The Rondout Creek, upon which was situated the terminus of the Delaware and Hudson Canal, served the transportation needs of the village of Rondout- the one-time commercial hub of Ulster County. The Creek was destined to be a shipbuilding center for the mid-Hudson region for well over a century, and the Rondout area was the home of many waterside activities which were dependent upon a supply of steamboats, tugs and barges to move the region’s products to market.
 
At one time or another during the past 150 years, wooden boats were built at Sleightsburgh, Ponckhockie, South Rondout, the Island Dock, Wilbur and Eddyville. Steel vessels were later built on the Island Dock and at Wilbur.
 
The shipbuilder at Ponckhockie was Jefferson McCausland, at whose yard was built, among other vessels, the tugs John D. Schoonmaker, Harry and Frank for the late lamented Cornell Steamboat Company- a longtime Rondout icon- in 1888, 1892 and 1893 respectively.
 
There was another obscure shipbuilder at Rondout in the person of Henry Pross who built the little tug Dr. David Kennedy in 1880. Certainly nobody today will remember “Dr. Kennedy’s Favorite Remedy,” a potent patent medicine that was Victorian Rondout’s version of penicillin.

Morgan Everson operated a shipbuilding yard many years ago at Sleightsburgh, where he built the tug H.W. Hills in 1864 for service at Hartford, Connecticut. In 1872, he constructed two tugs for Thomas Cornell- Coe F. Young and Thomas Dickson- which the old-time boatmen invariably and collectively called “the Youngs and Dickson.” Everson’s yard was active during the Civil War and beyond, and later it was run by a man named McMullen. Later still, the proprietor was John Baisden, who built the renowned and handsome tug Rob for the Cornell Steamboat Company in 1902. Baisden rebuilt Cornell’s tug Victoria in 1908. The site of this yard, just downstream of the present Kingston Oil Supply Company, was later used as a repair facility by the Cornell Steamboat Company. At this location, the hull of the tug Harry, hauled out on the marine railway and her engine and boiler removed, literally fell to pieces in the 1940s.
 
Upstream and across the creek in South Rondout (as Connelly was always known by the boatman), Jacob Fox had a small yard around the 1860s. Jake Fox built the tugboat George W. Pratt for Thomas Cornell in 1863, along with many barges and other vessels. Among the others was a tug named Thomas Cornell, and Fox also rebuilt the tug Greenwood in 1863 after she had suffered a boiler explosion. Long after Fox’s yard ceased to exist, George W. Pratt was rebuilt at Sleightsburgh in 1882 by McMullen.
 
By this time, Conrad Hiltebrant was operating a barge-building yard at South Rondout. This later expanded to become the C. Hiltebrant Dry Dock Company, which built many vessels, including steam tug s for the Navy in 1918-20. The yard continued its activities between the wars. During World War II, the Hiltebrant yard produced minesweepers for the Navy, and in the post-war period was active in the construction of state-of-the-art non-magnetic minesweepers.
 
After the closure of the D&H Canal at about the turn of the last century, the Island Dock (originally the Canal’s transshipment entrepot) lay fallow for a number of years. During World War I, the Kingston Shipbuilding Corporation constructed ocean-going wooden-hulled cargo steamships (the only vessels of the type ever built along the Creek), and, in the 1920s, patrol boats for the Coast Guard. The main mission of these was the interception of bootleg alcoholic beverages during prohibition; as a result, the patrol boats were known as “rum-runners” to the shipyard workers.
 
Shipbuilding on the Island Dock was revived during and after World War II under the name Island Dock, Inc. The wartime activities included the construction of four large wooden-hulled naval steam tugs (known as “ATRs) and some minor craft. After the war, the company converted to steel construction, and during the decade of the 1950s turned out a flotilla of barges and other vessels for the Army, Navy and commercial owners. Seventeen LCU landing craft, a ferry for Shelter Island, New York, and barges for the City of New York and others were among the notable latter-day products of the yard. Today, nearly 40 years after the yard closed, the historic Island Dock is home to a forest of trees, the ghostly remains of its former activities barely visible under the umbrella of their leaves.
 
In later days, the yard of W.F. & R. Boatbuilders, Inc., located across the slip on Abeel Street, was associated with Dwyer Lighterage, Inc., a Rondout tug-and-barge owner. The yard had formerly been the property of Jacob Rice (for whom the Cornell tug Senator Rice was named.) Many wooden barges were built on these premises over the years. The Dwyer family later operated a fleet of oil barges and the tug James F. Dwyer, none of which had been built at Rondout. The memorable gray-painted Dwyer covered barges, which carried bagged cement, stood out like beacons in Cornell’s tows during the 1920’s and 1930’s.

