Mark Twain endowed us with more than literary masterpieces. He gave us a lasting river lexicon. America’s exclusive fraternity of riverboat pilots adopted a term for disciples of Twain who act on their fantasies of wild river adventure: Tom’n’Hucks. Because the boat McLarty built made a cartoonish first impression, it attracted skeptical curiosity from river veterans and barge pilots. That’s understandable. The barge pilots are professionals, guiding billions of tons of commerce between the red and green buoys that mark the river’s navigable channel. They view primitive rafts the way you view a skateboard on a highway.

They soon learned that our boat was not primitive. They saw it was solid and seaworthy. And its captain earned their tolerance, maybe even begrudging respect. More important, McLarty showed respect to the big rigs and stayed out of their way. In one radio conversation, he patiently answered a tow captain’s queries. “Yes, I have a motor.” And charts. And navigation experience. And lifesaving gear. And respect for the Mississippi and its rules.

It was after this radio grilling that McLarty overheard his inquisitor talking to another tow pilot. “He’s OK,” one pilot reassured the other. “He’s not a Tom’n’Huck.”

–from Coastal Missouri