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The River: An enjoyable time aboard the BELLE of CINCINNATI 2018 River Hop comes to an end


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

Relieved to be up and off the hard main deck of the BELLE of CINCINNATI, I was dressed by 7 a.m. Even with an inflatable air-mattress, the thick, steel deck had no “give.” The worst part about sleeping on-deck was coaxing my nearly eight-decades-old body to stand erect. Steve, Christina, and others of the crew, I noticed, had inflatable beds that sat at least two-feet above the thin carpet covering the metal plates. But once I opened the forward door and stepped outside, my spirits soared to find a sunny, cloudless, and mild autumn day.
 
While I slept through the fitful hours of darkness, Captain Sam Sengsouvanh and his helper, Scotty Reynolds, brought the boat downstream through the dizzy twists and turns of the fabled Oxbow Bends of the Ohio River. Even in daylight, the Oxbows can be tricky; even hazardous to navigate. Deep within the high slopes surrounding Wolf Creek Bend, radio communication is often disrupted or lost entirely, as happened the time I sprawled on the “lazy bench” of Captain John Beatty’s towboat, BEN FRANKLIN, admiring Deborah Anne “Fish” Fischbeck as she steered the twin-screw boat shoving an empty hopper barge upstream. After reminding the Fish to get as close to the inside of the Indiana bend as possible, I called on the VHF marine radio for any downbound traffic ahead of the bend-way that could be heading our way. Nothing. There was absolute radio silence, but still, I cautioned the flame-haired beauty, the most nautically-inclined woman I ever met, to hug even closer to the shore as I knew the reputation of Wolf Creek Bend for cloaking radio signals.

Capt. Sam Sengsouvanh brought the boat downstream through the dizzy twists and turns of the fabled Oxbow Bends of the Ohio River.

Just as I was about to retake my seat back on the high bench after hanging up the radio microphone, Fish leaped from behind the “sticks,” the levers used to guide the FRANKLIN instead of a traditional steering wheel.
 
“Here, Willy, take over!” Fish demanded as she shot out of the pilot seat.
 
Ahead, several hundred feet in front of our barge, the sudden appearance of a large tow of 15 rapidly-moving barges slipped around the treacherous bend without warning! By then, I was in control of the BEN and pulled the throttles to idle to hug closer to the bank while the downbound tow passed safely ahead of our bow. Once the towboat appeared, the pilot called and demanded to know why I hadn’t answered his call for upbound traffic below Wolf Creek Bend, and I responded by demanding to know why he didn’t reply to my request for downstream traffic above the bend. Only two years later, two tows collided at the infamous blind curve with damages costing nearly two-million dollars. Thankfully, no injuries or loss of life resulted from the collision at Wolf Creek Bend, a beautiful, but a treacherous place for large boats and tows to meet.
 
Captain Sam apparently experienced no problems upon the swift river running through the Oxbow Bends, nor was he unduly concerned about locking though Cannelton Locks, for when I awoke the next morning, the BELLE of CINCINNATI was resting quietly alongside the shore at Tell City, Indiana, several miles below the dam.

The Fish, the flame-haired beauty and most nautically-inclined woman I ever met.

Tell City, a town of over 7,000 residents named for the legendary Swiss patriot, William Tell, was founded by Swiss-German immigrants in 1858 to provide “affordable homesteads for mechanics, shopkeepers, factory workers and small farmers in a location where all could live in harmony,” according to a blurb written about Tell City’s history. But I knew it as the home of the late Bert Finn, owner of the Tell City Furniture Company and steamboat buff extraordinaire who, when he rode the DELTA QUEEN, tipped those whom he felt deserving, with chairs, couches, and the like from the furniture factory. Captain Wagner would put-in at the city front where a large truck pulled close to the QUEEN’s landing stage, and the fancy plunder was packed aboard and stowed in the Boiler Room. Though I was never a recipient of Mr. Finn’s generosity, I enjoyed seeing the pile of goods riding on the boat to Cincinnati as it transformed the DELTA QUEEN into an old-timey packet boat carrying freight from one river town to another – or so I imagined.
 
