A nonprofit publication of the Kentucky Center for Public Service Journalism

The River: From the Air Force to a return to the river aboard the Delta Queen — and memories to be made


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

It wasn’t more than a week after I separated from the Air Force during the last week of December 1969, that I gave Captain Ernest E. Wagner a phone call from a booth near his home in New Richmond, Ohio. Though I could have called from my house in Covington, not so far away, instead, I drove close to where Captain Wagner lived and found a telephone booth outside the Frisch’s Big Boy restaurant. I was hoping that the Captain might invite me to drop by his place facing the Ohio River to “talk it over” when I proposed to return to the DELTA QUEEN as a crewmember.

It wasn’t more than a week after I separated from the Air Force during the last week of December 1969, that I gave Captain Ernest E. Wagner a phone call from a booth near his home in New Richmond, Ohio.

Just over four years and three months earlier, I departed the DELTA QUEEN beneath the yet uncompleted Gateway Arch in St. Louis in the company of Mrs. Letha Greene and her daughter Jane for a commercial jet plane ride from St. Louis to Cincinnati. Mrs. Greene was the President of the Greene Line Steamers, Inc., owners of the QUEEN. Jane and I were friends from the steamboat, ever since I started working as a “clock puncher” soon after graduating from college, patrolling the nooks and crannies of the boat while most of the passengers and crew slept.

My official title, WATCHMAN, was boldly embroidered in gold letters, not less than one-half-inch high on my boat cap hatband. Besides the Detex mechanical clock, my associate night watchman and I took turns carrying, the United States Coast Guard Regulations 46 CFR § 78.30-15 carefully specified that we wear an armband on our left sleeve marked “WATCHMAN.” Regs also required watchkeepers to carry an “efficient flashlight” while one or the other of us “made a round” of the DELTA QUEEN once every 20 minutes.

Just over four years and three months earlier, I departed the DELTA QUEEN beneath the yet uncompleted Gateway Arch in St. Louis.

After a few weeks of “punching the clock,” the regular watchman returned from his vacation, so I found a slot open in the engine room as an apprentice engineer, or “Striker,” as they were known. By early September 1965, I was off the steamboat and on my way to Lackland Air Force Base, Texas, where, after three months of Officer Training School, I received my gold bars as a Second Lieutenant. By the time I separated from active duty, two promotions and four years active duty found me leaving the “flyboys” as an O-3, or Captain, in the USAF.

Captain Wagner answered his telephone and sounded surprised to hear me calling his home, and even more surprising was my request asking for my job back aboard the steamboat. Cap had served as a “Topkick” in the Army on Peleliu Island during World War II and participated in what has been called “the most difficult fight that the U.S. military encountered in the entire war.” His bewilderment came after finding I’d forsaken an officer’s slot in the Air Force in hopes of returning to the riverboat. Instead of inviting me over to his nearby home, Captain Wagner asked if I “wanted to return to the engineroom,” or “go on deck.” I chose the deck as that was the avenue to the pilothouse and fulfilling my ambition geared to becoming a Captain of the DELTA QUEEN as quickly as possible.  Cap said to call the Greene Line Office the following week and arrange for a flight to New Orleans where the DELTA QUEEN was undergoing improvements at the Dixie Machine Docks on the Industrial Canal in the Crescent City.

The Detex mechanical clock, my associate night watchman and I took turns carrying while most of the passengers and crew slept.

Like most of the airplane flights I’d ridden to New Orleans, the final approach to the airport usually lays hidden beneath a heavy fog covering the city and surroundings like a thick cotton blanket. Only at the last moment does the ground suddenly break out of the overcast, and then it seems like the aircraft is weaving between the tall cypress trees in the swamps, below, surrounding the city. Such images have, over the years, caused strange dreams where the airliner I’m riding lands and takes off on city streets as the aircraft wiggles between tree branches, beneath power lines, and between light poles. Though I carry a commercial aircraft pilot’s license, I like may other pilots I’ve talked to on the subject, loathe flying if not occupying a seat inside the cockpit.

