The riverboat captain is a storyteller, and Captain Don Sanders is sharing the stories of his long association with the river — from discovery to a way of love and life. This column, part of a long and continuing story, first appeared in May, 2022.
By Capt. Don Sanders
Special to NKyTribune
Tomorrow, May 30th is Memorial Day, dedicated to remembering those who died while serving in the U. S. Armed Services. The closest person I’ve known to fall in armed conflict within the military was my roommate, classmate, and drinking buddy, 1st Lt. Robert J. “Bob” Edgar, of the United State Air Force (USAF).
The closest person I’ve known to fall in armed conflict within the military was my roommate, classmate, and drinking buddy, 1st Lt. Robert J. “Bob” Edgar, of the United State Air Force (USAF).
Bob and I first met at Moody Air Force Base (AFB) in Valdosta, Georgia, sometime early in 1965. Though we were in separate classes in UPT (Undergraduate Pilot Training), we washed out of flight training about the same time. Later, we were reassigned together to Navigator School at Mather AFB near Sacramento, California.
Until I reread Bob’s obituaries and eyewitness reports of my friend’s unfortunate demise decades before he should have gone, I was fixing to recall the rowdy, raucous times we spent circumventing the bounds of the military regs under which we served.
After a careful review of Bob Edgar’s death, a fate he shared with his pilot, 1st Lt William Tod Potter, and in keeping within the literal meaning of this national day of mourning, I will only say that a fine young man lost his life on a lonely mountainside in Laos and forever forfeited his chances to grow old.
Bob would have been 79 on the 21st of this month. He was just 24 on the 5th of February, 1968, when he died in the service of his country. Thanks for the memories, Bobby.
Dan Johnson found himself a crewman on a Patrol Boat, Riverine, or PBR. (Wikipedia Photo)
.
In September 1965, I left the Steamer DELTA QUEEN in St. Louis to enlist in the USAF. I’m sharing a detailed account of my less than illustrious military career click here. Quickly, a college classmate and pal, Dan “DJ” Johnson of Ludlow, filled the vacancy I caused aboard the steamboat. Dan was also a friend of “Cap’n” Betty Blake, the later Vice-President and General Manager of Greene Line Steamers, Inc., the parent company of the QUEEN.
No sooner had Dan settled into the steamboat lifestyle than he received a letter from “Uncle Sam” informing him of his induction into the U. S. Army. So naturally, as soon as the Army reviewed Dan’s job history, his tenure aboard the Cincinnati steamboat rang the General Alarm Bells in the minds of those assigning career fields for incoming “grunts,” and Johnson found himself a crewman on a Patrol Boat, Riverine, or PBR.
After Dan returned from Vietnam, he did not seek a position back aboard the DELTA QUEEN. Perhaps he saw all the boats he cared to see during his tour in Nam. Instead, the former river patrol crewman found a manager’s slot in a popular nightspot in Mt. Adams, an avant-garde neighborhood of Cincinnati catering to hipsters and the “cool” set outside the cultural mainstream of the river city. When I was off the boat, I often dropped by the bar for a brew and a chat with my friend. For sure, the wartime tour in Vietnam changed DJ. After a few drinks, his lips loosened, and he let slip a tale or two of his experiences during the Southeast Asian war.
In September 1965, I left the Steamer DELTA QUEEN in St. Louis to enlist in the USAF.
The Dan I remembered before Nam was a big fellow, gentle, with a shock of unruly, white hair and a light complexion. To say that everyone liked him would be an understatement. Instead, most folks admired and even loved the friendly, good-natured fellow. Women adored DJ and men yearned to be his pal.
One late afternoon, after several “Jack & Cokes,” my buddy slipped back aboard his PBR somewhere on the Mekong River delta and shared a tale of the first time his crew stopped a Vietnamese Junk. Three generations of a family lived aboard the wooden, sail-powered vessel when Dan’s war machine pulled alongside to check the boat for weapons and contraband.
“We were all nervous as hell and didn’t know what to expect,” I remember Dan recalled as he began his tale. “The Junk had people running all over it — old men and women. Kids squawling. Mothers nursing babies. They were as terrified as us… we tried to maintain our cool but watched every move they made.”
After several “Jack & Cokes,” my buddy slipped back aboard his PBR somewhere on the Mekong River delta and shared a tale of the first time his crew stopped a Vietnamese Junk. (National Archives Photo)
My friend paused. For several moments he looked off into the distance before he began again:
“Then, unexpectedly, one of them made a sudden move that startled one of our guys who pulled the trigger on his automatic weapon. Before we knew it, we were all firing. Bodies flying… blood… guts. We went nuts. When the shooting stopped, we pitied the family’s frantic screams and cries as they tended to their wounded and pulled their dead aside. Those still able started cleaning up the gore. By then, while crying and carrying on too, our men got down on their hands and knees and began cleaning the Junk of the mess we created.”
Pausing again and staring with unseeing eyes, Dan quietly added, “And, after a while, it got to be fun.”
I find it altogether fitting that I remember Dan Johnson whenever this solemn holiday comes around each last Monday in May. (ClipArt Photo)
My friend survived 13 months of aquatic combat on the riverboats in Vietnam. He was one of three men in a group of 30-some boatmen who was “never wounded or came home in a body bag,” he remembered.
Life started going well for Dan, a friend of our college classmate, the actor Lee Majors, so DJ ended up in Hollywood, roomed awhile with Jim Nabors (Gomer Pyle), and became a culinary chief to a famous movie director. Then suddenly, Danny contracted some rare disease that killed him at the height of his new career.
Although my boating buddy, Danny, did not perish while in the direct service of our country, perhaps something within him died after Vietnam. So I find it altogether fitting that I remember Dan Johnson whenever this solemn holiday comes around each last Monday in May.
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.
• • • • •
Enjoy Captain Don Sanders’ stories of the river — in the book.
ORDER YOUR RIVER BOOK HERE
Capt. Don Sanders The River: River Rat to steamboatman, riding ‘magic river spell’ to 65-year adventure is now available for $29.95 plus handling and applicable taxes. This beautiful, hardback, published by the NKyTribune, is 264-pages of riveting storytellings, replete with hundreds of pictures from Capt. Don’s collection — and reflects his meticulous journaling, unmatched storytelling, and his appreciation for detail. This historically significant book is perfect for the collections of every devotee of the river.
You may purchase your book by mail from the Northern Kentucky Tribune — or you may find the book for sale at all Roebling Books locations and at the Behringer Crawford Museum and the St. Elizabeth Healthcare gift shops.
Order your Captain Don Sanders’ ‘The River’ book here .
The post The River: In honor of Memorial Day, the Captain remembers those who served and sacrificed appeared first on NKyTribune .
Local News
