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The River: Remembering the fond and the profoundly sad happenings on a meaningful day on the river


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. This story first appeared in December 2020

By Capt. Don Sanders
Special to NKyTribune

The recent passage of the 30th of November is a date with special meanings to river folk for at least three particular events relating to inland marine history on the last day of that month. First, and probably the best-known reason, at least to the casual observer of riparian manner, was the birth of Samuel Langhorne Clemens in 1835. Little Sam grew up to become the writer, humorist, lecturer, publisher, and the “patron saint of the river,” Mark Twain. Without Twain and his stories and characters, including Tom, Huck, Jim, Aunt Polly, and the rest, the great steamboat era would have died and been long-forgotten soon after the railway killed off steamboats as the primary means of getting around the mid-country before the invention of the internal combustion engine.

Little Sam grew up to become the writer, humorist, lecturer, publisher, and the “patron saint of the river,” Mark Twain.

Secondly, on November 30, 1974, Hull Number 2,999 sailed down the ways at Jeffboat Inc. boatyard at Jeffersonville, Indiana. Five months later, Hull No. 2,999 was christened the MISSISSIPPI QUEEN.

Lastly, November 30 is also recalled with sadness remembering the murder of Captain Robert James “Roddy” Hammett on the 30th of November 1995 in New Orleans.

There is nothing new I can add about the life and accomplishments of Sam Clemens except that he and I grew up in similar ways on the river. However, the boy from Missouri had no particular influence on this Northern Kentucky lad. Why wouldn’t we grow up in similar ways? We both had rivers to play on. His was the Mississippi, and I had not one, but two waterways, the Ohio and the Licking Rivers as my playgrounds. The closest I came to any Mark Twain impact was from my father, Jess Sanders, Jr., who called me “Huck.” I knew the origin of my dad’s moniker for his eldest son, a boy who couldn’t stay away from the fluvial flows bordering our hometown. However, I didn’t appreciate my father calling me by the same name as Twain’s celebrated characterization of another river lad I inadvertently imitated until I was much older and far removed from my boyhood haunts.

The closest I came to any Mark Twain impact was from my father, Jess Sanders, Jr., who called me “Huck.”

It wasn’t until 1960, my second year of steamboating on the Steamer AVALON, that a discarded copy of Twain’s “Life on the Mississippi” someone had abandoned in the ticket booth of the steamboat became my guidebook for the Lower Mississippi. After my return to Eastern Kentucky State College the following year, as the university was known then, I discovered the first editions of Twain’s “Life…” and other works on the open bookshelves in the library. What an opportunity for someone with larceny in their hearts. Though I checked out copies of Twain’s treasures, I returned each one safely to the shelves. Hopefully, these days, MT’s first editions are stored behind locked cases in the John Grant Crabbe Library’s rare book collection at Eastern Kentucky University.

One influence of Twain’s that did affect me was his concept of heaven, where those who could have been the greatest in certain fields had they, in their lifetimes, had the opportunity to participate in them. As it was, those honored in Mark Twain’s heaven never experienced that for which they were held in heaven’s highest esteem. But had they savored the exposure on earth, those honored heavenly hosts would have excelled far beyond those remembered in the history books as the greatest for whatever it was they were celebrated. Confusing?

I discovered the first editions of Twain’s “Life…” and other works on the open bookshelves in the library.

For example, in Twain’s heaven, the most honored military leader was a man who was never anywhere near an army. Instead, he was a shepherd, a shop clerk, or something else. But had the previously unknown heroic figure had the occasion to serve in the military, he would have been the greatest combative commander in history, far outstripping Napoleon, Washington, Chief Joseph, or Norman Schwarzkopf. This mode of thought reinforced my procrastination when it came to writing. Why should I bother when there might be an honored place awaiting me in Mark Twain’s heaven? Or else Twain’s idea of paradise was a contrivance created by the Master to discourage interlopers.

On the 30th of November 1974, I was absent from the Delta Queen Steamboat Company, the venerable steamer DELTA QUEEN owners for three years. Atop the marine ways at Jeffboat, Inc., the boatyard at Jeffersonville, Indiana on the northern shore of the Ohio River, upstream, and opposite Louisville, Kentucky, a great, grey, steel hulk called “Hull Number 2,999” patiently awaited its short trip down the greased rails and into the cold, dark, waters below.

Around the gaily decorated hull, a crowd of steamboat enthusiasts, company officials and employees, and the shipyard workers braved the chilly winds and gray overcast afternoon. Meanwhile, Vic Tooker and his Riverboat Ramblers band of musicians tried setting a warmer mood with renditions of Dixieland tunes and steamboat-style airs complete with banjo licks and a jangling tambourine.

On the 30th of November 1974… “Hull Number 2,999” patiently awaited its short trip down the greased rails and into the cold, dark waters below.

Several days earlier, my barber-lady suggested that I try a permanent wave for my hairstyle, and I accepted her suggestion. Through a close source at the steamboat company front office, I learned that there was talk of inviting me to the launch. Ultimately, I received an invitation from “Cap’n” Betty Blake, the parent organization’s VP & GM. As I had no vehicle fit for the occasion, my brother Bob loaned me his sporty, white, MG Midget convertible. Dressed in a tailored double-breasted suit, a relic from my military days in Korea, a freshly-permed hairdo, and my long, signature handlebar mustache, I was ready for the riverboat festivities along the banks of the Ohio at Jeffersonville.

