Disston Past

“Echoes of Mary Disston: A Gulfport Cruise”


Boarding the cruise boat from the Historic Gulfport Casino, I caught a glimpse of her—the ghost of a bygone era.
Strolling through Gulfport’s waterfront district during the last ArtWalk, I felt time unravel. Passing the Peninsula Inn, I glanced at the clock tower, instinctively reaching for an imaginary pocket watch tucked in a wool vest beneath a highwayman’s jacket from a fancier age. Soon, I’d embark from the historic Gulfport Pier on a sunset cruise, reviving a tradition long dormant in this coastal gem.
In the late 1800s, the dirt road to the candlelit Casino buzzed with life. Trolleys clanged, streetcars tooted, and vendors hawked wares—some fine, some dubious—to visitors eager to soak in this paradise. A lady in a fitted bodice, puffy sleeves, and a feathered hat perched atop piled hair remarked, “Everyone is so friendly. They all say hello!” Her husband, sporting a black bow tie and Capezio Jazz oxfords, puffed his pipe and nodded. Even now, I’d agree—Gulfport’s charm endures.
Shadows flickered through cigar smoke in the alleys, where fishermen wagered their catch with dice tossed against walls. Two boys in knickers and caps smacked a can with a stick, their laughter echoing. High heels and laced boots clattered on the pier’s weathered planks, leading to the boat. A summer breeze carried smoke over the Casino’s roof, past quaint restaurants, and through ancient oaks and pines. It swirled above the Mary Disston, the steamboat’s remains resting mournfully on a sandbar.
Shoeless fishermen in rowboats tied up to the dock, displaying clams, oysters, mullet, and citrus from nearby islands. Their cries—“Cockles and mussels! Fresh fish!”—mingled with the evening air. Down the beach, mothers hiked skirts and shed boots to wade with children in high-yoked dresses and knickers, all chasing shells and splashing in the surf. “How’s the water?” a voice called.
Tonight, Captain Dan greeted us with care, checking names on his clipboard. Stepping aboard felt like stepping into a dream. Fellow cruisers mused over a sunken sailboat’s fate, imaginations alight. With lines cast off and a blender whirring, smiles lit up the deck. Why not? We’re cruising with the ghost of Mary Disston, her spirit alive in the Gulf’s timeless breeze.




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