Rondout was also the home of a shop. Operated under various names, which built boilers for many of the steam vessels along the creek. Boilers were also constructed for steamboats, tugs and shoreside industries elsewhere in the Hudson Valley. The steamboat Mary Powell, Rondout’s own “Queen of the Hudson.” had during her long life six sets of boilers, three of which were built at the Rondout shop, of which the successive proprietors were a man named McEntee, John Dillon, McEntee & Dillon and McEntee & Rodie. McEntee & Dillon built the engine for the tug George W. Pratt. Later the Cornell Steamboat Company built engines and boilers at their extensive shops which were located in large brick creekside buildings downstream of the Museum.
 
Finally, we come to the Feeney yard at Wilbur. The Reliance Marine Transportation & Construction Corporation, still very much in existence, has been the sight of steel barge-building activity, and the home base of the Feeney tugs and barges, since the late 1940s.
 
Looking at the Rondout Creek today, with its marinas and its vast flotilla of pleasure craft, it is difficult to imagine that, for a century, hundreds upon hundreds of commercial craft- mainly barges and tugs- were launched from local yards. Reliance Marine alone carries on the long and proud tradition of shipbuilding along the Creek, but the shadows of Morgan Everson and Jake Fox and the others keep a silent watch over this historic waterway. In fact, if you stand on creekside when all else is quiet, you might just make out “the Youngs” or “the Dickson” through a shimmering morning mist.

The Hudson River Maritime Museum recently received a set of black and white photographs documenting the work of the Kingston Shipbuilding Corporation during World War I. Clyde Bloodgood worked at the shipyard located on Island Dock. Shipbuilding has been going on for the last couple of hundred years along Rondout Creek. William duBarry Thomas writes in the 1999 Pilot Log: "During World War I, the Kingston Shipbuilding Corporation constructed ocean-going wooden-hulled cargo steamships (the only vessels of the type ever built along the Creek)"
 
The museum is grateful for the donation of these fine photographs. They are a wonderful addition to the museum's collection and aids in our ability to tell the history of the Hudson River and its tributaries.

If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published October 15, 1972.

Of all the steam propelled vessels that have floated upon the waters of Rondout Creek, probably the one that was best known locally in her day was the ungainly little ferry boat that used to cross the creek from the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue to Sleightsburgh. Known throughout the area as the “Skillypot,” she made her last trip from Rondout to Sleightsburgh on Oct. 14, 1922 — exactly 50 years ago yesterday.

“Skillypot” - reportedly a corruption of the Dutch word for tortoise — wasn't even her right name. It was the “Riverside,” a name that many would-be patrons often changed to where she usually was found - the “Otherside.” She may not have been loved as was the “Mary Powell” or admired as were many other steamboats, but she certainly was well known, and almost universally as the “Skillypot.”

Her fame on both sides of Rondout Creek rested securely until the opening of the 9-W highway suspension bridge in 1921 - the only way in her latter years to get across the creek, unless of course one owned or rented a rowboat or wanted to walk to Eddyville. She played an important part in the daily lives of many area residents, especially when the Rondout section of Kingston was important to the business and social life of the community. 

Wherever there has been a natural barrier such as a river or a creek, people it seems have always wanted to get to the other side. 

A Scow Was First
At Rondout, the first recorded vessel to regularly cross the creek was a small scow that was sculled across by hand from Sleightsburgh and could carry one wagon and a team of horses. This means of transportation existed until the spring of 1855 when the small steam ferryboat “J. P. Sleight” made her appearance. 

Built by the sons of John P. Sleight and named for their father, the new ferryboat had two slide valve steam engines connected by cog wheels to two large steel drums. The drums were connected to a chain which was secured to both sides of the creek, a distance of about 440 feet. The drums would rotate and pull the ferry back and forth across the creek on the chain. The chain was of sufficient length to rest on the creek bottom except where it passed around the drums. 

In March 1870, a severe freshet caused by melting snow and rain caused the ice in the upper creek to let go. The ice coming down the creek carried the “J. P. Sleight” right along with it. At the mouth of the creek, the “Sleight” smashed into the lighthouse that then stood on the south dike. Mrs. Murdock, the keeper of the light, caught a line from the ferry, but it parted and away went the “J. P. Sleight," drifting with the ice floes down the river. 

In a few hours, the Cornell ice breaking towboat “Norwich” got underway and, breaking her way through the heavy ice fields off Esopus Meadows lighthouse, spotted the “J. P. Sleight” in another ice field down off Esopus Island. The “Norwich” brought the “Sleight” back to Port Ewen, where it was found her light hull had been damaged beyond repair. Her owners decided to build a new ferryboat which became the “Riverside.”

