, he took the first qualifying test for a veterinarian licence but didn’t pass. He drove a truck for a while. But it kept him away from his family so, two years ago, he decided to drive a cab.
He says he hasn’t had time since to resit the veterinary exams. “I don’t think I’ll ever be a vet again.”
CHAMKAUR SINGH DHALIWAL
At 36, Chamkaur Singh Dhaliwal was the youngest professor of agricultural entomology at a university in northern India.
Seventeen years later, he is one of dozens of cabbies waiting for fares at Pearson airport.
“I came with my eyes open,” says Dhaliwal, 53, who came from Punjab in 2001 with his wife and two then-teenaged daughters. “I knew there was little chance of being in my profession again but I did it for the girls. I wanted them to have a better future.”
Dhaliwal joined as an assistant professor in the department of entomology at Punjab Agricultural University in Ludhiana, India, in 1980, becoming professor in 1996.
It was a good life and Dhaliwal and his wife, Savinder, a school principal, were content.
But everyone they knew was immigrating to the United States or Canada. “There was an unsaid pressure to go,” said Dhaliwal. So they did.
Two weeks after the family landed in Toronto, Dhaliwal went to the University of Guelph. His PhD was recognized, but he couldn’t find work.
He opted to become a real estate agent. That went well until the market downslide. With a family to support and a mortgage to pay, Dhaliwal decided to drive a cab.
Every once in a while, his mind wanders back to the university he worked at for 21 years. “I could have been the dean,” he says.
When he is feeling low, he thinks about his daughters, Kamaldeep, 26, and Ramandeep, 24, both of whom are straight-A students at the University of Toronto.
“They have opportunities they never would have (had),” he says. “I’m satisfied.”
http://www.thestar.com/News/GTA/article/616965