I best remember the Swiss hamlet as where the towboat EUGENIE P. JONES towed the DELTA QUEEN after she backed her stern into a bluff mudbank and destroying about one-third of her gigantic wooden paddlewheel after departing Cannelton Lock, downbound, in shut-out fog during the Summer of 1971.  The story, of which, is a tale I am saving for its own complete telling another time, but I will say that the DELTA QUEEN arrived back home in Cincinnati on time as scheduled.
 
On the sun-soaked bow of the BELLE of CINCY, the landing stage stretched invitingly from the boat onto the shore; a testament to the integrity of the small town unlike at the metropolitan Louisville levee where the stage was lifted and swung outboard to discourage intrusion from the inboard flank. There was though, at the far end of the gangway, closest to the Tell City side, a simple piece of cord tied across the hand railings suggesting the boat allowed no visitors. Although the morning was young, a continuous knot of curious visitors passed through the portal in the cement floodwall to see the fancy paddlewheeler dozing at their front door.

The BELLE OF CINCINNATI resting quietly along the short at Tell City

Passing the token barrier, I stepped off the stage and onto Tell City soil, or actually, the hard cement and blacktop ramp that invited commercial riverboat traffic ashore.  A short visit beyond the flood wall was enough that I could say I was “in town,” so I retraced my steps and found myself in Sunset Park admiring the artwork on the riverside of the concrete floodwall painted by a local, but talented, artist. Unlike the grand floodwall designs of Robert Dafford and Company that decorate the otherwise drab flood barriers in front of many river cities, the simple, though charming artistry portrayed the history of the Swiss settlement.

Looking for the Tell City Furniture Company, I found it carefully rendered in an almost “Grandmother Moses-like” style. But my favorite picture was of the 1928-built paddlewheel towboat, the GRACO, originally the CATHERINE D, I often observed shuffling barges in the sand fleet below Evansville, Indiana in the early 1970s. The ninety-year-old former GRACO is still running, these days, as the LADY LOIS out of Charleston, West “By God” Virginia.  
 
Back aboard and on the second deck for my morning cuppa strong “steamboat joe,” a plate of the most inviting breakfast sandwiches awaited the taking. They looked like a liberal serving of fried eggs, ham, and cheese were layered between two generous, rectangular buns of the size I’ve never seen available in any grocery store. Surely, these bread products must be made for commercial use only, I mused. As tempting as they were, I passed on grabbing one of the enticing sandwiches and reserved my serious appetite for the noontime buffet, not that far in the future.
 
As usual, Captain Terri and her talented crew were hard at work getting the BELLE ready for the appearance of Nancy Wilhoite and her forty-seven charges just after the noon hour. The passengers and Nancy were on tour at Santa Claus, Indiana, and would be arriving for another enjoyable hot meal served in the Bernstein tradition. One thing to be sure, if you’re aboard a BB Riverboat cruise, you are going to be delighted when it’s time to put on the feedbag. I was, nor did I hear anything but praise for the buffet chow.

The DELTA QUEEN at Tell City after she backed her stern into a bluff mudbank and destroying about one-third of her gigantic wooden paddlewheel.

Again, I ate at the table of my longtime RiverRat pals while Captain Kerry Snowden guided the BELLE upstream where the lock chamber at Cannelton awaited. As quickly as I could push away from the table, I was on-deck observing the boat enter the lock. Once above Cannelton Dam, as Cap’n Kerry brought the paddlewheeler around to head back down and resume our course toward Owensboro, Kentucky, several of us admired the colorful fall foliage on the hills above. Back home, a windy, driving rain had ripped the colors from the trees, and for the most part, there was nothing left to see but naked, bare limbs and branches. But here, along this stretch of the Ohio River, almost 250 miles downstream from where we boarded the BELLE, the dazzling colors of Autumn were in their full glory!
 