Contract to Washburn
Abraham and Isaac Sleight gave a contract for the new ferryboat to Hiram and John Washburn. When she was launched, the “Riverside” measured 55 feet long and 20 feet wide. Her engines came from the old “J. P Sleight" and were installed by John Dillon of Rondout. 

The new “Riverside” was a success from the start. Upon the death of Isaac Sleight, ownership of the ferry passed to Herbert A. Starkey, and then in 1903 to Albert Norris who operated her until 1906 when Josiah Hasbrouck became the owner. It is not known at what, point in time the “Riverside” became better known as the latter name by which she was known far and wide in Ulster County. 

As time went by and the automobile came along, new highways were being built along the banks of the Hudson. It soon became evident a bridge was badly needed across Rondout Creek. As a matter of fact, it was long overdue. After World War I on summer weekends, automobiles would be lined up on the Sleightsburgh side almost to the middle of Port Ewen and on the Kingston side to the top of Hasbrouck Avenue. Then, the “Riverside” really was a “Skillypot."

On summer weekends when automobiles were backed up on both sides of the creek, enterprising Sleightsburgh boys would earn money by showing unknowing motorists how to get across the creek by going across the bridge at Eddyville.

​Pilots for a Fee
For a fee, they would get in a waiting car and “pilot” the motorist through New Salem and Eddyville to Rondout. There, they would reverse the process by taking a motorist from Hasbrouck Avenue through Eddyville to Port Ewen. 

At times in some winters the “Skillypot” would be the only steamboat in operation on the upper Hudson. To keep her operating, men would cut a channel through the ice using ice saws and pike poles to shove the cakes of ice under the solid ice or, if it seemed easier, pull them up on top of the ice. During the summer, when the ferry “Transport” would come over from Rhinecliff, the swells from her paddle wheels would carry up the creek. Then how the “Skillypot“ would rock back and forth sideways and cause concern to some of the passengers. 

The “Skillypot” always made her last trip of the day at 10:30 p.m. She would land at her Sleightsburgh slip and blow one blast on her small, clear, shrill whistle, signifying her toils were over for that day. Then if people still wanted to get across the creek, they would have to take a small scow, sculled by a single oar by Lyman Perrine.

Finally, the long awaited day came when the new bridge was open to traffic. The “Skillypot” still continued to operate for a period, but foot passengers even took to walking over the new bridge to save the two cents fare. So on Saturday night, Oct. 14, 1922, a Saturday then as it was this year — the “Skillypot” at 10:30 p.m. blew her final one long shrill whistle. As the echo died, so did she “Riverside.”

Within a few years after the introduction of steamboating on the Hudson River, Rondout Creek soon developed into the leading port between New York and Albany. This was due principally to the fact that it was the eastern terminus of the D. & H. Canal. Shipments of Ulster County blue stone. Rosendale cement, lime, the concentration of  brickyards along the river north of Kingston, and the natural ice industry also all played major parts in the growth of Rondout harbor. As activity along the creek grew, so did the size of the steamboats serving Rondout.

Any steamboat serving Rondout, obviously had to be able to turn around in the creek. The width of the creek, as a result, had some bearing on the design of the steamboat, particularly its length. I suppose this factor also had a direct bearing on the location of the steamboat docks as well as the early growth of Rondout itself. The creek is at its navigable widest just south of where the Freeman Building is now located and this was where the steamboat wharves and docks were located — between the foot of Broadway east to the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue.
 
Steamboats in regular service out of Rondout almost always turned around as soon as they entered the creek, prior to the unloading of passengers and freight. This fact is borne out by old time photographs of steamers berthed at Rondout. Of the many photographs have seen, all but one show the steamboats facing downstream. The sole exception is a photo of the “Mary Powell”, and in this one photograph only she lies head up.  

Rondout’s Largest
For years, the largest steamboat sailing out of Rondout Creek was the “Thomas Cornell,” built in 1863 and 310 feet long. Other larger steamboats out of Rondout were the famous “Mary Powell” at 288 feet, the “James W. Baldwin” at 275, and the “Benjamin B. Odell” at 264. The longest one of all to sail regularly out of Rondout was the Day Liner “Albany,” 326 feet long, which replaced the “Mary Powell” on the Rondout to New York run during the season of 1914 through 1917. I, have been told the “Albany,” on occasion, used to use the steam yacht “C. A. Schults” — that once ran between Rondout and Eddyville — to help pull her bow around. All of the, others turned unassisted.
 
For many years, Ben Johnston owned a drug store on East Strand. Johnston told me when the “Benjamin B. Odell” turned around in the creek, at times the vibrations set up by her turning propeller would shake bottles off the shelves in his drug store. This was due to the fact that all the land along the Strand was filled-in land.

