Editorial: Let The Speculation Begin! Admiral On The Block

With Columbia Sussex Corporation expressing a desire to buy the President Casino on the Admiral (presently docked on the St. Louis riverfront), and the St. Louis Port Authority having given preliminary support to putting a new casino between Eads and Martin Luther King bridges on Laclede’s Landing, what will become of the venerable old vessel?

St. Louis Post-Dispatch writer Christopher Carey speculates (probably quite accurately) in an article about St. Louis gaming operations, "The plan likely would mean the end of the Admiral, a metal-clad, Art Deco-style vessel that once operated as an excursion boat on the Mississippi River."

Columbia Sussex offered $57 million for the Admiral, representing a portion of the $100 million the company plans to invest in its St. Louis project. The company plans to replace the vessel with a new one that could be ready in 2006 and be put in place one day after the Admiral’s removal. Sussex has an option to buy the Riverfront Garage (between the two bridges) and an adjoining lot upon which another garage would be built. That would increase parking to upwards of 650 spaces compared with 250 in the present Admiral parking lot.

Sussex has talked about donating the Admiral to a civic organization or cause, but there is fear it could be more of a burden than a blessing. Maintenance is high. The company believes scrapping the Admiral might be the best choice. So do we.

Rehabilitating tired old vessels is very costly and has brought about the demise of many well-meaning organizations. The old Goldenrod, where hundreds of thousands of St. Louis visitors enjoyed melodramas for a time, proved to be an albatross for St. Charles, which took the vessel over after it was removed from the St. Louis riverfront. Thousands upon thousands of dollars were "poured" into the project before it was decided to rid that city of the financial drain.

As a cruise boat, the Admiral did operate quite successfully and carried several thousand passengers a day when business was good. Many big-name bands and musicians were featured in the old days. A day on the Admiral was something to remember. But luck ran out. The hull was bad, a fact that had been concealed successfully for a time. But one day the hammer struck (literally) and the boat’s days as a cruising vessel were over. A Coast Guard inspector was led to a spot where his trusty hammer, tool of his hull-inspection trade, punched a hole through the bottom.

Estimates at the time put the cost of a new hull at $2 million, and no one wanted to spend it. If the facts were known, that might have been a bargain. It might have kept the Admiral afloat as a family attraction for many more years. Instead, it became a white elephant. Stripped of its new engines, it was purchased and moved to Pittsburgh by John Connelly, who operated a large fleet of vessels there at the time. But St. Louis had second thoughts about the sale, so Connelly returned it. There, the boat, once a railroad car ferry, was eventually sold again to Connelly, who ultimately turned it into a gambling casino.

"If Ships Could Talk," a poem in a book by the same name, speculates about the exciting mysteries that could be revealed if old ships could tell their secrets. Truly, the Admiral might have some great ones. But there comes a time to let go. Dream spinners might be successful at convincing willing donors to cough up the huge amount of money that would be necessary to keep the old boat afloat, but without a new hull, it could never sail. A good guess would be that it would take millions of dollars to make the Admiral into something other than a gambling boat, and the cost of docking it would be costly as well.

The President, another old vessel operated for a time in St. Louis by Connelly, had beautiful lines and provided great cruises during its lifetime. In the 1950s it operated as a cruise vessel in New Orleans. But this boat, too, became a casino, and as we understand it, it is near to being scrapped (or perhaps already has been) down Tennessee way.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote in "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere," "Hardly a man is now alive who remembers that famous day and year." And we add: when the Admiral first came to the St. Louis riverfront. It has not provided entertainment for children for a long time. St. Louis folks and visitors have long forgotten what it is to ride a big boat below the Arch, to munch fried chicken and ice cream and dance on the huge ballroom floor. Only Gateway Arch Riverboats, operated by the Bi-State Development Agency, operates smaller boats—the Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher—there, providing a dim reminder of the mighty river’s past and the landing’s glory days.

Most assuredly, the St. Louis leaders hope to breathe new life into the city. Establishing multimillion-dollar, land-based gambling establishments and authorizing another casino boat could bear good fruit. It could also empty the food baskets of too many people who have better use for their money, but we’re hoping for the best.

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