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The River: The story of my journey on the BB Riverboats’ BELLE of CINCINNATI as ‘river historian’


The riverboat captain is a storyteller, and Captain Don Sanders will be sharing the stories of his long association with the river — from discovery to a way of love and life. This a part of a long and continuing story.
By Capt. Don Sanders
Special to NKyTribune

On the 25th of September, this year, Captain Terri Bernstein, CEO of BB Riverboats, based on the waterfront of the Ohio River at Newport, Kentucky, lit the little green light on my Facebook Chat Box. She had a message for me:

“Would you possibly want to go on our 2018 River Hop November 4-7 and be our River Historian?”

Cap’n Terri and I soon came to a mutual understanding, and I agreed to go.

The BELLE of CINCINNATI, flagship of the BB fleet.

My next contact was Nancy Gaff Willhoite, Director of Sales, who informed me that Terri wanted a “lecture about the Ohio River Flood of 1937.” Nancy added her own topic concerning “locks and dams” which I expanded to include the creation of the Ohio River as a result of the Pleistocene Era of the great ice sheets that reshaped the northern landscape of the eastern North American Continent.

Actually, I was hoping to choose my topics, but if that is what management wanted, I still had one talk where the subject matter was my personal choice which I dubbed, “A Great Big Collection of Steamboat Stuff,” an expression my old friend, John Hartford, wrote about in his “Miss Ferris” song. In my mind, however, I thought a more honest name would be, “Stuff I Really Want to Talk About.”

After days of research, writing, copying, editing facts and figures, and applying my original thoughts, I came up with two documents with well-over 2,000 words apiece. My son Jonathan taught me the rudiments of utilizing the PowerPoint computer-generated program to include photographs and illustrations with my “lectures.” Jonathan also downloaded the complete set of Microsoft Word package into my recently-acquired laptop computer. Now I had two formal discourses, and I decided to make my steamboat stuff talk informally “off the cuff,” but with 50 personally-related photos to accompany my patter.

After my last commercial boat command, the illustrious casino vessel GRAND VICTORIA II, laid off its licensed maritime officers, including myself, I hung up my U. S. Coast Guard-issued license and using a portion of my severance package, bought, and retired to my small paddle-wheeler, the Rafter CLYDE. Without a 300-foot boat like the GVII to roam about all day, sometimes adding ten miles to the pedometer I often wore, some 70 unwanted pounds crept upon my frame, and I quickly discovered that my old boat uniforms were more than a tad too tight.

Chief Engineer Chris Wirtjes, another experienced boatman whose career I followed for years, but this was our first actual meeting.

Long-story-short, a complete set of new clothing, from the knickers outward, and from top to bottom soon stretched the balance on my charge cards. Initially, I was scheduled to go ashore at night with the passengers as the BELLE of CINCINNATI, the flagship of the BB fleet was not certified by the Coast Guard to carry passengers overnight. But after considering the comfortable lodgings and the sumptuous meals, ashore, the passengers would be enjoying before traveling to catch the boat further down-river, I decided to stay aboard the BELLE and remain with the crew. The change of plans meant purchasing a new sleeping bag and inflatable air mattress to camp out on a hard steel deck instead of luxuriating with the paying tourists. I chose to remain aboard the boat with the crew. . .a natural choice for an old riverman.

On Saturday, the third of November, the day before the Hop, I carefully packed. The computer fitted nicely into a leather satchel belonging to Jonathan. A green canvas bag I inherited from the late Deborah Fischbeck worked perfectly to carry my undies, socks, and toiletries, while the sleeping bag, air mattress, and any other booty found transportation in a large, plastic trash bag. By 0600, the next morning, I crept silently out the back door, started “Black Beauty” my faithful 1995 F-150 pickup truck, and less than an hour later I was halted by a stream of older folks slowly clambering off a charter bus above the BB Riverboats docks on the Ohio River in Newport. Immediately, I recognized Nancy Willhoite from her Facebook photos and she introduced me to a young pilot of the BELLE, Captain Sam Sengsouvanh, a native of Jacksonville, Florida, and veteran of series of other riverboats, including the AMERICAN QUEEN, the largest steamboat ever built for river service. 


