On any given day, students can count on one constant amid the unpredictability of C-1: a bus covered in rubber ducks and a driver waving students on with a smile. The man behind the wheel: Arthur Lynn Collins, but no one calls him that.

“Mr. Lynn,” he smiled, “that’s what I like for the kids to call me. I’d rather have that than Mr. Collins or bus driver.”

And for the students who ride the Blue Route, Mr. Lynn is more than just a bus driver. He’s a steady presence, a listening ear and a source of light, thanks to over 400 rubber ducks lining his bus’s interior and a bucket of candy right inside the door.

What students deem the now-iconic “duck bus” didn’t start as a grand idea, however. Instead, it began, as many things do, with a small, unplanned gesture.

“The ducks started with just two girls,” Mr. Lynn said. “We found out that we knew some of the same folks down in Charleston. They brought me one duck, and I sat it on the dash.”

The duck sat alone for six months until others noticed its singularity and asked to add to it.

“I said yes,” he said with a smile. “And then, it just kept growing.”

At first, there were 10 ducks. Then, Mr. Lynn was given 70 for his birthday. And now, the collection is on its way to 450 ducks, with a goal of covering the bus before Mr. Lynn retires.

With 400 ducks spanning the interior, the bus now serves as a museum of personalities and memories, sharing stories of those who have ridden the bus over the past two years.

Ducks cover the dashboard, sit above the windows and even hang upside down from the ceiling. Some are classic rubber ducks, while others are handcrafted: crocheted, 3D-printed or carved from stone. One duck even traveled from overseas, sharing memories of a long journey abroad with students’ favorite daily transportation back home.

“They keep bringing them, and I keep taking them,” he said. “I love them. They’re good conversation starters.”

Every duck reflects the student who gifted it to the driver, making it impossible for Mr. Lynn to pick a favorite. However, students don’t play by the same rules.

“They pick them all out,” he said. “They’re like, ‘Oh yeah, I gave you that!’”

He laughed and gestured toward the front row, “They like that one in the front, see that little muscle man under the fan,” he said. “That’s me.”

Alongside the ducks, students are also welcomed aboard the bus, where a bucket of candy, filled to the brim all day long, is available. This tradition earned Mr. Lynn another nickname: the candy man. This title isn’t new to the driver, though; it is a story of a habit that stuck.

When Mr. Lynn’s wife coached cheer at Charleston Southern University, he became known around campus as the candy man for the Dum-Dums and bubble gum he always carried with him.

“I kept candy in my pocket,” he said. “Cheerleaders would walk up to me and never say a word, just reach out to grab some candy.”

What started as a small stash in his pocket has now grown to a full bucket at the entrance of the bus.

“Everybody loves it,” he said. “That’s the first thing some of them do, is grab that candy … It’s another one of those deals. I thought about how to get conversations going.”

And that’s really the point of it all for Mr. Lynn: connecting with students.

Mr. Lynn came to Clemson to reconnect with family, not with intentions to build a community. His children attended school here, and he hopes to stay long enough to see his granddaughter attend. What he found here was something deeper and unexpected.

“I love this age group,” he said. “They make me get up and come to work every day. I feel good with them.”

“I don’t know what it is,” he continued. “I think a lot of it has to do with that one up there from the top.” He pauses, gesturing towards the photo of a young girl hanging behind the driver’s seat.

“That would be my oldest granddaughter,” he said. “She passed away when she was 7. She would be 24 this year. I think that draws me to this age.”

This loss shapes how he sees the students who step onto his bus. Instead of just seeing passengers, he sees family.

“They’re my grandkids,” Mr. Lynn said.

That sense of care shows in even the smallest of details, which Mr. Lynn makes sure to remember. He keeps a small black notebook filled with names and little notes about the students he meets.

“I write their names down,” he said. “You got Peyton and Maggie, Savannah, Kimberly — ‘Kimbo’ as I call her … Earl, I call her Earl, her name is Meryl … she’s here on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

One student, Lizzie Johnson, a junior in animal and veterinary science, first caught his attention in an unforgettable way.

“The first time I saw her, she was hanging out the window holding a duck,” he laughs.

At the time, Johnson was a sophomore who had ridden the bus a few times but had only spoken to him once. One day, she noticed the ducks and remembered she had one in her car.

“I hung out the window waving it at him,” she said. “And after that, we just started talking.”

Johnson now hangs out with Mr. Lynn during his break each day to catch up with him after class. She rides his bus every morning, choosing it over any other route and waiting for Mr. Lynn to be her driver. Sometimes Johnson even rides extra loops to spend more time with him.

“I lost my grandpa in March 2024,” she said. “He just reminded me of my grandpa. The things he did, what he stood for. It just gravitated me toward him.”

Now, she’s introduced friends, classmates and nearly her entire program to Mr. Lynn.

“I feel like he knows all the animal veterinary science majors because of me,” she said.

Her advice to others is simple: “Just talk to him. Ask his name. Ask how his day is. Something small, that’s how it starts.”

For Delaini Daughenbaugh, a graduate student in human factors psychology, it really was that simple. Daughenbaugh was the first student who ever spoke to Mr. Lynn, and their friendship began with just that: a simple question.

“She scared the fool out of me,” Mr. Lynn said. “She comes from the back of the bus, just making a beeline to the front. The first thing she said was, ‘What’s your name?’ And I thought, ‘Oh, lord, I’m in trouble.’”

Luckily, Daughenbaugh was just a student trying to meet someone during the first week of class in her first year at Clemson.

“I didn’t know anyone,” she said. “So I figured I’d at least get to know the bus driver. Turns out it was also his first year at Clemson, too.”

That introduction turned into daily conversations, then a family-like bond. Now in graduate school, Daughenbaugh still rides his bus and talks with him each day.

“Over the last four years, he has become a close family friend, and I consider him my Granddad,” she shared. “When I didn’t have any family here in Clemson, he treated me like one of his own.”

These stories are common on the route, where even brief interactions with Mr. Lynn leave a lasting impact on students, brightening their days.

“I tell them when you get on the bus and get a piece of candy, you’ve got to smile,” Mr. Lynn said. “I’ll have kids get on here and get candy five or six times, and they’d never look at me and never say nothing. I’ll stop them and say, ‘I’ve got to see a smile.’ And it works.”

But it isn’t always that easy. Sometimes, it takes more effort. He recalls one student who boarded through the back door and got upset when he was corrected.

“He didn’t talk to me for a couple of weeks,” Mr. Lynn said. “Finally, I asked him if he was still upset. We shook hands, introduced ourselves, and now we’re good friends. He was just having a bad day.”

These moments help to reinforce the why in what he does, the meaning behind searching for smiles each day.

“People helped my son when he was here,” he said. After an injury, strangers stepped in to support him, offering him a place to stay and ensuring he could continue attending class. “I want to do that for somebody else.”

And his impact hasn’t gone unnoticed. Students write him letters describing how riding the bus helps lift their day. Administrators have taken note, too, encouraging him to “do whatever you have to do to keep these ducks,” Mr. Lynn said.

For Mr. Lynn, it’s not about recognition, it’s about connection.

“It’s like Laini told me this morning,” Mr. Lynn laughed. “She said, ‘You’re just getting too many friends.’”

His collection will keep growing one duck, one connection and one smile at a time.