The River: Another old friend, Eddie Bayard, passes away, a jazzman; yearning for a shantyboat

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

Another DELTA QUEEN shipmate from the early 1970s passed away this last week. Horn player Eddie Bayard and I first met on the QUEEN about midyear of 1970 when he came aboard to fill out Vic Tooker’s house band, the Riverboat Ramblers. Not long after, Eddie stood in for Vic, who frequently absented himself from the steamboat for reserve meetings as a Full-Bird Colonel in the U. S. Air Force.

Horn player Eddie Bayard and I first met on the QUEEN about midyear of 1970 when he came aboard to fill out Vic Tooker’s house band, the Riverboat Ramblers.

Back then, Eddie worked in Dayton, Ohio, at National Cash Register, but he became a steamboat musician full-time before long. By 1976, Bayard’s band was the featured group on the newly launched MISSISSIPPI QUEEN steam sternwheeler. Later, Eddie played Dixieland Jazz on the Steamer NATCHEZ in New Orleans harbor.

Once, I recall Eddie suddenly appearing from within the crowd on busy St. Peter Street in the Crescent City, where Cap’n Roddy Hammett and I stood listening to jazz overflowing from behind the dirt-encrusted windows of Preservation Hall.

“Follow me, “he insisted excitedly. A short distance to Bourbon Street had Eddie gesturing an outstretched hand, palm up. Then, proudly, he asked, “Whatta ya think of that?”

Ablaze upon the brick facade of a ramshackle, ancient edifice across the way, bright neon lights blasted: “BAYARD’S. BAYARD’S. BAYARD’S.” Eddie had his own jazz joint on Bourbon Street.

Eddie played Dixieland Jazz on the Steamer NATCHEZ in New Orleans harbor.

Although Eddie had come a long way from Dayton, Ohio, the jazzman arrived in New Orleans, exactly like Roddy and me — by steamboat.

The recent loss of three steamboat men I’ve known for decades, the legendary Captain Clarke C. “Doc” Hawley, Mr. William “Bill” Dow, President of the New Orleans Steamboat Company, and now, Jazzer Eddie Bayard, constantly reminds me of the haunting words of another lost friend. The celebrated riverman and Bluegrass musician John Hartford summed up the brevity of humankind’s time on this Earth:

“It’s all,” John described, “only a moment in time.”

“It’s all,” John described, “only a moment in time.” (Photo (C) DJS 2020)

The year’s end days meant layup time when I was in the overnight passenger boat trade. However, once gambling boats became my profession, the end-of-the-year holiday season became the liveliest time for business. The only annual closure my last command, the GRAND VICTORIA II casino boat, observed was half a day’s break until noon on Christmas Day for specific crewmembers to open presents at home with their families. By midday, however, everyone was expected back aboard as bustling crowds thronged past the turnstiles, impatiently jostling for aspirations of anticipated prosperity.

Another year’s end looms on the last waning page of the calendar. Each bequeathed day remains uncounted until verified beyond the bedroom window glazing. No guarantees, only possibilities after each daily authentication. Such is the reckoning for each new day’s coming.

Recently, someone asked if I regretted the loss of the Rafter CLYDE, the SUN*FISH, the DELTA QUEEN, or any other of my past boats. Yes, I told them; I missed each of them, but I lament not being on the river more. Beyond my front porch, a magnificent bend of the Ohio River sweeps across the halfway mark between Pittsburgh and the Mississippi River. For all the river’s splendor seen so close, yet so far, I’d rather be anywhere upon its frigid waters than remain an observer and not a participant.
 

The only annual closure my last command, the GRAND VICTORIA II casino boat, observed was half a day’s break until noon on Christmas Day.

Perhaps it’s been the cold, damp, darkened days of approaching winter, the fast fading of another invaluable year, the loss of old chums and shipmates, or all combined, causing such a perturbation of circumstances. It’s times like these that I long for the shelter of a secluded shantyboat bobbing gently upon sequestered waters. Inside, a wood flame-burning cast iron stove offers light and warmth to those shielded within the shanty’s protecting bounds.

Although I may not be physically within those protective partitions, my understanding that “shantyboating is mainly a matter of the mind” allows me to escape and seek solitude anytime I need relief from a vexatious world.

Now is the time for one of those opportunities.

Someone asked if I regretted the loss of the Rafter CLYDE, the SUN*FISH, or the DELTA QUEEN.

My understanding that “shantyboating is mainly a matter of the mind” allows me to escape and seek solitude anytime I need relief from a vexatious world. (Harlan Hubbard Print)