Without fanfare, Cap’n Sam grabbed my bags off he went to stow them somewhere in the crew sleeping area on the Main Deck. I tried to keep up with Sam, but lost sight of him in the crowd boarding the floating dock; so I took advantage of my freedom to explore the place and found myself on the open walkway between the office/landing barge and the BELLE of CINCINNATI. A fellow wearing four stripes with the propeller symbol for the Engineering Department approached and we instantly recognized each other from our social media contacts. He was Chief Engineer Chris Wirtjes, another experienced boatman whose career I followed for years, but this was our first actual meeting.

Steamboat gal-pals Carol Roth, Liz Patterson, and Barb Hameister with Pilot, Captain Sam Sengsouvanh.

Before long, I let Captain Terri Bernstein, CEO of BB Riverboats, know I was aboard. Cap’n Terri invited me to grab a plate and have some breakfast from the generous smorgasbord her capable crew had waiting for the hungry guests now seated at the various table in the open expanse of the Second Deck. Years before, I was the First Mate and Captain of the BELLE’s identical sister boat, the DIAMOND LADY casino boat in Bettendorf, Iowa. In those days, the second level of the gamlin’ boat was set aside for dining, and there was no wagering on that deck. We officers had our private table with a white linen tablecloth, linen napkins, and fancy cutlery. The DIAMOND LADY was nearly as gracious a riverboat as the DELTA QUEEN when it came to passenger comfort, but with only a two-hundred dollar “loss limit” in the casino per-player, the Iowa casino boats quickly went belly-up soon after neighboring Illinois, on the other side of the Mississippi River, introduced “unlimited gaming.”

Consequently, the DIAMOND LADY packed all its belongings and paddled down the river and across the Gulf of Mexico to Biloxi, Mississippi with her sister-boat, the EMERALD LADY. When both of these boats were eventually laid-up, BB Riverboats bought the emerald twin and converted her into the excursion boat upon which I was enjoying a sumptuous breakfast at the table of a  group of steamboat gal-pals. Barb Hameister, Liz Patterson, Carol Roth, and new-comer, Shirley Coit are affectionately known around the riverboats as the “River Rats,” or simply, “the Rats.” The girls were in the company of Mike Washenko, Liz’s husband.

“Look, we’re moving,” I suddenly interjected into the conversation as we enjoyed our brunch. As soon as my table companions looked up and noticed the dock receding into the background, we quickly evacuated the dining room and assembled on deck to watch the BELLE of CINCINNATI’s departure through the picturesque Queen City Harbor. Within minutes, the open-grate steel roadway of the John A. Roebling Suspension Bridge was overhead as the tires of passing “machines” hummed the tune responsible for the historical aerial roadway to be dubbed “the Singing Bridge.” Someone leaned against the railing high above us and watched as we glided beneath them. Neither they nor any of us attempted to wave. After the BELLE passed under the Interstate-75 Bridge, I looked for signs on the Covington shore of the ramp where Walt’s Boat Club was when I was a boy growing up on the river in the 1950s, but the water was too high and covered all that remained of my childhood memories.

Virginia Bennett

A little further downstream, at Mile 471.7,  we noted the government navigation light named for our late friend Virginia Bennett. After the paddlewheeler slid beneath the Southern Railroad Bridge, we passed the Coast Guard beacon honoring my friend and mentor, Captain Arthur J. “Red” Schletker at the mouth of Mill Creek. The BELLE was running on a slow bell upon a swiftly-moving river as it would not take long for the boat to quickly eat up a lot of miles; so the captain was running at a leisurely pace to stay on schedule.

My first “lecture,” scheduled at 11 a.m., was a topic suggested weeks earlier by Nancy Willhoite. She wanted a presentation about the locks and dams on the Ohio River, but I broadened the theme to regress some 2 ½ million years into the past to explain the formation of the Ohio River resulting from a series of glaciers that reformed the North American Continent after descending from the far north. The result was a broad river basin which eventually required a series of concrete and steel obstructions to impound the waters for navigation and sets of locks that allowed the free flow of commerce past those impediments.