​It is my understanding that the area all along the Strand was once a dandy beach — and the old sloop and schooner captains would beach, or strand, their vessels on this beach at high tide.  Then, when the tide went out, they would make bottom repairs or caulk under-water leaking seams on their boats exposed by the drop in tide.  When the tide came back in, they would float their sloops and schooners.  I have been told this act of stranding their vessels on this beach is what gave the Strand its name when the area was filled in and the beach was developed into a street.

An old boatman also once told me about an incident that took place when the “Benjamin B. Odell” was turning around off her Rondout wharf. Normally, she would come along-side the dock, can her bow out from the dock and put a stern line from the port quarter out to a bollard on the dock. Then, she would go ahead slow and swing around like a slowly moving giant pendulum. Captain George Greenwood would be up on the bridge and the mate down on the main deck in charge of the deckhands tending the lines.
 
On this particular day, just as the “Odell” got broadside in the creek, the stern line snapped. The mate had a police whistle and blew a series of toots on it to let the captain know the line had snapped. Before the mate could get another line out, the “Odell” started to move across the creek.
 
Except for stopping the engine, Captain Greenwood gave no indication anything was wrong. The mate in the excitement didn’t notice the engine had stopped and continued to blow his police whistle. After several series of excited toots and getting no response from the captain, the mate bounded up the companionways at the stern of the “Odell” to the top deck. There, Captain Greenwood stood calmly on the bridge watching the slowly approaching south shore of the creek.
 
Captain Greenwood let the “Odell’s” bow slowly drift right onto the creek’s south shore and the incoming tide carry her stern up stream. When the angle was right, Captain Greenwood backed down, put the “Odell’s” port quarter close to the Rondout dock, got out a spring line, went slowly ahead and brought his steamer alongside the dock so perfectly he wouldn’t have broken an egg had one been between the steamboat and the dock.
 
The old time captains, like Captain Greenwood, were superb ship handlers. They knew exactly what their steamboats would do in any combination of wind and tide. They were true masters of their trade, made the difficult look easy, and rarely got the recognition they deserved. It seems the only time anyone took notice of them was in the rare event something went wrong. And, then, it was often due to something over which they had little control, such as a mechanical failure, rarely an error in judgment.

​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

This year is the 100th anniversary of the opening of the Rondout Suspension Bridge (or the Wurts Street Bridge, the Port Ewen Bridge, or the Rondout-Port Ewen Bridge, etc!), which opened to vehicle traffic on November 29, 1921. 

The bridge was constructed to replace the Rondout-Port Ewen ferry Riverside, which was affectionately (or not so affectionately) known as "Skillypot," from the Dutch "skillput," meaning "tortise." Spanning such a short distance, the ferry was small, and with the advent of automobiles, only able to carry one vehicle across Rondout Creek at a time, causing long delays. Motorists advocated for the construction of a bridge, which was set to begin in 1917. But when the United States joined the First World War that spring, construction was delayed until 1921.

Staff at the museum had long known that there was a woman welder on the construction crew, but we knew nothing beyond that. Had she learned to weld at a shipbuilding yard during the First World War? Was she a local resident, or someone from far away? There were more questions than answers, until a few weeks ago when HRMM volunteer researcher and contributing scholar George Thompson ran across a newspaper article that he said went "viral" in 1921. Entitled, "Woman Spider," and featured in the Morning Oregonian from Portland, Oregon, the article indicated that "Catherine Nelson, of Jersey City" was our famous woman welder.

Having a name sparked off a flurry of research and the collection of 37 separate newspaper articles, all variations on the same theme. Fourteen articles were all published on the same day, September 3, 1921. But only one had more information than the rest - "Never Dizzy, Says Woman Fly, Though Welding 300 Feet in Air. Mrs. Catherine Nelson Has No Nerves, She Loves Her work and Is Paid $30 a Day," published in the Boston Globe. Which, wonderfully, included a photo of Mrs. Catherine Nelson!

Here is the full article from the Boston Globe:

KINGSTON, NY, Sept 3 – Three hundred feet above the surface of Rondout Creek, a worker in overalls and cap has been moving about surefootedly for several days on the preliminary structure that is to support a suspension bridge across that stream.

Thousands of glances, awed and admiring, have been cast upward at the worker, stepping backward and forward and wielding an instrument that blazed blue and gold flames and welded together the cables from which the bridge will swing.

“Some nerve that fellow’s got!” was a favorite remark, to which would come the reply: “You said it!”

But there’s more than awe and admiration now directed aloft, for it turns out that “that fellow” is a woman – Mrs. Catherine Nelson of Jersey City, the only woman outdoor welder in the world.