Once the lower gates were open, the BELLE remained tied to the floating pin instead of shoving out and resuming her way downriver.
 
“What’s the hold-up,” a puzzled, plump woman asked as if leaving the lock as soon as the boat reached the lower level of the river made any real difference in her life.
 
Ahead, I could see a string of loaded coal barges maneuvering for the other chamber and realized the captain was waiting for the tow to get clear before letting the BELLE go and heading below the lock; so I told the lady what I believed was causing the holdup.
 
“I don’t see why we have to wait for a bunch of old nasty coal barges,” she mused.

My favorite picture was of the 1928-built paddlewheel towboat, the GRACO

“Well, mam,” I thought to myself, “if only you knew what you were talking about, you’d be thanking the captain for holding up and not trying to mix it up with fifteen loaded barges.”
 
At 2 p.m., Terri, Nancy, Christina, and Steve were hosting a crafts session making “sand ornaments.” At three, my last presentation, “A Great Big Collection of Steamboat Stuff,” was on the itinerary in the Entertainment Room on Level Three… my cue to start earning my grub and a place to lay my inflatable mattress on the cold, hard steel deck.
 
By the appointed hour of three, a respectable-sized audience was in attendance to hear the only one of three discourses where I had chosen the subject, myself. The others, “Locks and Dams, to Include the Formation of the Ohio River,” and “The Great 1937 Flood,” were requests made by my hosts who felt that the nature of the preordained “lectures” would appeal to the edification and enlightenment of a tenderfoot riverboat audience.
 
At the appointed hour, most of the seats were filled on Level Three, or in steamboat parlance, “The Texas.” By now, I was gaining some confidence in the PowerPoint program, so my third and last talk, “A Great Big Collection of Steamboat Stuff,” a phrase borrowed from John Hartford’s “Miss Ferris” tune, was casual and low key. That’s not to say I did not have to put some effort into the presentation, but unlike the two prior programs, there were no facts and figures to carefully research. Or as the ad for the spaghetti sauce says, “Like Prego, it’s in there.”  To make certain that I did not have a sudden “senior moment,” or as we say on the river, a “brain fart,” a I wrote a cheat sheet on a slip of notebook paper listing the subject, names, and any other information pertinent to the fifty slides I’d chosen to talk about. This time, I had no hank of busted rope to splice to bail me out of trouble should I mess up my talk. I was relying strictly upon facts buried deep within the recesses of my memory.

Aboard a BB Riverboat cruise, you are going to be delighted when it’s time to put on the feedbag.

Nearly everyone seemed attentive, except for a couple of fellows who casually dozed off. These two were in attendance the previous programs, and both times, they slumbered while I sang for my supper. Another, who’d read about my little paddlewheeler, the CLYDE., attempted, whether by design or not, to sidetrack me into talking about it when I had a prearranged program I needed to follow. But when I responded that I would be getting to the CLYDE, later in the presentation, he, surprisingly, got up and walked out.
 
If someone were analyzing the content of the talk, they’d find it was a quick summary of my life on the river starting when I was a very young boy terrified of the dark and foreboding Ohio River that made a stain on the landscape of my mind in the few incidents the river and I intersected. Then, there came the time Walter Hoffmeier, a friend of my father who owned an incredible wooden houseboat called the PAL-O-MINE, reintroduced me to the river. My family and I rode the PAL nearly every sunny, summer Sunday until my parents discovered a paddlewheeler they purchased for our family boat and named it the MARJESS for themselves, Marge and Jess. Walter later launched a boat harbor where I worked after school for supper wages until after graduation when I ran off to become a steamboatman at age seventeen and met Captain Ernest E. Wagner, Master of the Steamer AVALON, who continued my education that Walter began.
 
