The River: Dreaming of his steamboating days — and remembering old times through historic photographs

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 is a part of a long and continuing story.

By Capt. Don Sanders
Special to NKyTribune

“What’d ya do – eat up all them groceries stacked on the bow?” Captain Wagner pondered, only half-kidding.

“No, Cap… I carried ’em all down and stacked ’em inside the storeroom door. And…I hosed down the decks after I done that.” Nervously, I fought the urge to seem squirrelly, speaking directly to the behemoth standing above me by nearly a foot. “All’s needed now is squeegeeing some puddles and wipin’ down the handrails.”

“What’d ya do – eat up all them groceries stacked on the bow?” Captain Wagner pondered, only half-kidding. 

“Come get me when yer finished so I can see what sorta job you’ve done,” Wagner ordered in an innocuous yet sincere tone before taking his first step toward the pilothouse…

… and then, I woke up.

The only steamboating I do these days happens after slipping beneath the Walmart sleeping bag I favor year around. Strangely, when spread flat, quilt-like, the tufted nylon bag remains pleasantly genial in the summer and stays comfortably cozy during the colder seasons.

Another source for my steamboat enjoyment lies in historical photographs on the internet. Of course, river excursion boats still offer rides, but my circumstances void those options. So my alternatives are limited to Dreamtime escapades and steamboats frolics recorded on glass negatives in scenes familiar to my grandparents’ younger days. For example:

Recently,  Travis C. Vasconcelos, calliope aficionado, steamboat scholar, and presently the Director of the Howard Steamboat Museum, posted a photograph of the Steamer J. S. boarding a slew of eager passengers.

Recently, Travis C. Vasconcelos, calliope aficionado, steamboat scholar, and presently the Director of the Howard Steamboat Museum located on the grounds of the once prolific Howard Shipyard in Jeffersonville. Indiana, across the Ohio River from Louisville, posted a photograph of the Steamer J. S. boarding a slew of eager passengers. The photo, taken after the boat proved too large to constantly engage in transporting cargo and travelers from Davenport, Iowa to Clinton, beginning in 1901, captures all the drama of a steamboat taking aboard excursionists in similar ways I experienced aboard the AVALON, DELTA QUEEN, and a raft of other paddlewheelers catering to the two-legged trade.

Sometime before 1910, when the J. S. burned, a camera captured the steamboat shoved into a riverbank landing on the Upper Mississippi River. Although the sternwheeler seemingly couldn’t accept another fashionably attired excursion voyager aboard, a line still stretched across the head of the boat, down the swinging stage to the shore where the last stragglers meandered. Clustered on the outskirts, milling around the head of the stage, simpler-dressed locals watch and wait for the boat’s departure.

One lovely lass about to board the steamer reached around her backside with a gloved hand, adjusting her undergarments, hoping no one would notice. But 120 years later, her indiscretion is more blatant on the internet than she could have imagined. While young boys watched intently on the outskirts of the throng and dreamed of the day they could ride, a mother alongside another young woman pushed a wicker perambulator across the stage plank.

Adjusting Undergarments — One lovely lass about to board the steamer reached around her backside with a gloved hand, adjusting her undergarments, hoping no one would notice.

On the bow, near the peak, the Mate watched intently while the last crowd of folks surged aboard as two of his most powerfully-built men stood stalwart duty stations furthest forward, keeping the public safely away from the edge. A stout starboard heel tie lashed the stage to the H-bitts, preventing slippage should the J. S. surge from beneath the walkway. The slackened lifting cables focused the weight of the swinging stage securely on the knuckle and the shore instead of floating lightly on tight steel lines.

Above the Main Deck, the Boiler Deck and the Hurricane Roof could barely accommodate another set of shoes. Standing high on an elevated platform like a symphony orchestra conductor, the Captain waits patiently for the last passenger to cross the walkway from ashore. A long megaphone hangs within his grasp to amplify his voice whenever he commands the Mate on deck or the Pilot stationed in the whimsical birdcage behind the tall, tubular smokestacks.

No sooner had the last ticketholder stepped off the stage onto the deck and crossed within the cabin than the Captain placed the brass mouthpiece of the manual vocal amplifier to his lips. Directing his first commandment to the Mate beneath him, he bellowed:

Young boys watched intently on the outskirts of the throng and dreamed of the day they could ride.

“BREAK UP.”

Instinctively, the well-rehearsed deck crew loosened the heel tie releasing the stage from the H-bitts, removed the apron attached to the heel of the stage, and stowed it out of the way while hooking up the heel blocks. As the Mate twisted the steam valve operating the steam stage hoist and lifted the head of the moveable walkway above the shore several feet, a stout deckman pulled heavily on the hauling part of the heel block and lifted the end of the stage resting on deck into the air, where it was quickly dogged off and secured. Now suspended from the boom pole, the heavy gangway was entirely moveable by just a few well-trained hands.

“AHEAD SLOW. HEAD HARD-IN,” the Captain called to the Pilot after ordering the sternline to be released and pulled aboard. “HOLD THAT SPRING LINE. TAKE UP THE SLACK ON THE CAPSTAN.”

His voice sounded nearly as loud and clear through the light-gauge sheet metal megaphone as a battery-powered bullhorn would be today.

Satisfied that the stern of the J. S. was sufficiently far enough away from the riverbank, the Captain stopped the stern paddlewheel. “LET EM ALL GO” rang down on the bow from above. Satisfied that all hands were safely aboard and the lines were coming on deck, the Captain aimed the megaphone wheelhouseward and instructed the Pilot:

A mother, alongside another young woman, pushed a wicker perambulator across the stage plank. 

“ALL GONE – COME ON BACK.”

With a clearing glance across the stern, the Pilot set the engines a’ backing. With his foot on the whistle treadle, he blew three shorts blasts signifying the steamboat was operating machinery astern. As soon as the boat traveled sufficiently away from the shore, the Pilot called for the engineroom to come ahead on the 16-inch, high-pressure engines employing a six-foot travel of the pistons within their cast iron cylinders. As the sternwheel stopped its sternward motion, the wheel reversed its movement moments later and bit hard into the agitated water, sending a heavy froth of foam astern.

Again, the Pilot’s foot stepped onto the pedal on the deck alongside the spoked steering wheel. Bearing all his weight onto the treadle, he sent a rising cloud of condensing steam far above the gay throng teeming happily beneath the pilothouse of the congested steamer.

“Looks like we got a pretty good crowd on board,” the Captain mentioned as he entered the glass-paned door and placed the megaphone alongside the Lazy Bench. “Yep, I’d say so,” the Pilot agreed as he swung the steering wheel to starboard to line up with the channel.

Below where the Captain and Pilot stood, the murmur of the smartly attired passengers quickly settled into the steamboat’s pulsating rhythm. Everyone aboard the Steamer J. S. believed the moment would never end but, instead, last forever.

The Mate watched intently while the last crowd of folks surged aboard as two of his most powerfully-built men stood stalwart duty stations furthest forward, keeping the public safely away from the edge.

Standing high on an elevated platform like a symphony orchestra conductor, the Captain waits patiently for the last passenger to cross the walkway from ashore.