Isn’t Afraid of Work

She isn’t afraid of her work; she loves it; and – of course this is a big inducement – she gets $30 a day for it. She has never had an accident in her seven years’ experience at the trade. She’s as strong as a man, weighing 180 pounds to her 5 ft 6 in of height, and is a good looking, altogether feminine, Scandinavian blonde. She’s 31.
​
"I was born in Denmark and was married there," Mrs Nelson told the reporter. "But my husband died and left me with two small children, so I had to shift for myself.

"For two years I worked as a stewardess on an ocean liner, but I could not have my children with me and my pay wasn’t much, so I cast about for harder and better-paid work, so I could have my own little home.

"My husband was a garage keeper in Denmark, and I had worked with him, so I knew something of machinery. I got a job in a machine shop in this country. They had an electrical welding department there and I soon got a place there. I grew to love the work and I’ve been at it for seven years.

Does Not Get Dizzy

"This is the highest job I’ve been on, but one of my first was on a water tower at Bayonne, 225 feet tall. I’ve been on smokestacks and tanks plenty. No, I don’t get dizzy. I wear overalls and softsoled shoes, and I’m always sure of myself, for I haven’t any nerves.

"I like to pride myself on the fact that I’ve never turned down a single welding job because it might be dangerous.'

Showing Mrs. Nelson’s standing in her trade, it was she who was sent up from Jersey City when Terry & Tench, the bridge contractors, asked the Weehawken Welding Company for their best operator. 

"My children and I are happy and comfortable now,' she said; 'and I hope to afford to take them home to Denmark for Christmas. But I will come back and tackle some more welding jobs."

The last published article we could find, "Says She Has No Nerves," published in the Chickasha Star, in Chickasha, Oklahoma on September 16, 1921, is almost a verbatim reprint of the Boston Globe article.

As a cable welder, Catherine Nelson was responsible for welding together the cable splices that made up the longest length of the cable span. Wire cable is produced in limited sections, and often the cable was spliced together with welding, which is among the strongest of the splices, replacing the earlier versions of wire wrapping, and later screw splicing. Welded splices are stronger and more durable than both. 

Most welding was typically done in a shop setting, but some, as with Catherine Nelson, were done on site. She may have done additional welding while walking the cables, as most of the newspaper stories focus on her working 300 feet up in the air. 

Once the initial suspension cables were in place, supporting cables for the deck of the bridge could be constructed, which were designed to provide additional support, rigidity, and to spread the weight load across the entire bridge. 

This particular bridge is said to be unique for its "stiffening truss," located under the deck of the bridge. 

The bridge was opened on November 29, 1921 to great fanfare. It remains the oldest suspension bridge in the Hudson Valley, predating the longer Bear Mountain Bridge by several years.

As for Catherine Nelson? We've yet to find any additional information about her, but if you have any leads, or are a relative with family stories, please let us know in the comments!​

​​If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!​

On March 16, 1893 the Saugerties Weekly Post​ recounted a freshet on Rondout Creek. Freshets are spring flash floods caused by quick melting of snowpack in the mountains. Usually, the quick thaw comes while there is still ice on the larger creeks and rivers, causing ice dams. The meltwater builds up behind the ice, until the ice finally breaks, and a wall of water with huge chunks of ice rushes down the creek.

Rondout Creek has an enormous watershed, draining most of the eastern Catskill mountains. Lower Rondout Creek also contains the entire watershed of the Wallkill River, which flows north from northern New Jersey, through Orange County up into Ulster County. Because of this, lower Rondout Creek was frequently plagued by floods.

Freshets were common in the 19th century, and caused much damage. In the 20th century, many tributaries and creeks were dammed for hydroelectric power. The upper ends of Rondout Creek are curtailed by the Rondout Reservoir, part of the Catskills Aqueduct system, as well as smaller dams left over from industrial mills, such as the Eddyville Dam near Lock 1 of the D&H Canal.

Two dams located near the confluence of the Wallkill River and the Rondout Creek greatly curtail the amount of water that flows naturally into the Rondout. Sturgeon Pool hydroelectric dam sits at the confluence of the two bodies of water. Just northwest of Sturgeon Pool, the Dashville Hydroelectric station was installed at the naturally-occurring Dashville Falls. Both hydroelectric stations are some of the earliest in the region, completed in the 1920s.

Combined with climate change, which has limited the buildup of snowpack in the Catskills, these dams have helped mitigate catastrophic flooding in the modern era. 

The Freshet of 1893 was a doozy, like other freshets in 1878 and more famously in 1936. Captain William O. Benson also recalled both the 1893 and 1936 freshets in his 1978 article. Catherine Murdock also recalled the Flood of 1878. 

