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 column first appeared in June 2021.

By Captain Don Sanders Special to NKyTribune

Last week, if you’ll recall, the DELTA QUEEN ran aground in a shut-out fog after departing Cannelton Lock during the early morning hours of Wednesday, 28 July 1971. Despite my warnings to the pilot that he could confuse a stump for a red buoy and the red for a black buoy, the sometimes headstrong expert riverman made that very mistake while “radaring” the QUEEN through the impenetrable mantle covering the river and grounded the bow between the stump and the red navigation marker.

The DELTA QUEEN ran aground in a shut-out fog after departing Cannelton Lock during the early morning hours of Wednesday, 28 July 1971. (Bert Finn photo. Photos are from the Bert Finn collection. Howard Steamboat Museum, Jefferson IN.)

The pilot agreed not to maneuver the boat in the trackless haze until I sounded the water around the steamboat, but while deck crewmen Ed Duemler, Greg Menke, and I were surveying with the 20-foot pike pole, the wheelsman began backing strong. When the bow suddenly pulled off the shallows, the pilot realized the DELTA QUEEN was heading toward the Indiana shore stern-first. Immediately, he rang for a “double-dong” ahead as the stern of the QUEEN smashed into the high, bluff bank with the 40-ton paddlewheel turning forward as fast as it could go. Like in a dream I’d been having where I ran into the engineroom past Engineer Forrest Foreman, and out onto the starboard fantail, I discovered the huge red wheel smashed and broken with tons of riverbank spoil, including several entire willow trees, resting on the steel deck.

The next morning, the towboat EUGENIA P. JONES came alongside and towed the disabled DELTA QUEEN to the Tell City, Indiana waterfront. Ahead lay one of the most momentous achievements in DELTA QUEEN history.

The DELTA QUEEN alongside the Tell City waterfront. (Bert Finn photo)

The original intention was to have the towboat haul the helpless DELTA QUEEN to the Maxon Shipyard, below Tell City. Instead, the shipyard officials balked at the idea of having the wooded passenger boat in their yard where the constant welding and cutting of steel was occurring around the clock. Maxon also estimated that it would take them three weeks to rebuild the paddlewheel, and that would be with only their personnel allowed aboard the DELTA QUEEN. No crew or passengers could remain aboard the boat during those three weeks while the shipyard workers were on the job.

Instead of heading to the shipyard, Captain Wagner directed the JONES to maneuver the DELTA QUEEN alongside the Tell City waterfront where our crew would labor there to get the QUEEN running instead of employing the boatyard.

Surprisingly, the powerful twin-screw, diesel towboat fought long and hard to maneuver the DELTA QUEEN close enough to the shore to get her landed. The JONES backed and shoved the QUEEN through the mud until the stage finally reached the riverbank where Ed Duemler and Ray Wanstrath ran the headline to an ancient, monstrous Cottonwood tree that likely held other steamboats in earlier days during its long lifetime.

Soon after the departure of our towboat helper, Captain Wagner took me aside and outlined his plan: “We’re gonna split into two crews and work round the clock until we get the paddlewheel fixed. I’ll take the first shift from noon to midnight. You’ll be in charge from midnight to noon. So chose the boys you want to work with you and go ahead and get some rest and be back at the wheel before twelve tonight. Understood?”

The DELTA QUEEN alongside the Tell City waterfront. (Bert Finn Foto)

I started picking my team and chose the “Bobbsey Twins,” as Captain Harry Louden called the QUEEN’s Night Watchmen, Greg Menke, and Jamie Hansel. I was ready to recruit deckhands Ed Duemler and Ray Wanstrath when Cap interceded. “You can’t have all the best men.” So I chose a couple of other deckhands: Allan, a slow, overweight youngster who would at least do what he was told, and another fellow whose name I cannot recall. Finally, with my team assembled, it was time for a badly needed rest for the monumental task that lay before us. Midnight was less than eight hours away, and I hadn’t rested since before midnight the day before. Neither had my crew.

By 11:30 p.m., I was heading past the engineroom and on the way toward the fantail expecting to meet Captain Wagner and receive my “marching orders” regarding what he wanted my boys and me to do on the wheel.

What greeted me was an immense void of emptiness. (TC NEWS photo)

Instead, however, the exhausted skipper shuffled past as soon as he saw that I was on the scene early to relieve him. The only words he uttered were: “Boy, am I beat… I’m headin’ tween the sheets.”