My text was nearly 2,300 words with 32 illustrations on PowerPoint, a computer-generated program my son Jonathan taught me basically how to use. But during the presentation, PowerPoint failed to co-operate, and I had to “wing it,” but only after Andrea Melson, a guest from the audience, coaxed the system back to life. My first “lecture” was dismally disappointing, and after finally wading through it, an impromptu demonstration of rope tricks, fancy knots, and how to back-splice a piece of Manila line may have distracted my congregation enough that they forgot about my poor performance earlier in the hour. I vowed that should the Captain refrain from putting me off the boat at Rabbit Hash; I would benefit from my mistakes and make the next day’s discourse better after my mediocre showing on my first attempt at “lecturing.“

My first “lecture” was a topic suggested weeks earlier by Nancy Willhoite.

A visit to the pilothouse found Captain Kerry Snowden, who’d been with BB Riverboats for some 36 years, “at the sticks.” As the BELLE has no traditional steering wheel, what is essentially a small, vertical, electrical switch, is the guiding control. Kerry, a native of St. Louis, got his start with the venerable Streckfus Line before he found his way to Cincinnati. And much to my surprise and delight, Aaron Richardson, another long-time riverboatin’ buddy, was acting the role of a “Cub Pilot,” to log his required time to “sit” for his Pilot’s License examination.

Our first stop would be coming up soon after lunch at the famed Rabbit Hash General Store. Rabbit Hash, Kentucky is a river town with a duly-elected pooch for a mayor and a reputation known far-and-wide as the “Center of the Universe,” or so claimed a film made about the tiny community across the Ohio River from Rising Sun, Indiana. After seventy-one years, the two towns are, again, connected by a ferry crossing the river. Only the passing of time will tell what effects the ferryboat will have upon the burghs long-separated for nearly three-quarters of a century and had grown to look askance across the board river and scorn their neighbors on the far side.

Before the BELLE reached the Rabbit Hash/Rising Sun vicinity, a gentleman wearing a classic “captain’s cap” approached where I was sitting on-deck watching the passing scenery and introduced himself as Robert Mayeux from the bayou country of Louisiana. Mr. Mayeux promptly began telling me about a certain “Harlan Hubbard” who ended-up in his neighborhood after completing a long waterborne adventure begun on the Ohio River, not far from where we were cruising; soon after the end of the Second World War. When I informed Robert that “Harlan couldn’t have lived his dreams without his wife, Anna,” and that the Hubbards had been dear and cherished friends of mine, we immediately bonded. It so happened that “Bayou Bob” and I shared many friendships with river folks we both knew. Before our conversation ended, I told Bob we should likely see “Shantyboat Mike” Fletcher at the Rabbit Hash General Store. Shantyboat Mike, I said, had many friends down Bob’s way, and it turned out that one of Mike’s best Cajun buddies was also a pal of Bayou Bob’s.
 

Aaron Richardson, another long-time riverboatin’ buddy, was acting the role of a “Cub Pilot,” to log his required time to “sit” for his Pilot’s License examination.

Soon, the BELLE of CINCINNATI eased past the new ferry, and as we proceeded by the GRAND VICTORIA II,  my last “big boat” command where I was the Senior Captain for over sixteen years, it was sad to see how much the once palatial casino paddlewheeler had deteriorated since all the licensed officers, including myself, were laid-off. After the company dropped the U. S. Coast Guard Certificate of Inspection, the once-stately vessel suffered from the loss of trained, knowledgeable, and certified leaders. The one fellow now in charge of trying to improve the condition of my old boat is fighting an uphill battle. Only an unlikely trip to a major shipyard will restore the GRAND VIC to its former glory; I lamented as the BELLE prepared to round-to and land below the General Store.

The high water was an advantage as the BELLE of CINCINNATI slid into the riverbank at Rabbit Hash. Typically, a rocky bar formed in the river below the creek flowing behind the General Store makes docking there a delicate task requiring a sensitive touch and the knowledge of understanding where to avoid the large stones. My sternwheeler, Rafter CLYDE., has yet to stop there. Cap’n Kerry had no worries, and the BELLE was secure, and most of our passengers were already ashore by the time I passed crewmen Alex Schuchter and Steven Coleman standing on the end of the Landing Stage to help folks get off and onto the shore.