​​In 1825, the Erie Canal was completed with the hopes of improving and expanding economic opportunity between the areas surrounding Lake Erie and the Hudson River. Having proved to be a great success, the state of New York seized many opportunities to further develop the waterway. As such, they undertook multiple enlargement projects. The final project integrated the Erie Canal into the New York State Barge Canal system. Finished in 1918, the system also includes the Cayuga-Seneca, Champlain, and Oswego canals. All of which were originally built within a few years of the Erie Canal’s completion. The project not only enlarged the dimensions of all four canals but also altered their original routes.
 
The Barge Canal era is represented in a shipwreck located in Kingston’s Rondout Creek, the Frank A. Lowery. Constructed in Brooklyn, New York the same year that the Barge Canal was completed, the Lowery was likely built to take advantage of the opportunities provided by the new-and-improved waterway.
 
The barge Frank A. Lowery, then registered as OCCO 101, began operation under the ownership of the Ore Carrying Corporation. According to the 1921 publication of the Annual Report of the Superintendent of Public Works for New York State, “the Ore Carrying Corporation … engaged in the transportation of iron ore from Port Henry on Lake Champlain, to Elizabethport, N.J.”. The report also notes that in terms of the amount of ore shipped per season, the company was substantially more productive in 1920 than it was in 1919. In fact, the company shipped over three times the amount of ore in 1920 than it did the previous season. Having joined the company’s fleet in 1918, the OCCO 101 likely assisted the company in achieving this feat.
 
Ownership was transferred to the L. & L. Canal Line in 1926 and the vessel was renamed L & L. 101. As shown in the 1930 publication of Inland-waterway Freight Transportation Lines in the United States, the L. & L. Canal Line shipped steel and pig iron on the New York State Barge Canal. Based in New York City, the line had six wooden barges that could be found traveling the waters to and from Buffalo, New York.
 
Finally, Frank A. Lowery purchased the vessel and renamed it after himself in 1929. Though much about Lowery remains unknown, the Merchant Vessels of the United States publications for the years 1930 and 1936 list Lowery as living in Creek Rocks, New York. However, in the publication for the year 1951, he is listed as living in Athens, New York. The later record also notes that he owned six vessels, including the Frank A. Lowery.
 
While it is unclear who initiated the renovations, the vessel was refit with an engine in 1929. This renovation distinguished the Lowery from other canal boats and allowed for its classification as a Hoodledasher, or a powered canal boat. As such, it could move itself through the water with two hundred and forty horsepower and could be used to both tow and carry cargo. Following these renovations, the Lowery measured 104 feet in length, 21 feet in beam, and had a tonnage of 195 net tons. Surely, such a vessel was viewed to be a more efficient option.
 
The Frank A. Lowery was put to use as the leading vessel of the Lowery flotilla, which also included the six barges it towed. A 1955 New York District Court case, further discussed below, provides a glimpse into the history of the vessel under the ownership of Frank Lowery. This includes what was transported in the vessel’s cargo hold as well as the routes it covered:
 
“The Lowery flotilla . . . sailed the waters of the Hudson River and Barge Canal for a considerable number of years. It was old in the service of carrying cargo, well known to the trade and canal and river people, and on many… occasions it carried scrap iron west from New York City to Buffalo, and grain east from the terminal at Buffalo to the City of Albany.”
 
In 1953, the Frank A. Lowery was involved in an incident that resulted in a district court case. According to the case report, the Lowery flotilla was on its way to the Port of Albany when a steel barge collided with the last vessel in the flotilla tow, the Marion O’Neill. The steel barge was being pushed by the Ellen S. Bouchard of the Bouchard Transportation Company. Having caused a chain reaction, the Marion O’Neill then collided with yet another barge in the tow, the Mae Lowery, and both vessels subsequently sank.
 
The Mae Lowery’s misfortune continued when it was struck by the unsuspecting Clayton P. Kehoe of the Kehoe Brothers Transportation Company nearly two hours after the initial collision. The day’s events resulted in one presumably fatal casualty, the captain of the Marion O’Neill.
 
The Lowery was abandoned east of Rondout Creek’s Sunflower Dock following an accident in 1953, perhaps the one mentioned here, and her valuable effects were salvaged five years later. The vessel’s tell-tale hanging and lodging knees, half-round bow, and parallel sides allowed for the easy identification of the wreck for many years. However, the structure continues to deteriorate with the erosive nature of weather and ice. Soon, only her keel will remain.

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl  Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. ​This article was originally published March 14, 1972.

Up until the time the Cornell Steamboat Company acquired the diesel tugboats “Lion’’ and “Jumbo” in 1924, all of their tugboats were steam propelled.  As steamers, all the tugs burned coal and taking on coal - or coaling up - was a regular event of day to day operations.
 
