Backing Out
Milwaukee Sentinel - June 15, 1934
Milwaukee Sentinel - June 15, 1934
Capt. E.J. Bodenlos, the dapper and defiant skipper of the steamship Harry T. Ewig, left town yesterday, and he took his big ship with him – backward down the Milwaukee River at high noon.
He left amid the cheers of thousands, and the groans of police and city officials, who stood helplessly by as he yanked the big freighter’s whistle cord to let it be known that he was going places. As the captain backed his ship through eight bridges, he snarled traffic, kept the Wisconsin Avenue bascule bridge up for three-quarters of an hour, and put on a show that thrilled his tremendous audience. Cheering throngs looked upon the rebel skipper as something of a hero as he battled the Wisconsin Avenue bascule. The betting on the sidelines was 50-50 that he would not make it through. City Vows Legal Vengeance on Jaunty Skipper As crowds cheered, the office of City Atty. Max Raskin got busy preparing a flock of warrants. William Quick, assistant city attorney, promised that the big ship's journey through the eight bridges would prove costly. He said the city wouldn’t let Captain Bodenlos off with just one warrant this time. All in all, Captain Bodenlos now faces 25 counts, each of which carries a fine up to $100. For several days Capt. E.J. (Pat O’Brien) Bodenlos and the police had played “hide and seek” just above the Juneau Avenue bridge, after the captain had backed the Ewig through several bridges upstream. This was in violation of the city’s “backing-up law," which states that a large vessel cannot back out of a Milwaukee river without the aid of a tugboat. The ongoing strike of tug operators has stranded a number of big ships in the harbor. Captain Bodenlos seemed far ahead in the game, until the forces of law and order brought in a group of “ringers” and ringed the waterfront, thereby preventing the skipper from taking in shows and otherwise enjoying himself. He surrendered and put up $150 bail money. It appeared that the jaunty captain was licked. He said he had agreed to surrender when the police threatened to board his vessel by force if necessary. “It’s been fun,” he said wistfully, “but I don’t want to be responsible for any real trouble or injury to my men.” It was thought that the captain’s appearance in court would serve to unravel the legal tangle into which the tugboat strike has plunged local officials. He contended that he was subject only to maritime law while aboard his vessel. Cheerfully he paid the $150 cash bail in $10 bills, and announced that he still had plenty of money left for a good time on the town. Appointments to Keep However, at 11 o’clock yesterday morning, Captain Bodenlos appeared on the bridge of his good ship. Clouds of black smoke belched from her stack. The skipper reached for the whistle cord and pulled three deep blasts, to tell the tenders on the Juneau Avenue bridge that he was going home. There was consternation. Police arrived, but could do nothing. The bridge was opened, and the Harry T. Ewig slid through, and whistled for the State Street bridge. When it was opened, the big freighter whistled for the Kilbourn Avenue bridge, and it was opened. Almost an hour was consumed in getting the ship through these spans. Then Captain Bodenlos pulled the cord and whistled for the Wells Street span. It was 12 o’clock. Bridge tender Arthur Behling watched the big stern end of the Ewig coming toward the structure. He said he was ready to open the span in an emergency, but he was determined to wait it out and see whether the captain had the courage to keep on coming against a closed bridge. “That fellow isn’t deaf,” said the captain, “and I don’t think he’s dumb.” Behling kept his signals set against the boat, and Captain Bodenlos finally said something about “time out for lunch.” He maneuvered the boat toward the Electric Company docks, but left no ladders available for police officers. “If I can get through the avenue bridge I’ll be all fixed,” said the captain, as he waited for the hour of one o’clock. He realized that he couldn’t budge the bridge tender, because of a law against the opening of bridges during the noon hour. When one o’clock arrived, the captain was standing on the bridge of his ship, togged out in natty white trousers, a brown coat, white shoes, black kid gloves and a jaunty panama hat. He was smoking a cigar. He was keenly enjoying the show that had attracted uncounted thousands of men and women, who hung over the bridge railings, stood upon the docks and board walks, and hung out of windows in the buildings along the river front. Five times the captain pulled the whistle cord. Five times the whistle conveyed to the bridge tender the captain’s irritation at losing an hour, and his determination to go on through. Another series of blasts, and the collier was off, carrying the show into the heart of the city, through the Wells Street bridge and toward the Wisconsin Avenue bascule. Captain Skips Town at the Helm of His Steamship Then came the real show. Bankers and bank clerks, lawyers and stenographers, store clerks and shoppers struggled for grandstand seats. Slowly the Ewig moved downstream, her stern headed directly for the piling on the west side of the Wisconsin Avenue bridge. Captain Bodenlos raced back and forth across the vessel’s bridge, in and out of the wheel house, his cigar puffing as vigorously as the stack on the far end of the boat, more than 300 feet away. His first attempt to edge the big freighter through the narrow gap failed. “Tough luck,” yelled the crowd. “We’ll try it again,” replied the dapper captain, who seemed to appreciate that the crowd was with him and expected him to make good. The big ship went back upstream until her nose almost touched the Wells Street span. She started down once more, this time with her anchor dragging. Again the stern headed for the bridge piling, and once more the captain came back upstream. Lines were thrown to seamen on the docks. The big ship was warped against the dock at the foot of Mason Street. The bow of the ship was close to the First Wisconsin National Bank building. “He’ll have the bankers right in his lap if he isn’t careful,” volunteered a winsome blonde, who added, “Isn’t he just the best looking chap you ever saw?” In the meantime, traffic on Wisconsin Avenue was at a standstill. On the third try, the Ewig was skillfully maneuvered through the open bascule. A great cheer went up. Men waived their hats and women applauded and shouted their best wishes to the captain, who stood jauntily on the bridge, his feet apart, clutching the whistle cord, just waiting for the opportunity to give it three more yanks to tell the Michigan Street tenders that he was on his way and meant to go places. A wit on the dock wanted to know if the captain had ever parked a car. “Yep,” he replied, “but this is the first time I ever tried to get a Pierce-Arrow out of a Ford parking space.” The captain declined to reveal his plans as he backed downstream, but he did say he was not inviting any policemen aboard. He said he didn’t know whether he would dock before going out of the inner harbor. After turning his ship at the confluence of the Milwaukee and Menomonee rivers, Captain Bodenlos docked to take on supplies. He called his company offices, and received instructions to proceed to Detroit. “Talk about the boy who stood on the burning deck,” he said. “It was a plenty hot job on the bridge – toughest job I’ve had in a long time. But I had a couple of appointments to keep, and I had to get going.” |