As I expected on a Sunday morning, Shantyboat Mike Fletcher was back by the cast iron stove inside the store cooking corn batter pancakes on an electric griddle. I looked for the store owner, Terrie Marksberry, but she was nowhere around, and another lady was working in her place collecting the cash. Mike was busy explaining his flapjack recipe to a young, Millennial-type who’d likely driven down from Cincinnati to the General Store. Mike did mention he met Bayou Bob and wanted to talk to him longer, but Bob headed back to the boat after he saw Mike focused on frying the corn fritters. Before departing, I grabbed what I thought was one of the fancy, craft root beers from the cooler.  And then some loafer hanging around the stove, thinking I was some rube from the “big city” and in the Rabbit Hash hamlet for the first time, though it was great fun to try to get me to pay him for my drink instead of handing my money to the lady up-front.

“There’s always one jerk in every crowd,” I reflected inwardly.

The BELLE of CINCINNATI at Rabbit Hash.

Once out the front door, I found Peter Steigerwald, a former deckhand of mine from the GRAND VIC about to enter the store. Pete’s a traveler, and I wasn’t surprised to discover him in “the Hash.” Pete and I talked a moment, and then I wound my way through the light crowd milling about in the street and headed back towards the BELLE. Before starting down a set of slippery wooden steps to the stage, I pulled the unopened soda from my front pocket and found that I picked up some drink besides a root beer. It tasted awful, so I poured the rest of the bottle onto a clump of dead brush and gingerly navigated my way to where Alex and Steve were helping people board the long walkway to the deck of the boat.

Once out the front door, I found Peter Steigerwald, a former deckhad of mine from the GRAND VIC

After the BELLE departed Rabbit Hash, the rest of the day was mine to do what I wanted. So I went up top to the pilothouse when Captain Kerry Snowden accepted my request to enter and enjoy the river from his vantage point high above the restless river.

Cap’n Kerry and I met many years soon after Captain Alan Bernstein hired him away from the Streckfus riverboats in St. Louis on the Upper Mississippi River. And though our acquaintance spanned some decades, this was the first time I had watched him at his business of piloting a boatload of people; especially on a river getting meaner by the hour.

Sugar Creek Bend, at Mile 523.0, just a few miles above Warsaw, Kentucky, was always an exciting turn on the Ohio River. Before Markland Dam raised the level of the river and drowned-out the old channel, steamboats venturing downbound at Sugar Creek Bend made a breathtaking sweep around the sharp curve the river made there.

In the days before pilothouse radios allowed boatmen to check for traffic at the bendway, Sugar Creek Bend was a “trap for steamboats. It was there that the NORMAN collided with the LADY WALTON, and the TELEGRAPH rammed and sank the KENTUCKY HOME,” according to author and newspaperman, Frank Grayson, Jr., in his 1930 book, Thrills on the Historic Ohio River. But, the worst steamboat tragedy was the collision of the U. S. Mail Line packets, UNITED STATES and the AMERICA that rammed head-on a bleak, dreary day, Friday, 04 December 1868 – much like the one we were experiencing as we passed down that haunted stretch of the Ohio. Fortunately for us, Captain Kerry, nor his charge, suffered any similar incidents rounding the infamous bend.

Alex Schuchter and Steve standing on the end of the Landing Stage to help folks get off and onto the shore.

Just below the Sugar Creek Light and Daymark, we passed a log cabin atop the bank that bore the sign, “My Old Kentucky Home.” In the 1930s, my Aunt Mary Dessie rented the cabin for several summers, and it was a favorite family getaway from the rigors of town. During the hot summer of 1936, the year before they married, my parents, Jess and Anna Margaret posed next to a wooden ladder that allowed the Lighthouse Keeper of the Sugar Creek Light access to the kerosene lantern that illuminated the important navigation aid. Fifty years later, they returned to have their picture taken beneath the modern, battery-powered light that replaced the oil-burning lamp.

As I watched personal memories fade as the BELLE slipped around Sugar Creek Bend, Cap’n Kerry informed Markland Dam by the BELLE’s VHS radio that we were downbound above them and would be locking through their facility, turning around below the dam, and locking back up.

“Report when you reach Beatty’s,” answered the lockman, referring to the former property of Captain John Beatty’s “Yankee Landing,” just a little over two miles above Markland.