For many decades, Cornell maintained a coal pocket at the easterly end of its property on East Strand.  Coal would be transferred by conveyor from railroad cars on an adjacent siding into large bins in the coal pocket.  The coal pocket itself was located right next to the dock and the tugboats would berth at the coal pocket and take on coal from large shutes direct from the bins.
 
When I was a boy growing up along Rondout Creek, it was quite a sight watching the big Cornell tugs taking on coal at the coal pocket.  As the tug would come in the creek, she would tie up at the coal pocket and first take coal on the starboard side.  As the coal went aboard, the tug would lay over on her side and it seemed the large smokestacks would be only a few feet from the upper part of the coal pocket.  Then seeing the tugs turn around with their starboard guards and main deck rail part under water, one would think they were going to turn over on their sides and sink.
 
Always Wondered
 There I used to watch the “Pocahontas,” “Osceola,” “George W. Washburn,” “Edwin H. Mead,” “Perseverance” and the smaller helper tugs take on coal and wonder what kept them from rolling over.
 
Always I would watch, thinking in my young mind I was going to see something happen that no one had seen before.  But, they always got around, took coal on their port side, came back to an even keel, and went back out to the river.
 
As the years rolled on, the day came when I was to do the same thing with many of the same tugboats at the same coal pocket that the men of my youth had done.  Now, however, the steam tugs are all gone as is the coal pocket.
 
Once, in May 1935, one tug did sink at the coal pocket and as far as I can recall this is the only time it happened.  The small tug ‘‘Empire’’ was coaling up.  Her starboard guard caught on a broken spile [sic] under water which held her up.  The men in the engine room and the pilot house thought she could take a little more coal and put some more aboard.
 
Then, when they went to turn her around, she slipped off the spile and really lay over on her side.  They wound her around and when the port side hit the dock, she went over just enough more for the water to pour in her deck scuttles — and down she went.  In a few days a Merritt, Chapman and Scott derrick was brought up from New York and raised her.

Always A Hazard
 Since coal burns, fire was always a hazard to a coal pocket.  The Cornell Steamboat Company lost two of theirs by burning, the first time in 1907 and the second time in 1936.
 
The fire in 1907 — on November 3, a Sunday — totally destroyed the coal pocket, several hundred tons of coal, and almost destroyed the big tugboat “John H. Cordts.”  The “Cordts’’ was tied up at the dock adjacent to the coal pocket.  The fire broke out in the coal pocket and got a good start before it was discovered.
 
The fire spread rapidly and soon the forward part of the “Cordts” was also aflame.  The burning coal in the coal pocket made an incredibly hot fire.  Although the coal pocket and most of its contents were total losses, the Kingston Fire Department was able to save the “Cordts” — not however before the forward half of the tugboat had been burned away and the tug had been purposely sunk at the dock.  The “Cordts” was subsequently raised, rebuilt and continued in service for nearly another 20 years.
 
After the 1907 fire, Cornell built a new coal pocket at the same site, somewhat smaller in size.  Once during the mid 1920’s, the big tugboat “George W. Washburn” came into the Cornell shops and tied up at the coal pocket dock.  During the night a fire broke out on the tugboat and spread to the coal pocket.  Prompt action by the Kingston Fire Department, however saved both the “Washburn” and the coal pocket.
 
Thanksgiving Disaster
 Finally, at 2 a.m, on Thanksgiving morning 1936, this coal pocket again caught fire and this time the fire got such a start it was impossible to save it.  The fire which was a two alarmer, completely destroyed the coal pocket and about 50 tons of coal.
 
The 1936 fire marked the end of steamboat coal pockets on Rondout Creek.  By this time, the Cornell fleet was considerably reduced in size due to a decline in towing on the Hudson River and diesel tugboats were taking the place of steam tugs.  And so another era — the age of coal — came to a close along the banks of the Rondout.

Editor’s Note: The following text is a verbatim transcription of an article featuring stories by Captain William O. Benson (1911-1986). Beginning in 1971, Benson, a retired tugboat captain, reminisced about his 40 years on the Hudson River in a regular column for the Kingston (NY) Freeman’s Sunday Tempo magazine. Captain Benson's articles were compiled and transcribed by HRMM volunteer Carl Mayer. See more of Captain Benson’s articles here. This article was originally published May 7, 1972.

Within a few years after the introduction of steamboating on the Hudson River, Rondout Creek soon developed into the leading port between New York and Albany.  This was due principally to the fact that it was the eastern terminus of the D. & H. Canal.  Shipments of Ulster County blue stone. Rosendale cement, lime, the concentration of  brickyards along the river north of Kingston, and the natural ice industry also all played major parts in the growth of Rondout harbor.  As activity along the creek grew, so did the size of the steamboats serving Rondout.

