There’s a Real Story behind the Mistress Belle
Wayne McDole is a calming presence. A burly man, his eyes are soft yet focused. His manner, deferential but alert, says that whatever may present itself during the day will be handled.
It makes sense. He survived ’Nam. The stars he earned there confirm that he gets the job done under fire.
It’s a good thing.
Wayne McDole is fireman for the Belle of Louisville, a too oft taken-for-granted local treasure I got to tour last week. McDole mans the three oil-fueled boilers — centuries-old technology — that propel the paddlewheeler up and down the muddy Ohio. Sixty-five hundred gallons of H2O in those massive tanks, coursing through a maze of insulated pipes and gauges and fitted elbows and soldered joints, need be kept at a prescribed, consistent, elevated temperature. McDole’s the guy for the job.
So too Kevin Mullen, the lady’s captain and biggest rah-rah. Save for a short exodus when some casino owners threw a bunch of money at him to pilot their vessels while crap shooters inside emptied their pockets, Mullen’s been on board for 23 years. His love for the Belle makes it easy to understand that piloting a floating poker table a hundred yards back and forth in a channel by the Indiana shore wouldn’t work for him, no matter the pay.
A sailor worth his salt, Mullen loves to talk technicalities. Like how he parallel parks the Belle with its 135-foot blind spot from his vantage point in the wheelhouse. He also tells the tales.
Initially christened the Idlewild, later reincarnated as the Avalon, Mullen’s mistress — his wife’s term — began life as the Belle of Louisville in the early 1960s when Jefferson County Judge Marlow Cooke forked over six pennies per county resident — $34,000 — for the sternwheeler. The gal was rode hard and put up wet. Mullen: “The boat was in such bad shape they hid it for awhile in the weeds below the Water Works.”
It wasn’t unusual to hear the term “Cooke’s Folly” bandied about by a doubting citizenry, wondering why even a pittance was spent on such foolishness.
The steamer’s first jaunt as the Belle was less than auspicious. Mullen opens the handwritten logs chronicling every Belle excursion. The entry from the April 26, 1963, shakedown cruise: “Ran over motor boat. Three men on board.”
Four days later, the Belle lost the inaugural Great Steamboat Race to the Delta Queen. Some blamed the heavy load of 908 passengers. Others knew the boiler system was inadequate. Tradition having commenced, the defeat didn’t matter once juleps flowed and the post-race calliope duel started. Among the “famous calliopists” at the keys were Doc. Clarke Hawley, E. Jay Quimby and Herbie Koch.
As Mullen printed out a computerized list of the Great Steamboat Race’s winners, an inquiring reporter felt compelled to ask the $64 question: Are the races fixed?
“Absolutely not,” came the quick, firm response. Then, a twinkle in his eye, Mullen admitted, “but cheating is encouraged. It’s part of the tradition.”
The Belle of Louisville not only cruises often, but it is a living museum, a technological anachronism in this computer age.
There’s a wooden apparatus called a pitman arm that connects the piston to the crank, also called the wheel. The moving parts must be kept oiled. So there’s this gizmo that looks like a common household item that dips with each thrust of the piston into a familiar-looking rectangular can of lubricant.
Of course, there’s a story.
Mullen: “The drip oiler is made from a hanger and a sardine can. It was installed way back in the ’60s. Hell was raised when the requisition came in for two cans of sardines from the grocery store. A county official actually stormed down here demanding the engineer’s head until he saw what they were used for. Of course, they ate the sardines before welding them in place.”
Stories and tradition. For every tale told, there’s homage to those who worked the decks in days gone by. The engine room’s three pumps are named after former engineers: Iron Mike, Little Lee and Big Bertha.
Like those who toiled in his job before, Wayne McDole knows the importance of safety. A drop of spilled fuel oil in the wrong spot, a spark and the wooden ship could be smoke on the water in a matter of moments. Which is why his floors look clean enough to eat from.
And which is why he and Captain Kevin Mullen are the men to have on-board to stoke this grand lady’s fires.
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