“Master in the go-ahead” … we’re full-ahead, Captain

By Don Radebaugh – It was always the unlikeliest pair…the maritime industry and me. I just wasn’t built for it. I mean, I only played football in high school because my girlfriend was a varsity cheerleader. In hindsight, it would have been less embarrassing to not play, because I never played anyway. I just wasn’t mean enough or tough enough…and mowing down humans in mid-flight held no appeal for me. Besides, the collisions hurt. I like to watch the sport well enough, but I did not like the pain and brutality that went with it. It never was a good fit for me.

Then how did I, a college-prepped kid, end up living on a Great Lakes tugboat fairly fresh out of high school? If you only knew how many times I’ve asked that question to myself. I never really did figure out the answer, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m just so grateful that I pulled up my bootstraps, put on the winter gear and sailed away on the mighty Tug Mary Page Hannah from a Chicago, Illinois dock on a brutally cold winter’s day. It was early December 1978, well below freezing, and I couldn’t quite comprehend why we were going anywhere…on a boat anyway.

But away we went, off pushing a barge full of No. 6 oil – the super thick gooey black stuff – and bound for Milwaukee, Wisconsin. There, we would unload with orders to proceed to Sheboygan, Wisconsin where we would reload for yet another port.

Although it was brutally cold and windy, Lake Michigan was completely ice-covered, so, outside of smashing through frozen water, at least we weren’t dealing with heavy seas. No worries…that would come soon enough. For now, it was all adventure, and I was getting paid for it too.

Then came Sheboygan. The Captain had already secured the barge, disconnected from it, and was breaking ice in the harbor. Back the tug up; then ram the wall of ice. Back it up; ram it…and you had better be hanging onto something. In the process of all that ice-breaking, I got busted up. I guess he was “full-ahead” toward the dock — to clear a path — when the ice all of a sudden separated. With the engines full-ahead, he couldn’t whoa-up a 150-ft. tug in time and slammed into the dock. I never knew what hit me. I had just made a giant sandwich for myself. I couldn’t believe my luck…adventure with pay and free food. I had just taken my first bite when, boom, I went down. A big steel stove, that was not properly fastened to the bulkhead, shot out from its previous location and flat knocked me silly…far worse than any high school football player ever did.

They loaded me in a car. It was night…below zero (back when it used to get super cold). Someone I had never seen before took me to some local hospital and dumped me off. Not the biggest deal on earth — there are far worse injuries — but the back of my leg would require several stitches and a rib, where the stove landed, was busted. The end result, after the stitches and bandages, was that I was on a plane home the very next day.

I told my stepfather, who put me to work on the tugs to begin with, that the Great Lakes maritime industry was no place for me. He was a Great Lakes Tug Captain himself and eventually a Great Lakes Pilot, and he seemed to understand. Besides, I also knew he got a major-league tongue lashing from my mom for having the nerve to cast her only boy off in the first place.

So that was that. In two days, my maritime career was over…that was until I received my first pay check. This was, mind you, a union job. I had never seen money like this before. I couldn’t believe my eyes when the checks started rolling in. I was home, hurt, and still getting paid, as though I was still there…chugging along on the Mary Page. I mean, up till that point, I had never received more than $5 dollars an hour for anything. I immediately told my stepdad I was feeling better. Imagine that. And on January 3, 1979, I climbed aboard the even-mightier Tug James A. Hannah in Toledo, Ohio and sailed for Chicago. And the rest is maritime history.

I never expected to make it that long, but for 10 years, I bounced across the Great Lakes in spring, summer, winter and fall. I wouldn’t wish the experience on anyone and I would wish it for everyone. For me, it was a fascinating journey across a broad spectrum ranging from unbelievable Huck Finn-style adventure to sheer panic-stricken terror. Spend a winter on a Great Lakes tug and you’ll know what I mean. And you want to talk about a rough-tough crowd? These sailors made those high school football players look like choir kids, no disrespect to anyone.

While I eventually did make it to college – not till I turned 30 – I, in the meantime, received an education you can’t teach, and one I wouldn’t trade for the very best Ivy League diploma. I grew up more in a year on Lake Michigan than I ever did anywhere else. I am the man I am today because of the Merchant Marine that’s forever a part of me…it’s built-in integrity…heavy on the grit. By the time I turned 22, I was the Captain at the controls, wide-eyed, full of wonder and foolish pride. Scared out of my mind, but full-ahead just the same.

There’s much more to tell…much more to say, but that’s for another day. “Master in the go-ahead,” the Captain would call down to the Chief Engineer. “Yes sir, Captain…we’re full-ahead.”

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