Any steamboat serving Rondout, obviously had to be able to turn around in the creek.  The width of the creek, as a result, had some bearing on the design of the steamboat, particularly its length.  I suppose this factor also had a direct bearing on the location of the steamboat docks as well as the early growth of Rondout itself.  The creek is at its navigable widest just south of where the Freeman Building is now located and this was where the steamboat wharves and docks were located — between the foot of Broadway east to the foot of Hasbrouck Avenue.
 
Steamboats in regular service out of Rondout almost always turned around as soon as they entered the creek, prior to the unloading of passengers and freight.  This fact is borne out by old time photographs of steamers berthed at Rondout.  Of the many photographs have seen, all but one show the steamboats facing downstream.  The sole exception is a photo of the “Mary Powell”, and in this one photograph only she lies head up.  
 
Rondout’s Largest
For years, the largest steamboat sailing out of Rondout Creek was the “Thomas Cornell,” built in 1863 and 310 feet long.  Other larger steamboats out of Rondout were the famous “Mary Powell” at 288 feet, the “James W. Baldwin” at 275, and the “Benjamin B. Odell” at 264.  The longest one of all to sail regularly out of Rondout was the Day Liner “Albany,” 326 feet long, which replaced the “Mary Powell” on the Rondout to New York run during the season of 1914 through 1917.  I, have been told the “Albany,” on occasion, used to use the steam yacht “C. A. Schults” — that once ran between Rondout and Eddyville — to help pull her bow around.  All of the, others turned unassisted. 
 
For many years, Ben Johnston owned a drug store on East Strand.  Johnston told me when the “Benjamin B. Odell” turned around in the creek, at times the vibrations set up by her turning propeller would shake bottles off the shelves in his drug store.  This was due to the fact that all the land along the Strand was filled-in land.
 
It is my understanding that the area all along the Strand was once a dandy beach — and the old sloop and schooner captains would beach, or strand, their vessels on this beach at high tide.  Then, when the tide went out, they would make bottom repairs or caulk under-water leaking seams on their boats exposed by the drop in tide.  When the tide came back in, they would float their sloops and schooners.  I have been told this act of stranding their vessels on this beach is what gave the Strand its name when the area was filled in and the beach was developed into a street.

​An old boatman also once told me about an incident that took place when the “Benjamin B. Odell” was turning around off her Rondout wharf.  Normally, she would come along-side the dock, can her bow out from the dock and put a stern line from the port quarter out to a bollard on the dock.  Then, she would go ahead slow and swing around like a slowly moving giant pendulum.  Captain George Greenwood would be up on the bridge and the mate down on the main deck in charge of the deckhands tending the lines. 
 
On this particular day, just as the “Odell” got broadside in the creek, the stern line snapped.  The mate had a police whistle and blew a series of toots on it to let the captain know the line had snapped.  Before the mate could get another line out, the “Odell” started to move across the creek. 
 
Except for stopping the engine, Captain Greenwood gave no indication anything was wrong.  The mate in the excitement didn’t notice the engine had stopped and continued to blow his police whistle.  After several series of excited toots and getting no response from the captain, the mate bounded up the companionways at the stern of the “Odell” to the top deck.  There, Captain Greenwood stood calmly on the bridge watching the slowly approaching south shore of the creek.
 
Captain Greenwood let the “Odell’s” bow slowly drift right onto the creek’s south shore and the incoming tide carry her stern up stream.  When the angle was right, Captain Greenwood backed down, put the “Odell’s” port quarter close to the Rondout dock, got out a spring line, went slowly ahead and brought his steamer alongside the dock so perfectly he wouldn’t have broken an egg had one been between the steamboat and the dock.
 
The old time captains, like Captain Greenwood, were superb ship handlers.  They knew exactly what their steamboats would do in any combination of wind and tide.  They were true masters of their trade, made the difficult look easy, and rarely got the recognition they deserved.  It seems the only time anyone took notice of them was in the rare event something went wrong.  And, then, it was often due to something over which they had little control, such as a mechanical failure, rarely an error in judgment.

Rondout Creek is a deep water tributary of the Hudson River. As the bird's eye and water level views above show, boats of many varieties have taken advantage of the deep water port for centuries. As the terminus for the Delaware & Hudson Canal (1828 -1898) Rondout Harbor saw lots of activity as canal boats came off the 108 mile long canal (Honesdale to Rondout) with loads of coal. 

Rondout Harbor was also the home of the Cornell Steamboat Company founded in 1847 by Thomas Cornell.  The Cornell fleet grew to 62 tugboats transporting coal and other goods to the New York City markets. Hudson River steamboats, including the Mary Powell,  and Hudson River Day Line carried passengers up and down the Hudson River. Smaller steamers provided transport to communities along Rondout Creek. More information about tugboats and steamers can be found here.