BY THE WAY: CREWMAN IN LOVE WITH CAPE, NOT EX-WIFE

The crewman, who leads a subterranean existence in the bowels of the Mississippi Queen, seemed friendly enough until I asked for his name.

He looked at me as if I'd asked for his shirt. "You don't need to put that in the article, do you?" he said, his brows pinched close enough to knit a column idea. I was in the presence of drop-dead fear. "If my ex-wife finds out where I am, this could be a real bad deal."

This was beginning to unfold like a classic Bogart film, something I wouldn't mind playing again and again.

Maybe it was just my imagination running amok. I wondered if perhaps this guy was pulling my leg. Are you sure it would be a problem to identify you? I asked.

"Why do you think I'd take a job like this in the first place," he said. "People find work on boats and circuses because they're trying to get away from something. I thought everybody knew that," he said, casting a wary glance behind me as if he were worried the conversation were being overheard.

Once he was assured I would withhold his true identity, he became friendly once again. "This is a great occupation," he said, snapping his fingers against a closed fist. It sounded like something Curly used to do on the Three Stooges.

The crewman on the lam said he works 12-hour shifts below deck in the boiler room. When he is able to take a break on deck or spend a few hours watching tourists, it seems like something akin to a reprieve from jail.

"I really like it when we stop in towns like Cape Girardeau because the people seem to appreciate these boats," he said. "It seems like the further north we go from New Orleans, the more people get excited about seeing us."

He said he especially likes to climb to the top deck and watch people on the courthouse steps staring at the Mississippi Queen. "Most towns aren't this close to the river," he said. "You've got a nice town to live in. The people seem real friendly. Look how they stick around even in the rain."

Perhaps he was thinking this might be nice place to move to escape the clutches of his ex-wife. "Oh, I don't think so," he said, shaking his head. "My quasi brother-in-law lives here and so does someone I know who works for the university."

He asked me if they still call it Normal. I thought he was going batty in the boiler room. I told him they call it Southeast Missouri State. He seemed like his thoughts were drifting elsewhere, so I closed my notebook and thanked him for the interview.

He told me he had to go back to work anyway. But he invited me to walk around the boat and look at the expensive cabins. "The passengers pay a bundle, but they get a bundle in return," he said, making that Three Stooges snapping sound once again.

Before long I learned that a man calling himself the last of the Riverboat gamblers would be more than happy to reveal his identity. Bodine Jackson Balasco was a lot of fun to talk to, but nothing like the crewman who sweats out the pursuit of his ex-wife while laboring in the boiler room.

Nothing beats Bogart hiding out on the Mississippi Queen.

~Bill Heitland is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.