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The River: Franko was a drinking man — and there are plenty of memorable stories to tell about him


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

Franko-the-Capstan-Man, born in Madison, Wisconsin, sailed at sea for many years before he found his way aboard the DELTA QUEEN, in early 1970. Like many middle-aged drifters the QUEEN picked up along the river’s shore, Frank, or “Franko,” was a drinking man. Alcohol wasn’t a problem for him as it was his way of life. For someone like Frank, a twenty-five cent beer machine in the Crew’s Mess and bootleggers peddling watered-down Boone Country rotgut for two bucks a “shortie” bottle, made the steamboat the best place on earth he could dream of roosting.

Franko-the-Capstan-Man, born in Madison, Wisconsin, sailed at sea for many years before he found his way aboard the DELTA QUEEN, in early 1970.

Unlike Wild-Bill-from-Chicago who warned of serving time in the Cook County Jail 19 times for assault while under the influence, and who also wrestled the heavy lines on the steam capstan until his abrupt departure left an open slot on the awesome machine for the Wisconsin son to fill, Franko became quieter and more gentle until reaching a climactic certainty when he collapsed wherever he was standing.

There he lay until two stout crewmen hefted him, like a stone-cold corpse, and placed him onto his bunk in the crew’s quarters in the forward hold until the seizure passed and he awoke, Lazarus-like, from the sleep-hold of near-death

Most of the time, though, Franko remained sober-enough that his duties at the revolving twin-engine, steam-powered steel beast came second nature from what he learned on ocean-going ships. He was, without a close second, the best hand who ever took a couple sets of turns around the capstan while I was on the steamboat. In those days before the DELTA QUEEN installed a propeller-driven bow thruster in the forward hull, the navigation crew relied upon the 44-ton paddlewheel on the stern and the strong lines running from shore to the vertical machine on the bow to maneuver the awkward-handling mass of metal and wood.

Wild-Bill Takes Another Turn – Wild-Bill-from-Chicago who warned of serving time in the Cook County Jail 19 times for assault while under the influence, also wrestled the heavy lines on the steam capstan.

Franko also talked about his days with the Ringling Brothers, Barnum & Bailey Circus where he told of caring for the elephants, the most beloved of all the animals in the traveling show. The way Frank described the beasts and how he loving recalled all their names, distinguished him as someone more than a common drifter the circus picked up along the road who flunked for a while before dropping off along one of the numerous stops the big top made on its annual circuits. When Franko remained abstinent from the “sauce,” he was a meritorious constituent of the steamboat crew, but once soused, he was as helpless as a stranded carp.

Frank had been away from home so long he lost contact with his old mother in Madison. Though many years had passed since he last called or wrote to her, Franko was experiencing bouts of homesickness the further the DELTA QUEEN paddled north on the Upper Mississippi River. By the time the steamboat reached St. Louis, he scribbled his first letter home in over ten years. At Dubuque, Franko was ecstatic when he nervously ripped open the envelope that returned in reply, and couldn’t contain his excitement when he told everyone his mother was meeting the boat, sometime before noon, at LaCrosse, Wisconsin – just a few days away.

Most of the time, though, Franko remained sober-enough that his duties at the revolving twin-engine, steam-powered steel beast came second nature from what he learned on ocean-going ships.

A sudden transformation came over the capstan man. After only a few days of abstinence, his face glowed, his steps were steady, and a few extra pounds crept upon his lean frame. Everyone on the crew, especially the women on the housekeeping staff, encouraged Franko with his temperance and were pleased that he would soon be seeing his mother, again. After so many years of self-abuse, Franko was changing into a new man. The closer the DELTA QUEEN approached LaCrosse, the rosier he looked until the morning the boat landed there when Franko seemed at least ten years younger – perhaps more.

By 9 a.m., Franko was showered and dressed. Wearing a new pair of khaki trousers and a white tee shirt bought for the occasion, every hair lay neatly in place in his receding hairline. The whole boat was as excited as Franko as he nervously scanned the LaCrosse shoreline while he anticipated his mother’s arrival. By ten, Franko’s brow wrinkled as he stared at his watch, then to the shore, and back to the cheap timepiece on his wrist.

At 11 o’clock he was pacing the deck, and by 11:30, more than half a pack of Camel cigarettes were crushed butts in the sand-filled ashtray on the bow. Still, with no sign of his mother by 11:30, beads of sweat ran down Franko’s face from his hair, now tangled on his head, and stained his white shirt. By 11:45, Franko’s place of the vigil on the head of the steamboat was deserted and he was nowhere in sight.

Franko couldn’t contain his excitement when he told everyone his mother was meeting the boat, sometime before noon, at LaCrosse, Wisconsin.

At quarter-past-noon, Franko was found passed out, dead-drunk, sprawled on the deck near the Maid’s Quarters. It took four men to move him from where he was found to the fo’c’s’le and onto his bunk where they laid him like a stiff cadaver with his hands folded across his chest – and left him.

The mate, who came on watch at noon and was stationed on the head of the DELTA QUEEN, was tidying some lines when a small, frail-looking, elderly woman standing at the head of the Landing Stage where it met the shore caught his attention as she beckoned for permission to come aboard. Instead, the mate walked across the gangway to see what she wanted. The little lady carried a canvas shopping bag and looked like she had been traveling.

“Hello,” she began. “My bus was late getting here, but I am supposed to meet my son on this boat. I haven’t seen him in many years. His name is Frank.”