While I listened to the radio chatter between the Lockman and Captain Snowden, I thought how satisfying it was that the government still used my former boss and mentor, Captain John Beatty’s old place as a landmark, although Captain John left the living nearly a quarter-century ago. Of course, this mention of Beatty allowed time for a couple of short “John Beatty stories” before we came abreast of Yankee Landing and it was time for Cappy Kerry to report our position.

Soon, the BELLE of CINCINNATI eased past the new ferry, and as we proceeded by the GRAND VICTORIA II, my last “big boat” command where I was the Senior Captain for over sixteen years.


“Wonder if there’s still some barges sunk in front of Beatty’s place?” someone asked to no one in particular.

Captain Beatty had a habit for sinking barges where they would be easier to take care of instead of fleeting them as was the usual procedure. Being a salvage man, John could raise a barge and get it floating almost as quickly as he could dig one out of a floating fleet. We all silently pondered the question, but not one of us wanted to get closer to shore where we imagined a “sinker” might be still lurking just beneath the surface of the river.

When Captain Kerry called the dam, again, and reminded them of his intentions of locking through, turning around below the lock, and re-entering and locking back up before dropping our passengers off to meet their busses that would take them to the Belterra Casino Hotel for the night, he was answered by someone talking back in a rude and condescending manner. All of us within the pilothouse were surprised and perplexed by the caller’s brusque attitude. Quite often, lock personnel may “cop an attitude” with pleasure boaters when the lock is busy with commercial traffic, and the boaters are inexperienced with lock protocol.

Except for a certain gruff-voiced, nasty lockman at L&D 27, above St. Louis, who treated me terribly when I brought the CLYDE through his lock, lock personnel are usually helpful, courteous, and polite – especially to experienced, commercial traffickers. Surprisingly, when the lock called again to confirm our intentions for locking through multiple times, a different voice came across the airwaves. This time the caller was friendly and polite. After the conversation finished, we laughed and wondered what had become of Mr. Grumpy.

Terri and Nancy at the Rabbit Hash General Store.

Old Grouchy was probably ready to go home after a long, cold day, and wasn’t looking forward to us coming through,” Aaron suggested. Whatever the case, we all were relieved he was gone, and the airwaves were clear of his unpleasantness.

From where I was sitting on the high “Lazy Bench” behind Captain Snowden as he skillfully guided the BELLE of CINCINNATI toward the 1,200 X 110-foot lock chamber, I noticed that he was approaching precisely as the late Captain Harry Louden would have recommended. I almost imagined the specter of the renowned U. S. Army Corps of Engineers and DELTA QUEEN Master Pilot whispering into our captain’s ear:
 
“Comin’ down on the lock from above… hug that shore as close as ya can.”

The Ohio River was “flat-out cookin’” as the entire volume of the swollen river squeezed through 80-feet of open Tainter Gates that controlled the torrent of water tearing through the dam. The BELLE, however, easily slid into the large chamber of the set of locks without a hitch.

The roar of the water on the lower side of Markland Dam was deafening! A shudder of fear gnawed at my spine for an instant before I suppressed it. Captain Kerry now stood at the starboard wing bridge controls where he had a clear view of the floating pin inside a recession in the cement lockwall. Three decks below, the deckhands needed to snag the eye of a line onto the pin before Cap’n Snowden backed against it to settle the stern of the BELLE alongside the wall before the lockman closed the upper gates and dropped the boat down to the turbulent level of the lower pool.

Once we were at the lower water level, the lock gates opened and, on command, Alex freed the backing line from the floating pin. The Captain was, again, inside the pilothouse where he slowly eased the BELLE toward the open water, ahead. But before the boat was very far along the wall, Kerry called the lock and explained his intentions to the pleasant voice inside the lockhouse:

“Markland Dam, BELLE of CINCINNATI, here. I’m gonna drop down below the gates, turn around… come back inside the chamber, and lock back up. We’ll be down, later, after dropping these people off at Warsaw. Copy?”

The roar of the water on the lower side of Markland Dam was deafening. Captain Kerry stood at the starboard wing bridge controls where he had a clear view of the floating pin inside a recession in the cement lockwall.

The lockmaster’s voice filled the pilothouse with just two ominous words:

“Be careful…”

Outside the end of the concrete lower lockwall, the churning river tore by at a staggering pace. Onshore to port, the willows seemed to be unusually close. Looking further downstream I wondered if the Captain would go downstream beyond the dam and turn around where the water wasn’t so turbulent, but then I thought it would be dark before the boat shoved its way through the current and back to the lock chamber.