Along the way, I met many inspiring individuals who impacted my waterborne journey: steamboat firemen Ed Smith and Bubba Chinn; Robert “Preacher” Lollar, an eighty-something Striker Engineer I have written about in length. Captains Arthur J. “Red” Schletker and Wes Doss. Cap’n Red was Captain Wagner’s relief whenever the AVALON was in Cincinnati, and my family often rode when Red was in charge. It was Captain Schletker who helped me get my “first paying job on the river” as a deckhand aboard the AVALON. We saw Captain John Emery Edgington, who always asked for me to “carry his grip,” or “post” a letter, was piloting the AVALON when he was nearly ninety and I was just 17.

We admired the colorful fall foliage on the hills above.

“Handsome” Harry Hamilton, was witnessed piloting the DELTA QUEEN alongside the SPRAGUE, the largest steam-powered towboat ever built. As a young man, Harry piloted the SPRAGUE when Standard Oil owned the monumental riverboat. He often told of “the million dollar fire” the colossal steamboat experienced after her tow struck the riverbank near Tomato, Arkansas.
 
Chief Engineer Cal Benefiel was, again, standing at the throttle controlling the engines of the DELTA QUEEN while Captain Albert Sidney Kelley scanned the horizon in the pilothouse high above Cal’s engine room. The two “Docs,” Captains Howard “Old Doc” Carr and Clarke Campbell “Little Doc” Hawley posed together alongside the steamboat’s hand railing for my audience’s edification.
 
Leaning out a pilothouse window, the prankster, Captain Harry Louden, resisted a mighty temptation to pull the cord to ring the great bronze bell on the Hurricane Roof of the DELTA QUEEN while a young couple recited their wedding vows witnessed by “Cap’n” Betty Blake and myself, sometime in 1972.
 
William Muster gathered the crew of the QUEEN for a group portrait around the same bell two years before the wedding. Deckhand Ed Duemler lay next to the headline on the Vicksburg Landing waiting for the call to “let go” and was captured for posterity by Mr. Muster’s camera, and Maitre de, Henry Mitchell, Sr., posed before a sumptuously-spread table in the Orleans Room of the DELTA QUEEN.

em>Steamboat Fireman Ed Smith at work.

An unidentified deckhand and Fleming Moore, better known as “Eat-em-Up,” one of the most outstanding all-around men on the QUEEN tugged on the heel block of the heavy landing stage. Whenever the steamboat had a mechanical problem, the first words that always came from the mouth of Chief Cal were: “Go find Eat-em-Up!” I mentioned that had times “been different,” meaning that had not racial segregation been the law of the land at the time of the photograph, or had Eat-em-Up not been an African-American, he, more than likely, would have been a licensed Chief Engineer of the DELTA QUEEN.
 
Artwork by Warren Stichtenoth, “Piloting Comes Natural,” painted in 1965 and now aboard the CLYDE., was featured to see if any interest arose within the crowd when I announced it was available for purchase. None was, although it is a DELTA QUEEN treasure. Captain Sewell Smith and “Cap’n” Ernest John were shown together in the wheelhouse. Sewell Smith was the inspiration for “Piloting…,” and Ernest Johnson was the first black Watchman on the DELTA QUEEN.
 
Captain Robert James “Roddy” Hammett shyly had his back turned to my camera as the DELTA QUEEN landed alongside the SPRAGUE in the cold, early months of 1970. Roddy was also seen posing swinging on a porch scanning river memorabilia with Captain Fred Way a few years before someone, still to be discovered, brutally murdered Roddy in New Orleans.
 

Henry Mitchell Sr., Maitre ‘d, before a sumputously-spread table in the Orleans Room of the DELTA QUEEN.

My son, Jonathan E. Hartford Sanders, and Captain Gabriel Chengary were witnessed standing together by the Grand Staircase aboard the QUEEN. I showed pics of Captain Jim Blum and long-time Chief Purser, Robert H. McCann, a veteran of the GORDON C. GREENE, DELTA QUEEN, and other long-gone steamboats. Cap’n Blum was also a Captain on the BELLE of LOUISVILLE and the sidewheel steamer ADMIRAL, besides the DELTA QUEEN.