Like many GIs stationed in the Republic of Korea during the Vietnam War Era, I had several smartly-fitted and well-cut suits made at the Yongsan PX by “Hong Kong” tailors. The same for a couple of custom-made, soft leather, pairs of zippered boots. Both the handmade garments and boots were of my design, while the quality and materials seemed as fine as anything I bought at Eilerman’s Men’s Store back home.

Once safely on the ground, I collected my baggage and stuffed my belongings into the trunk of a black and white hack belonging to the United Cab Company; I asked the driver to deposit me and my plunder at the Dixie Machine Works docks on the Industrial Canal. I’d chosen to wear a silk-like, double-breasted, gray suit with matching, flare-bottom trousers and a pair of soft, less-than-mid-calf, brown, zippered boots.

I grabbed the bags after carefully adjusting the gray topper atop my head.

My headgear was a matching gray flannel top hat my dad bought for the Covington Sesquicentennial a few years earlier that he gave to me at my request. The only missing accessories were a gold-handled cane and a gold-plated derringer pistol with iridescent mother-of-pearl grips.

The DIXIE Machine Company dock was alive with turmoil and excitement as a small army of workers swarmed about on several boats. The largest was the DELTA QUEEN, and it was a distance from where the cab stopped and piled my luggage in a heap. Getting to the QUEEN was my responsibility as I grabbed the bags after carefully adjusting the gray topper atop my head. Intentionally, I desired to make the impression that a 19th Century dandy was arriving aboard the steamboat. Still, I was unprepared for the reception I received as I strode toward the DELTA QUEEN

Captain Clarke “Doc” Hawley assigned me a crew and orders to get into the steamboat’s 26-ton, white-oak paddlewheel, and begin preparing it for the start of the upcoming season.

Gradually, the noise of the shipyard ceased from an uproar to a murmur as all work stopped, and every pair on eyes in the yard followed my path toward the boat. The closer I got to the QUEEN, the more self-conscience I became of the attention directed at my arrival. Though I would have relished finding a hiding hole, I knew I had to keep up the charade at least to the safety of the steamboat beyond the gaping eyes of the boatyard workmen. Later, I was to find; the workers generally thought most of the DELTA QUEEN crewmembers were oddly-different than most boat crews they were used to servicing at the Dixie yard.

Once aboard the DELTA QUEEN, I looked for Captain Wagner who carefully scrutinized my matching gray outfit for a moment before assigning a crewman to help me with my bags to the Second Mate’s Room, a tiny cubical just inside the entrance to the Officers’ Quarters on the starboard side of the Sun Deck behind the pilothouse and alongside the smokestack. That night, alone in my cubbyhole, I questioned why I left the comfort of the Air Force to be back aboard the aging steamboat and wondered if I made an error in judgment. Though my eyes misted a little, I refused to shed a tear.

Early the next morning, after a good night’s sleep aboard the DELTA QUEEN, my first in over four years, I awoke to the familiar smell of Canadian Bacon frying in the cookhouse. Before long, I was dressed and hurried eagerly below to get my first assignment as the unlicensed Second Mate. Captain Clarke “Doc” Hawley, the QUEEN’s First Mate and Alternate Captain with Captain Wagner assigned me a crew and orders to get into the steamboat’s 26-ton, white-oak paddlewheel, and begin preparing it for the start of the upcoming season.

Little did I realize what an eventful and exciting year lay ahead. I had no idea, then, of all that was in store for the QUEEN and me during the coming months forever remembered in steamboat lore as the historic “Save the DELTA QUEEN Year” of 1970.

I had no idea, then, of all that was in store for the QUEEN and me during the coming months.

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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2 Comments

  1. Mike Washenko says:

    Fantastic article.

  2. Mary Goldenberg says:

    I was smiling through your entire writing of walking back up to the DQ! I could literally see you in my minds eye, your words are so eloquent and expressive. And I know exactly where you spent the night back on board that first night. Thank you for your writings! I feel the river stirring in my blood again.

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