But Captain Kerry had other thoughts. In the space slightly below the lock walls and the shore, there was flat, dead water with little current and no turbulence. Here, there was just enough room for an experienced, fearless pilot to twist his boat around. The maneuver was not for the faint of heart, nor a rookie. One wrong move and the vessel, with all aboard, could be swept away.

At first, Captain Snowden swiveled the head of the BELLE toward the starboard which caused the boat to fight against the might of the tumbling water. Kerry had a reason for this, he later explained, but when he realized she would not turn that way, he reversed the rudders and engines and put the stern into the current. With the water rushing against the aft-end, the BELLE briskly spun around like a cat chasing its tail. As quickly as the boat settled into the slack water below the lock, the Captain came ahead on both engines and slipped smoothly inside the waiting chamber. A textbook display of some of the best boat-handling I ever witnessed!

By the time the BELLE locked upbound and approached the Warsaw landing where the busses were waiting, darkness shrouded the river. Captain Sam was already in the pilothouse to relieve Captain Kerry. It had been a long day, and I thanked the Senior Captain for allowing me to ride the Lazy Bench and witness some mighty-fine piloting. Before all the passengers were ashore, I went below to the First Deck, inflated my air-mattress, and turned in for the night. When I woke in the morning, the engines were quiet, and the BELLE of CINCINNATI lay securely snubbed alongside the Louisville, Kentucky waterfront.
 
(To be continued.)

Captain Don Sanders is a river man. He has been a riverboat captain with the Delta Queen Steamboat Company and with Rising Star Casino. He learned to fly an airplane before he learned to drive a “machine” and became a captain in the USAF. He is an adventurer, a historian, and a storyteller. Now, he is a columnist for the NKyTribune and will share his stories of growing up in Covington and his stories of the river. Hang on for the ride — the river never looked so good.


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7 Comments

  1. Connie Bays says:

    Another wonderful story! I really wish I could hang onto your coat-tails and follow you around on your adventures in person Capt Don! It would be such great fun! Since that’s not possible, I am greatly enjoying riding along on your words. It’s the next best thing. Especially with the gift of writing that you have. I could almost hear the river roar and feel the spray from the water. I also felt that sting resulting from the uncooperative PowerPoint! It was even more enjoyable when the people you were talking about were people I’ve met, and that lazy bench…, I’ve sat on as well! Great read as always! Love these stories!

  2. Ronald Sutton, Ret C/E says:

    A Great Read and Narrative. Could just about visualize, and I have never been over that route, Well Done, Capt. Don.

  3. What a great story about the first day of BB Riverboats River Hop. You were a wonderful addition Captain Sanders! Can’t wait to read your next installment! Thank you!

  4. Patrick Ewing says:

    Captain Don’s river stories are the best steamboat literature since Mark Twain. Would make a great book!

  5. Mark Fields says:

    Really liked this story. Born in Oct 1956 I have a very faint memory of riding the Avalon from the Cincinnati Public Landing to Coney Island. We lived in Covington, so perhaps it was Covington Day, maybe 1958, 1959 or 1960? Was that event only one day of the year? I have a few photos (actually my parents do) and one is of the Avalon just offshore of Coney Island. Perhaps it was always a one-way trip? I would have been either 1-1/2, 2-1/2 or 3-1/2. Unlikely 1-1/2 doubt I have any memories from that age.

    Would love to know the dates of “Covington Day”. I was born at St E’s and we lived in Covington and later PArk Hills before moving to Cincinnati. I started 1st grade at St Agnes at age five, in 1962 and we moved to Price Hill in October 1962.

    Thanks for publishing your series. Found it by googling. Would like to read them in order.

  6. Cornelia Reade-Hale says:

    Another awesome “ride along”. I could smell breakfast n feel the warm welcomes,especially from “the rats”. I enjoyed reliving places n people i know. So sorry you had power point issues but know you “pulled it out of the fire ” just fine.. I felt the “chill up spine”,which I forget even great boat handlers get . It made me feel better about the nervous moments I get. I bet the passengers ate up your stories .I can’t wait for the next part of your adventure and your “steamboat stuff”.

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