The Mate graciously explained the current circumstances concerning her long-absent son as he escorted her to the Forward Hold. There, a chair was provided for the mother to sit as she held her son’s hand and patted his face. But no amount of persuasion could bring Franko back from his comatose state, so she just sat alongside him as though she was attending his wake.

Later that year, the Wisconsin capstan man discovered a sleazy saloon nestled behind the 19th Century structures that faced Water Street in Louisville, near to the Falls of the Ohio River.

Quickly, word spread throughout the boat as various crew members arrived to pay their respects to the mother who had traveled so far to visit her lost son. But after a little more than an hour had passed, the elderly lady announced:

“I’m sorry, but I have to be going. The bus to Madison will be leaving soon and there won’t be another until tomorrow. Please tell my boy I was here.”

When Franko eventually arose from his death-like stupor, his mother was midway home and the steamboat was fixing to depart LaCrosse towards St. Paul. Within a week, Franko’s sorrow for missing his mom’s short visit had passed; soothed by liberal applications of twenty-five-cent brews and two-dollar shorties.

That wasn’t Franko’s only experience with a near-death venture caused by the effects of the “sauce.” Later that year, the Wisconsin capstan man discovered a sleazy saloon nestled behind the 19th Century structures that faced Water Street in Louisville, near to the Falls of the Ohio River. In the heydays of steamboats, water falling over the ancient Devonian reef stimulated a settlement to spring up around the falls which grew into the largest city in the Commonwealth of Kentucky. But in Franko’s time, the saloon where he found cheap beer and watered-down whiskey, he also found companionship.

Franko plodded across the landing stage and headed toward the sleazy saloon where he and Gertrude met earlier in the year.

Returning from one of his forays to the saloon, Franko looked like a schoolboy on his first date. Nestled arm-in-arm, closely as legally allowed in broad daylight, was a woman he met in the bar. The closer they approached, the more gnarled and knotty his frowzy companion appeared. Despite a general rule forbidding crew members to bring random acquaintances met ashore aboard the boat, the Mate permitted the two to pass. Perhaps it was in consideration for the despondency Franko endured after his mother’s visit that softened the watch officer’s cautious resolve, but once aboard, the lovebirds set a course through the Boiler Room toward the galley.

In violation of another company mandate, Jason, the First Cook, while preparing snacks for the passengers soon to return from a bus tour of Churchill Downs, and seeing the emaciated appearance of Franko’s newly found love, shoved several ham and cheese sandwiches across the stainless steel counter within their reach. After the DELTA QUEEN made several trips to the Falls City, Franko’s lady companion, Gertrude, became a regular fixture on the steamboat – especially in the kitchen where she packed on a few pounds since she first appeared onboard the boat.

It wasn’t long until the schedule changed and the boat left the Ohio River for the Lower Mississippi. A month passed since Franko was last in Louisville, and he was eager to see Gertrude again. Finally, the QUEEN turned north toward Cincinnati with a shore stop in Louisville. Franko hadn’t been as excited since the morning he expected to see his mother in LaCrosse. After the Captain declared the boat was “all fast,” Franko was off and nearly running toward the sleazy saloon on Water Street. But less than a half hour later, Franko came stumbling back toward the landing stage.

Franko was off and nearly running toward the sleazy saloon on Water Street. Lett than half hour later, he cam stumbling back toward the landing stage.

“She’s dead… she’s gone… they said my baby’s dead,” he sobbed.  

Hearing such terrible cries emanating from the Wisconsin man, the hands gathered to comfort the distraught crewman. Again, it was the women who were the most comforting, but despite all the sympathy and kindness Franko received, he could not overcome the dark morass of sorrow that overcame him. The boatman’s despair lasted the rest of the summer and into autumn.

Crisp fall breezes blew across the Ohio River as the DELTA QUEEN landed at the foot of 4th Street in Louisville. Once the deckhands secured the mooring lines, the water hoses run to a close-by fireplug, and the trash hauled ashore and dumped into a twenty-yard roll-off container, Franko plodded across the landing stage and headed toward the sleazy saloon where he and Gertrude met earlier in the year. Twenty-minutes later, Franko’s voice rang over the waterfront:

“She’s alive! She’s here! She’s alive… !”

Within minutes, the entire crew of the DELTA QUEEN rushed to wherever they could look toward the excited shouts coming from Water Street. Hurrying towards the boat, looking like a schoolboy on his first date, was Franko nestled arm-in-arm with Gertrude. She was alive, well, and back from the dead!

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.

Click here to read all of Capt. Don Sanders’ stories of The River.


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4 Comments

  1. Ron Kelley says:

    Sounds like he and my Uncle Bill Kelley would have gotten along well together on the Delta Queen….

  2. Connie Bays says:

    Wow, you really captured Franko’s emotions! I was able to feel his sadness, his worry, his stress, his excitement, happiness and the overall turmoil he carried within. Great job! I really LOVE these stories. It’s like a whole other world on that steamboat, and your stories are a portal through which I can gain access to a time gone by. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE them!!!

  3. Cornelia Reade-Hale says:

    Oh my. I remember Franko but I’d never heard about his mother. You brought that incident and all his experiences so vividly to life. I live rrading these experiences and cannot wait to read the next.

  4. Joy Scudder says:

    Really enjoy Captain Don’s stories. Brings the river to life and puts me there with the colorful characters.

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