Stepping onto the port fantail, I stood utterly amazed as I gazed at the massive stern paddlewheel. The last inspection I had was that of a tangled heap of busted wood and mangled steel. Now, what greeted me was an immense void of emptiness where the Captain and his crew had whacked away and dropped all the damaged parts and pieces into the river. What remained was an immense hole encompassing nearly one-third of the entire bulk of the forty-ton wheel. What the hell was I supposed to do, now, I wondered?

The main concern I did understand was, when Captain Wagner returned at noon, he was expecting to find that my watch had accomplished some positive results during our 12-hour hitch. Within several more minutes, the rest of my helpers were also standing on the fantail deck looking agape at the gargantuan void of nothingness, knowing that we had to start making progress in reconstructing the broken structure.

By the time a much-refreshed Captain Wagner and his larger squad arrived to relive us, we had installed three sets of nearly complete buckets. (Bert Finn photo)

Thankfully, the DELTA QUEEN carried several spare oak bucket boards and wheel arms. With several of the 14-foot-long by 12-inch-wide by 2-inch-thick buckets, we scaffolded the void between the wheel shaft and the stern spreader bar to create a platform upon which to stand and begin our chore.

Although I worked on at least three paddlewheels since I was a teen, nothing before, was anywhere near this magnitude. Still, I had to find a beginning. Logically, it made sense to tackle replacing the stout, oaken wheel arms that looked like spokes in the wheel. Two outer arms were soon bolted in place equal distance apart from the undamaged ones. Then, using a ball of carpenter’s twine strung between the tops of the new arms, a plum line defined the location of the tops of the two remaining arms remaining within the row. With four arms bolted into place, the first set of bucket boards were fastened to the arms and held into place with heavy, U-shaped, steel bolts known as “stirrups.” Two 14-foot white oak boards bolted toward the outer ends of the arms formed one set of buckets. In all, the DELTA QUEEN paddlewheel had 28 sets of buckets.

Once we had the first bucket replaced, we installed two more complete sets of arms and bucket planks. By the time a much-refreshed Captain Wagner and his larger squad arrived to relive us, we had installed three sets of nearly complete buckets. All that remained to do with what we accomplished was the attachment of new steel pieces called “circles,” that reinforced the wooden structure. My crew and I even had the semi-circular wooden parts known as “circle fillers” in place between each arm. The steel circles would bond the arms and the fillers to add tremendous strength to the paddlewheel when all was finished.

Mr. Finn quickly arranged for trees to be felled and lumber cut and milled to the specifications required in rebuilding the QUEEN’s partially demolished paddlewheel. (Bert Finn photo)

Captain Wagner seemed over-joyed when he saw how much Greg, Jamie, Alan, the unnamed man, and I had accomplished during our first 12-hour shift. Cap immediately knew that our combined crew, with some outside help, could have the DELTA QUEEN paddlewheel rebuilt and operating in record time.

William “Bill” Muster, president of the company, flew in from California to assist. Bill immediately began doing what he was best at and started coordinating with those in the region who could provide parts and materials needed to complete the reconstruction operation. Mr. Muster understood that one of the most devoted steamboat fans anywhere on the river system operated a furniture manufacturing business in town.

Bert R. Finn, the Tell City Chair Company president, was one of the DELTA QUEEN’s most ardent supporters. So when he received the call that the QUEEN was in desperate straits practically at his doorstep, Mr. Finn quickly arranged for trees to be felled and lumber cut and milled to the specifications required in rebuilding the QUEEN’s partially-demolished paddlewheel. Second Mate Jim Blum relished repeating the story that the lumbermen waited until the following morning to saw down the trees so the birds resting for the night in the limbs wouldn’t be disturbed.

(In July of 2012, as Everett Dameron and I were aboard the Rafter CLYDE enroute from Alma, WI to Aurora, IN, I told him the story of when the DELTA QUEEN broke her paddlewheel below Cannelton Lock and how the crew rebuilt the wheel with the help of folks in Tell City. A few days later, as the CLYDE approached upbound below Cannelton Lock, the water pump pulley on the tiny paddlewheeler’s diesel engine came off.

The Maxon Shipyard contributed its expertise and flexibility in manufacturing new steel circles, rods, and other metal parts and pieces. (Bert Finn photo)

Quickly, we tossed the anchor, and Ev rowed ashore for help. It so happened that an older gentleman was standing on the shore and asked Ev if he needed assistance. Soon, the kindly fellow helped Ev locate a spare pulley. Still, while they were together in the man’s car, he began telling Ev that he once owned a furniture manufacturing business in town and helped locate, cut, mill, and deliver green, oak lumber that went into the rebuilding of the QUEEN’s paddlewheel. The man was definitely not Bert Finn. Sadly, we failed to record the name of this helpful resident of Tell city who also accommodated the DELTA QUEEN in her time of need some 41 year years earlier.)

