October 26, 1954. It was a brisk, late autumn day when over 100 spectators, reporters and curiosity-seekers gathered at a popular boathouse to witness one of the more unusual events to have ever taken place on the Edmonds waterfront.

A few days earlier it had been reported that local resident Roy Bergo would be embarking on a one-man, 1,200-mile boat trip from Edmonds to Alaska. What had grabbed the public’s attention, though, was the boat itself — for Bergo would be making his perilous journey aboard a small children’s bathtub powered by a 2-horsepower outboard motor.

The comical image of a grown man making a long sea voyage in such an absurd vessel was something straight out of a nursery rhyme. Naturally, there was quite a bit of public amusement over the whole thing with more than a few tongue-in-cheek newspaper headlines. In fact, by the day of the launch, Bergo had already earned himself a nickname: “Rub-A-Dub Roy.”

Bergo’s bathtub boat was tethered to a pier at Jim’s Boathouse, just north of the ferry dock. The long-since closed marina and cafe was located at Brackett’s Landing North, arguably the town’s most historical stretch of beach.

George Brackett — the founder of Edmonds — landed here 147 years ago and would later use the site to build the town’s first sawmill. Just offshore sits the 27-acre Underwater Park, and of course, the beach is also the site of the popular Polar Bear Plunge that is held every year on New Year’s Day.

As Bergo loaded up his supplies, various people came forward to wish him luck and catch a closer glimpse of his unusual seacraft.

This included a reporter from the Everett Herald who gave the following description: “His bathtub ship is equipped with three pontoons, fashioned from stove pipe, to help buoy the few things it carries. One of the metal pontoons is placed at the bow and two more support the stern. All are affixed in outrigger fashion.”

Due to the tiny size of his boat, Bergo was only able to pack the most essential of provisions. This included a seat cushion, a three-gallon jug of gas, a tarp, a rain jacket, an oar and a meager supply of sandwiches and candy bars.

His plan was to gas up wherever he camped ashore each evening. Such a minimalist approach to ocean travel highlighted the danger of his journey, as he would most certainly be facing stormy weather and rough seas.

When asked why he had not packed any maps, charts, or navigational instruments, Bergo calmly replied, “I have the utmost confidence in my own ability and judgment,” adding, “Those waves can rough me up but they can’t kill me.”

Such devil-may-care planning for such a risky endeavor had not exactly gone over too well with his wife and daughter, both of whom were in attendance that day but were standing a good distance back and looking quite displeased. Bergo’s undertaking had obviously placed him in the family doghouse.

Joining them in the displeasure of the event were a perturbed-looking Coast Guard crew that were on hand, visibly shaking their heads over the pomp and circumstance of the whole affair. The Coast Guard had reluctantly given Bergo permission for his trip, but emphasized that he would be doing so at his own risk.

He had been given a book of regulations and was warned that he would be charged with “reckless operation” if any misfortune befell him during his voyage. A Coast Guard patrol boat would be accompanying Bergo on the first leg of his trip to closely monitor everything.

Noon was the scheduled departure time and when the big moment came, Bergo — attired in a wool cap, sweatshirt, and blue jeans — ceremoniously started up his small engine. This prompted a loud round of applause from the crowd, including his wife and daughter, though it was noted that they clapped with “no show of delight.”

With a dash of showmanship, he then lit a cigarette (mere inches from the plastic container full of gasoline), gave one last wave to everyone, and dramatically hit the throttle.  And with that, Rub-A-Dub Roy slowly putt-putted off into the horizon with the Coast Guard ship trailing closely behind.

After the dramatic departure from Jim’s Boathouse, Bergo headed due north for approximately 12 miles before landing at Double Bluff Beach on southern Whidbey Island. The sun had started to set so he decided to make camp for the night.

To the best of his calculations, he estimated the trip would take him about 25 days. The next stop on the itinerary was Port Townsend. From there he would be heading up to Victoria, BC, which would then put him on course to follow the Inland Passage route, with Anchorage, Alaska as his final destination.

The following morning, he loaded all his gear back onto his tiny bathtub boat and set off for day two of his voyage. Unfortunately, only 15 minutes after his departure the motor suddenly conked out. Bergo spent a considerable amount of time drifting around in the water while trying to bring the engine back to life but nothing seemed to work.

At some point he realized the futility of his predicament and signaled to the Coast Guard ship that he needed their help. The annoyed crew of guardsmen hitched Bergo and his bathtub boat to the stern of their ship and slowly gave him passage back to Double Bluff beach at Whidbey Island.

Once ashore, the captain issued a citation, delivered a gruff “we told you this would happen” lecture, and informed Bergo that he would have to make his own way back to Edmonds.

