|My father built this boat, himself. I believe it was the first one he built. This photo was taken around 1947, I think.|
By William Howard Pritchartt, Jr.
English I, C-3
18 September circa 1943
Theme No. 1
Instructor: Mr. Read
There are many picturesque phases of American life, which basically have not been altered by the advance of progress during the last century. Among these is the life of a "shanty-boater"along the banks of the mighty Mississippi River. This broad, muddy, twisting stream has long been the theme for innumerable poems and songs, which still reflect the color and adventure of the antebellum steamboat days.
To me, the "Ol Man River" has always seemed a living thing, for among my first recollections are those of staring from the steep bluffs of Natchez out over the river and into the green haze of the Louisiana lowlands beyond. Consequently, as a growing boy many of my summer days were spent rowing for miles along the willow-covered banks, stripped to the waist, reveling in the calm and peaceful freedom which the river seemed to express.
Living along the banks of the Mississippi, usually within several miles of a town, are the staunch and sturdy "Shanty-Boaters," a tribe unto themselves. Their homes consist of shanties or small shacks built on small barges approximately fifteen by thirty feet, and are usually moored in some sheltered cove or eddy, safe from the wind and current.
Invariably, these humble dwellings are guarded by two or three hoarse-voiced mongrels, whose sole responsibility in life is to serenade any boat or stranger who approaches near enough to arouse canine suspicions.
The average male "Shanty-Boater" might well have stepped from the pages of a Stevenson pirate novel as far as appearances are concerned. Tanned to the texture of leather, grizzled whiskers, squinting eyes, tobacco-stained teeth, and muscular physique, this child of nature presents a startling picture. His sole means of support is matching his wits against those of the catfish, buffalo, garfish and turtles which infest the Mississippi, for every river man has a strong aversion to any type of confining work.
In the spring or other seasons when the fish are running plentiful and silver begins to jingle in the tattered pockets of the "Shanty-Boater," his greatest pleasure is to have a wild fling in some river saloon where soon the wine, women, and juke-box music have separated him from his hard-earned savings.
Then he returns to his boat, drunk, tired, a little rueful, (but happy in the knowledge that here on the river he is free from the bonds and responsibilities of modern civilization.)
Note from instructor: You're talking me into this as a profession.
Personally, I cannot for the life of me understand why he only got a B-minus.