Mr. Muster later claimed that every appropriate nut and bolt within a radius of many miles around Tell City were located, purchased, and delivered to where they were immediately needed in the wheel. The Maxon Shipyard contributed its expertise and flexibility in manufacturing new steel circles, rods, and other metal parts and pieces necessary to get the wheel and engines running together again.

When my gang arrived on the scene for our second twelve-hour shift, Captain Wagner’s crew had moved smartly along replacing wood and metal parts and accepting the delivery of manufactured materials ready for fitting into the paddlewheel. A large stack of freshly-cut, green, oak lumber lingered on the bow for hand delivery to the construction site. The heavy fourteen-foot pieces had to be carried by two men, one on each end of the long planks, while carefully treading on the wrinkled, metal guard (walkway) on the outside of the vessel. The boards were just too long to fit around corners inside the boat.

My carrying partner and I had just stacked a bucket plank on the port fantail when Jamie Hansel and Greg Menke were bringing their hefty board around the end of the DELTA QUEEN’s superstructure and onto the deck curving inward as it tapered as far aft as possible where the horizontal deck plating met the spreader bar behind the paddlewheel. Somehow, Jamie stood on the outboard side of the leading end of the bucket plank on the “wet,” or the outboard side closest to the water, when he started losing his balance.

A large stack of freshly-cut, green oak lumber lingered on the bow for hand delivery to the construction site. (Bert Finn photo)

Immediately, Jamie dropped his end of the burly, oak timber onto the deck as he scrambled wildly to regain his balance. When he realized he could not gain his equilibrium and began to lean towards the swiftly running river, he cried out in a loud but composed voice: “See ya later,” and tumbled overboard into the Ohio River and calmly bobbed downstream within the rapidly running river.

Greg, Jamie’s partner, released his end on deck and shinnied down the fall line hanging from the stern davit and into the aluminum rescue skiff tied beneath the overhang of the fantail. Throwing the fall and headlines off the rescue boat, Greg grabbed the oars and began furiously rowing until the small boat suddenly stopped and would go no farther no matter how hard he stroked. The skiff stood motionless in the river until the cause was quickly discovered – Greg forgot to untie the sternline. As soon as the line was undone, the skiff shot off downriver to where Jamie paddled towards shore. Within 15 minutes, the skiff returned to its mooring place beneath the fantail, and other than being soaked, an otherwise exhilarated Jamie changed into dry clothes and was quickly back on the job.

In the coming days, Captain Louden, especially, liked to kid the young Watchman whenever he first saw him for the day by calling in a mocking voice, “See ya later…”

Captain Wagner’s crew put in another complete 12-hour shift restoring the wheel before handing to watch over to me at midnight on Saturday, 31 July 1971. By 6 a.m., Captain Wagner and most of his helpers joined my crew until 11 a.m., when the Captain proudly announced:

“That’s all we can do for now. Let’s get everything cleaned up so the engineers will get warmed and we can get outta here.”

Captain Wagner’s letter thanking Bert Finn for his help at Tell City. (Finn photo)

After everything was tidied up, scaffolding stacked, and tools returned to their rightful places, a few of us went “up on the hill.” Standing shoulder to shoulder and staring like a bunch of owls on a stump, we watched the completely rebuilt, but partially unpainted, paddlewheel turn round and round as the Chief warmed his engines. While watching the beautiful paddlewheel rolling ahead in the powerful current, I cried like a baby. Although I didn’t look at my fellow crewmembers for assurance, I knew there was not a dry eye among us.

The Log Book entry for noon noted: “DEPARTED TELL CITY.”

At 12:45, the DELTA QUEEN passed her monkey runners still stuck into the shore where the boat had backed to the bank. Maxon Shipyard would later retrieve the relatively undamaged steering rudders and truck them to the Cincinnati Public Landing where they were reattached while my deck crew and I painted the fresh, bare wood in the paddlewheel.

At 1:00, the DELTA QUEEN entered Cannelton Lock. All that afternoon watch I was so exhausted, I couldn’t focus my eyes. Every time, I tried to doze off while sitting on the lazy bench, Captain Louden would scold, “No sleeping on watch!”

The DELTA QUEEN arrived on time in Cincinnati at 9 a.m. on Monday, 02 August 1971 with the final entry:

“END OF AN UNPLEASANT TRIP. WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN. ” 

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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