A young brother and sister team, Billy and Nori Muster, the children of the Greene Line ’s president, William Muster, Sr., were seen in separate shots focused on steering their father’s company’s steamboat under the scrutiny and watchful eyes of Sewell Smith and Ernie Wagner.
 
Six photographs followed of my sternwheeler, the Rafter CLYDE., I call the “largest working ‘steamboat model on the river,” generated some interest. One of the second-row sleepers open an eye and peek at the screen, I imagined, but I was probably mistaken. My “most favorite boat I never worked on,” the EDWARD J. GAY, an 1878 cotton packet caused a slight stir among the participants seated before me.
 
The next-to-the-last photo of my last presentation was a salute to “the younger generation moving up,” and featured Alex Schuchter and Aaron Richardson. The very last pic, a shot of my business card featuring the CLYDE., and identifying me as a “Steamboat Captain, Writer, and Lecturer” flashed onto the screen just as Nancy Willhoite appeared at the back of the room. Nancy reminded everyone that it was time for “Happy Hour with apps and drink specials” served on the deck below.
 
“Don’t forget. There’s Bingo afterward,” she added.
 
Several of my “Rat” pals and a few others chose to remain behind and watch some of the more than 9,000 steamboat pictures I brought along on Flash Drive. Before 6 p.m., we broke up and joined the others for dinner.

In the morning, when I was alone with Steve Colemen and Christina Soto, I told them I was sorry for cutting into their bonuses.

After what seemed to be a very short time, Nancy was announcing the arrival of the BELLE of CINCINNATI at Owensboro, and that the busses were already waiting. Today would be the last day aboard the boat for the passengers who had overnight reservations at the Hampton Inn, uptown. In the morning, the buses would return to the paddlewheeler to pick up a load of box lunches made exclusively in the BELLE’s kitchen for the long bus ride back to Newport. Though I could have chosen to leave early with Captain Terri, back to the BB Riverboat home port, I decided to stay aboard for another night and ride home in the morning on the motorcoach.
 
With the swiftly rising water, the Ohio River was beyond its banks and made the Owensboro landing difficult, at best. After a headline was out, and the boat snuggled against the stout steel structure supporting the ramp, Captain Kerry came on deck and personally supervised the final ties. Again, as at Leavenworth a couple of nights before, it took the entire effort of the combined crew to get the walkway safely reaching the shore as the raging river surged beneath the dock.
 
My position was on-deck next to where the steep walkway reached down to the floating dock assisting our disembarking guests going ashore for the final time. The long, stage-plank was useless, here, and was swung outboard; out of the way. As the departing people took the hand I extended to steady their way onto the walkway, many thanked me, and some said they “enjoyed my lectures.”

Nancy Willhoite announcing the arrival of the BELLE of CINCINNATI at Owensboro.

As my regular “lecture” attendees, Samone and Andrea Melson, the only African-American passengers on the Hop took their turns to leave, Samone leaned close and said in a clear voice:
 
“Thanks for including black men in your talks.”
 
I hadn’t considered the races of those dear African-American steamboatmen I included in my “lectures,” but without giving my reply a second thought, I shot back:
 
“But, I loved them like brothers – in fact, they were my brothers!”
 
Samone and I shook hands again, and I thanked the Melsons for their faithful attendance at my talks.
 
After all were safely ashore and on the warm busses, Cap’n Terri and the crew gathered on the landing and bid everyone another farewell. Once the bus doors closed, we all gathered for a group photograph before returning to the second deck where the Cap’n wanted the crew to assemble. Clustered around the tables, Terri passed around a stack of passenger comments, that were, almost without exception, positive. The writers talked about the “great times, good food, and friendly and helpful crew.” I noticed that Steve and Christina received especially high praise for their interactions with the cruising crowd. Someone mentioned my name and my “lectures” in a most gracious tone. The rope tricks and eye splices must have worked their magic.

I found Capt. John H. Vize, Capt. Kerry’s replacement who left with Terri the night before.