Somewhere in my steamboat stuff collection, I recently discovered the aging name tag identifying me as a guest at the launch of Hull #2,999. Arriving early and entering the area set aside for the activities, I became reacquainted with many steamboat characters and river aficionados I had not seen in several years. At the top of the pecking order were William “Bill” Muster, “Cap’n” Betty Blake, and Captain Ernest E. Wagner representing the DQ Company’s top brass. Many others were there, too, that I’ll call by name: Captains Doc Hawley, Roddy Hammett, and Charlie Brasher from the Steamer BELLE of LOUISVILLE. Captain Jim Blum, Arlene Briddges, Cindy, Alice Kinman, Sharon, and others from the boat and the Cincinnati office. R. Dale Flick, long-time Cincinnati steamboat historian, artist Dorothea Frye, the Walkers, and who-knows-how-many-more steamboat friends made up those attending I’d met and known over the years who were party to the celebration.  

As soon as Hull No. 2,999 splashed into the Ohio River, Chief Engineer Kenny P. Howe, Jr. was one of those boatmen stationed aboard a tug ready to collar the errant, floating mass of metal. In the midst of the cacophony of sounds that arose as the hull splashed down, a lone figure came running toward me from the mass of revelers. He was shouting so loud his voice rose above the band, the boisterous jubilation, and the towboats’ sonorous horns near the river. It was James S. Demetrion, the Director of Marine Affairs and Assistant to the Chairman of the company’s owners. Above the din all around us, he was screaming:

“THAT’S YOUR BOAT… THAT’S YOUR BOAT THAT JUST WENT DOWN THE WAYS!”

Arriving early and entering the area set aside for the activities, I became reacquainted with many steamboat characters and river aficionados I had not seen in several years.

Though things didn’t turn out according to Mr. Demetrion’s impressive squalls, it was great to know what the owners, Overseas National Airways, thought of me. Perhaps, I may write more about that some other day.

Later that afternoon at a party celebrating the launch, when I shook hands with Mrs. Alice Tooker, Vic’s mother and bass player for the Riverboat Ramblers, she asked:

“Are you still doing it?”

“Pardon me…?”

“Are you still doing it all over the country?”

“Maam…?” I replied as I was starting to get concerned. What had she heard?

“You are Hal Holbrook, aren’t you?”

It was the permed hairdo and the shaggy stache that confused the lovely, elderly lady. She thought I was Mr. Holbrook, the celebrated Mark Twain emulator, and freebooter.

The ride back to Cincinnati in a blinding snowstorm was challenging in Bob’s tiny MG Midget convertible. Still, I got my passenger, a lovely lady new to the Cincinnati office, and me home safely despite the weather.

Captain Robert James “Roddy” Hammett was senselessly murdered in New Orleans. Of my generation of steamboaters, none was more unique or talented than he.

On this date, 30 November 1995, Captain Robert James “Roddy” Hammett was senselessly murdered in New Orleans. Of my generation of steamboaters, none was more unique or talented than he.

I could write volumes about Cap’n Roddy, and likely I will. On that fateful end of November day, 25 years ago this past week, Roddy was a Captain aboard a gambling boat in Baton Rogue. Just completing the end of his scheduled shift, he started his days-off as was generally the routine on all casino boats. On my gambling boats, I worked two-weeks-on with two-weeks-off. Such was likely the case with my buddy, who planned, according to mutual friends, to spend his days-off with his mother, family, and associates in St. Marys, West Virginia.

Roddy had not gone directly home to West Virginia that night due to a snowstorm that left the roads there impassable. So he decided to spend some time in New Orleans while waiting for the roads to reopen. While he was in town, he dined with Captain Clarke C. “Doc” Hawley. After dinner, Rod asked Doc if he would care to accompany him to Schwegmann’s Bros. grocery. Roddy wanted to purchase Louisiana yams for his mother and other items for friends as he usually did when he returned to the Mountain State from New Orleans.

When Roddy returned to his car with his purchases, a maniacal murderer lay lurking in the shadows behind the back seat and forced my unfortunate friend to drive to the 2200 block of Napoleon Avenue, where the depraved killer robbed and shot one of the finest, kindest, and most gentle of men who ever lived. The world became a colder and meaner place that terrible November night.

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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6 Comments

  1. Michael Gore says:

    Thoughtfully remembered and honored subjects. Thank you for sharing the who and the what along the course of your (and other’s) river of life, Capt. Don!

  2. June Wiley says:

    Great story writing Cap’n , as always!! Especially liked the part about the beginning of the Mississippi Queen! And such sad remembering of Captain Roddy’s senseless murder~ God Bless you and all of the lovers of the rivers and especially the Mississippi River.

  3. Looking Back, in Hindsight, the MQ would probably still be running had they done something like they did with the Natchez; put a well run Steam Towboat Engine, say from the Sprague, instead of the ‘Built from Scratch, using Superheated Steam. I got some of the Details from Capt Doc(RIP) wish someone had written up and published More.

  4. Mary K Sward says:

    Every time I hear the story of Captain Roddy, my heart breaks. Such a senseless crime! I know I would have loved to meet him, and learn from him, as I have learned from so many of the river captains I’ve known. And a piece of your history I did not know–that your father called you “Huck!” You may remember that one of my cats is named Huckleberry, often called Huck.

  5. John Bender says:

    Fitting tribute, or as I am fond of sayin’, “That’ll Preach”!

  6. Cornelia Reade-Hale says:

    Thank you, Capt Don for tieing our rivers’ histories together so well.
    It’s so great you taking us ‘old timers’ back to some glorious days yet overshadowed by Capt Roddy’s senseless murder. Yet you make it all so well told to connect & ‘learn’ the younger to the river & it’s lore generation.
    I can’t wait to hear what else you will share on Capt Roddy,the youngest person to ever charter a steamboat God Bless your masterful telling of the river & it’s great folks .

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