02-01-2009, 10:43 AM
http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20090.../902010359
When you're battling to save the one-of-a-kind Delta Queen steamboat, it helps to know how to deal with people who deal in hot air.
Vicki Webster has that gift. The feisty downtown Cincinnati loft dweller and leader of the grassroots Save the Delta Queen Campaign can speak the distinct languages of the crew and of Congress.
"To speak the specific language of steam boating," said Mary Charlton, a Mason native and the Delta Queen's on-board historian, "you have to love the boat and be a little crazy. That's Vicki."
"She can shoot down any argument against saving the boat in language that is clear and concise," said one of the boat's Congressional champions, former U.S. Rep. Steve Chabot, R-Westwood. "She's not in this for the money or an ulterior motive. She's doing this for the love of the boat."
Charlton and Chabot are just two of the hundreds of crew members and members of Congress Webster has buttonholed in her quest to save this floating National Historic Landmark. The boat represents a uniquely American-made mode of transportation that helped settle the Midwest.
The Delta Queen also happens to be the last of her kind. She is a paddlewheel-propelled steamboat with a wooden superstructure carrying overnight passengers. Federal law currently prohibits the boat from going on overnight cruises. Thanks to politics, a Congressional exemption permitting those cruises expired Oct. 31.
Since then, the boat - which was locally owned from 1946 to 1969 and still bears a "Port of Cincinnati" sign on her stern - has been docked near New Orleans.
But not for long. News came last week of the steamboat's next - and perhaps final - destination.
On Feb. 4, the Delta Queen steams upriver to Chattanooga, where it will be moored indefinitely (and preserved intact) to serve as a riverfront hotel. The steamboat - for sale for $10 million - will be docked by a park similar to Cincinnati's proposed project known as The Banks - except that the Tennessee town's version exists.
The boat's most recent turn of events has not scuttled Webster's campaign. She still intends to cajole, lobby, plead and, if necessary, browbeat members of Congress about the boat's exemption.
"What has happened to this boat is stupid," she said. She shook her head as she rested her four-foot, 11-inch frame on a sofa in her loft. The condo sits atop a converted office building that's 37 years older than the 82-year-old steamboat she intends to save.
"What's happened is also horribly wrong," she added. "And, when something's wrong, you have to speak up and say so."
Outside, winter winds howled and rattled her condo's windows. Inside, Perry - her Great Dane - gnawed on a bone in the kitchen.
Above those unsettling sounds, Webster calmly recalled how she fell in love with the Delta Queen and became the vessel's advocate.
She's so dedicated to the cause, she moved to Cincinnati from St. Louis in December 2007 "just to be closer to the action." The move and her activism have proved costly.
"In 2008," the free-lance writer and book editor said with a chuckle, "I only made one-third of what I made the year before."
When you're battling to save the one-of-a-kind Delta Queen steamboat, it helps to know how to deal with people who deal in hot air.
Vicki Webster has that gift. The feisty downtown Cincinnati loft dweller and leader of the grassroots Save the Delta Queen Campaign can speak the distinct languages of the crew and of Congress.
"To speak the specific language of steam boating," said Mary Charlton, a Mason native and the Delta Queen's on-board historian, "you have to love the boat and be a little crazy. That's Vicki."
"She can shoot down any argument against saving the boat in language that is clear and concise," said one of the boat's Congressional champions, former U.S. Rep. Steve Chabot, R-Westwood. "She's not in this for the money or an ulterior motive. She's doing this for the love of the boat."
Charlton and Chabot are just two of the hundreds of crew members and members of Congress Webster has buttonholed in her quest to save this floating National Historic Landmark. The boat represents a uniquely American-made mode of transportation that helped settle the Midwest.
The Delta Queen also happens to be the last of her kind. She is a paddlewheel-propelled steamboat with a wooden superstructure carrying overnight passengers. Federal law currently prohibits the boat from going on overnight cruises. Thanks to politics, a Congressional exemption permitting those cruises expired Oct. 31.
Since then, the boat - which was locally owned from 1946 to 1969 and still bears a "Port of Cincinnati" sign on her stern - has been docked near New Orleans.
But not for long. News came last week of the steamboat's next - and perhaps final - destination.
On Feb. 4, the Delta Queen steams upriver to Chattanooga, where it will be moored indefinitely (and preserved intact) to serve as a riverfront hotel. The steamboat - for sale for $10 million - will be docked by a park similar to Cincinnati's proposed project known as The Banks - except that the Tennessee town's version exists.
The boat's most recent turn of events has not scuttled Webster's campaign. She still intends to cajole, lobby, plead and, if necessary, browbeat members of Congress about the boat's exemption.
"What has happened to this boat is stupid," she said. She shook her head as she rested her four-foot, 11-inch frame on a sofa in her loft. The condo sits atop a converted office building that's 37 years older than the 82-year-old steamboat she intends to save.
"What's happened is also horribly wrong," she added. "And, when something's wrong, you have to speak up and say so."
Outside, winter winds howled and rattled her condo's windows. Inside, Perry - her Great Dane - gnawed on a bone in the kitchen.
Above those unsettling sounds, Webster calmly recalled how she fell in love with the Delta Queen and became the vessel's advocate.
She's so dedicated to the cause, she moved to Cincinnati from St. Louis in December 2007 "just to be closer to the action." The move and her activism have proved costly.
"In 2008," the free-lance writer and book editor said with a chuckle, "I only made one-third of what I made the year before."