Several minutes later, Captain Terri distributed gratuities left by the thankful guests according to the proportions she so decreed. I surely didn’t expect any money, but Terri surprised me with what I considered a generous sum. That night after I returned to my inflatable pallet on the hard deck, I resolved to split my tip among those I felt deserved the cash, more.
 
In the morning, when I was alone with Steve and Christina, told them I was sorry for cutting into their bonuses and wanted them and Alex to have my share. But, before I finished getting my thoughts into words, Steve interrupted:
 
“No, man!” He nearly shouted, “That’s your money – You’re part of the Team!”
 
Steve’s retort made me feel exceptionally proud of my acceptance into one of the best riverboat crews I ever worked with in my many years on the river. I had the portions of my tip money split into the sums I planned to redistribute, but after those satisfying remarks, I left the dollars where they lay and smiled to myself as I took another sip of my morning joe.
 
“Hey… the busses are here to pick up the box lunches,” someone shouted from below.

I could see the BELLE far downstream at the site of old Lock & Dam 46.

As I was yet to finish packing, I was off in the direction of my air-mattress and started pitching loose clothing and papers into a large, plastic garbage bag and grabbed my travel bag and computer briefcase. There wasn’t time to deflate the mattress; so I left it and figured I could get to bring it to the CLYDE. the next time he was down. As my gear was piled on-deck for removal ashore, a voice I hadn’t heard in years, called my name. Turning toward the source of the sound, I found Captain John H. Vize, Captain Kerry’s replacement who left with Terri the night before. As we pumped hands I stared into Cap’n John’s face so intently; he thought I didn’t recognize him.
 
“It’s me,” he said, “John H. Vize…”
 
“Sorry, John,” I apologized. “I know it’s you, but it’s been so long since we last saw each other, I just want to soak in your features.”
 
The last time we stood face-to-face, John was a teenage deckhand on the casino sternwheeler, the DIAMOND LADY, the sister boat of the EMERALD LADY, now the BELLE of CINCINNATI we were standing on, and I was a much-younger Mate and Relief Captain. We had only a few minutes to get reacquainted and pose for a quick photo together before my bus left. Alex had already stowed my luggage, and with a final farewell I bid Captains John and Sam a fast farewell, climbed off the boat, hurried across the ramp, and piled onto the bus that took me to the Hampton Inn. There, I walked around along the nearby riverwalk of the Mitch McConnell Plaza while my homebound group was touring the Bluegrass Museum and Hall of Fame.

Someone mentioned my name and my “lectures” in a most gracious tone. The rope tricks and eye splices must have worked their magic.

Standing on the farthest end of a sturdy steel and concrete platform built over the Ohio River, I could see the BELLE far downstream at the site of old Lock & Dam 46, now called English Park. On the 4th of July 2012, the CLYDE. stayed overnight on the upper Guide Wall of the former lock where my brother, Bob Sanders, joined Everett Dameron and myself, and where we enjoyed a spectacular fireworks display before resuming our way, the next morning, towards CLYDE.’s new home after leaving Alma, Wisconsin nearly a month earlier.

After a refreshing stroll along the riverwalk, I returned to the bus in time before it left and picked up the rest of the folks at the bluegrass museum. After all the returning guests had reclaimed their seats, I found one behind Barb Hameister and across from the Melsons. Our driver, who knew how to handle that fast flying vestibule, was darting in and out of traffic. Soon Louisville flew by, and in what seemed no time at all, the bus pulled into the BB Riverboats parking lot on the Newport side of the Ohio River, and the 2018 River Hop aboard the BELLE of CINCINNATI was already logged into the annals of riverboat history.

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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3 Comments

  1. Don…excellent! You paint a picture when you write-excellent stuff, as always.

  2. Really GREAT!! Like being on the Trip without having to sleep on the Air Mattress.

  3. Thanks Cap! So glad to have your thoughtful documentation of this wonderful trip! We’ll be heading out again in the Spring! Best days are spent on the river aboard a BB Riverboat!

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