Burman, a veteran of the old-time Mississippi riverboats, indulges in some fond, lazy memories of the mighty river and the crews who piloted the big boats from Vicksburg to New Orleans. The fog was ""thick as a bowl of good Cajun gumbo,"" the darkies sang lustily as they loaded their cotton bales, and Old Al, a mythical alligator, presided over the black waters. Alas, it's all changed now. The showboats where you could hear Louisville Lou play the calliope, or a family of Swiss yodelers, or two fellas who played the Grand March from Aida on bicycle pumps are gone. Piloting the old tub ain't what it used to be 'cause ""now we've got as many gadgets as the astronauts going to the moon."" Burman is no Mark Twain but his recollections of river lore and the paddle-wheels churning through the night have a folksy-funky cadence that will appeal to other barefoot boys grown older.