At the beach, Bergo realized that he had no choice but to leave his boat behind in order to make the long and arduous walk to the nearest payphone so he could hopefully arrange a ride home.

As one reporter would later quip, “The poor guy. Bergo didn’t even bring back the ring from his tub.” Not only did he spectacularly fail at his bathtub stunt, but he would also be returning home to an angry wife and daughter.

For most men, the entertainment of any further adventure would end right then and there. Bergo was an altogether different creature, though, and a few days later he was already planning his next feat.

Realizing the logistical improbability of journeying to faraway Alaska, Bergo decided to scale things down and attempt a much shorter trip. He would still be using the bathtub boat, but determined that it needed a makeover.

It was the mid-1950s and hydroplane races were incredibly popular at the time. Here in the Puget Sound region, the annual Seafair races were a televised event that people watched with the same zeal as the Super Bowl.

Taking visual inspiration from these local speedboats, Bergo added some sporty, new pontoons, installed a slightly faster engine, adorned everything with some splashy hydroplane-esque panels, and christened his new and improved boat the Miss Gold Cup. She was now ready to look her best for the local media.

In October 1955, a year after his ill-fated Alaska trip, Bergo appeared on the Tacoma waterfront with Miss Gold Cup, ready for his next boating venture. His destination this time around would be Victoria, BC.

The send-off crowd for this launch was much smaller compared to the first, with only a few newspaper reporters present.

When asked why his family was not present, Bergo downplayed any concern and replied, “I just can’t stand to be tied down. You know, my wife cries every time I start out in this boat. But women! Women just don’t have no sense of adventure.”

The departure itself was rather anticlimactic, and the trip — which took only a few days — was fairly uneventful. He eventually made it to Port Angeles, as per his plan, and from there he crossed the Strait of Juan de Fuca towards his Canadian destination.

A few miles offshore, he encountered a thick fog bank and found himself momentarily lost. Luckily, a passing tug boat pointed him in the right direction and he successfully made it to Victoria on Oct. 24, 1955.  At last, the bathtub mariner was finally able to enjoy himself a small taste of victory.

After Bergo’s successful voyage to Victoria, he and his family moved to a rural part of Snohomish County, where his focus curiously shifted from boating to explosives.

Apparently, Bergo had somehow obtained a few crates of dynamite and, for reasons that are unclear to the normal human range of logic and reason, decided to detonate the dynamite and then stand in close proximity to the explosions.

As he would later explain to reporters, this was to establish himself as a true and bona fide daredevil. He wore a helmet, goggles and a leather belt to protect his stomach.

During one interview, he boasted, “My system has become accustomed to the shock. My fear of dynamite is completely gone. Shooting it off for me is like playing with penny firecrackers.” It was at this point that local newspapers bestowed Bergo with a new nickname: “Boom Boom Bergo.”

Apparently unaware of the dangers involved in close-quarter combat, Bergo proclaimed his intention to serve his country in the best possible way that he knew: “If I keep building up my resistance, I could carry an apron full of bombs in the middle of the enemy forces and throw the bombs all around and they wouldn’t hurt me.”

He even reached out to the U.S. armed forces, volunteering his services as a one-man blitzkrieg. Despite such a tempting proposal, the military politely declined his offer.

Bergo then decided to reach out to Hollywood. Perhaps these feats with the dynamite could be his ticket to becoming a celebrity stuntman. Unfortunately for him, even the Hollywood Stunting Association deemed his dynamite act to be too dangerous.  As he relayed to reporters, “My stunt won’t even be accepted by the stunting association. That’s how hazardous they consider it.”

Much to the likely relief of his wife and daughter, Bergo eventually grew bored with deadly explosives and shifted his attention back to the sea. In March 1957, he announced that he had developed a special pair of shoes which would allow him to walk on water. Reportedly made of balsa wood and fiberglass, Bergo even showed up at the Seattle Times in order to announce that he would be using these water shoes to walk across Elliot Bay, from Seattle to Bremerton.

As he described the stunt, “It’s as safe as any dangerous thing can be. But it’s definitely going to be physical. It will take every faculty I’ve got.” Naturally, the press had some fun with this, with one local columnist even penning a poem:

“Bergo, bub, please stick to your tub

Safely moored in the room where you scrub

And think twice, man

‘Bout your catamaran –”

Curiously, after his water shoe announcement, Bergo simply disappeared from the public record with no mention ever made of him again until 15 years later, when his obituary was published in 1972.

He passed away in California, and by all accounts, there were no missing limbs or digits when he finally made his departure for the great hereafter. Even more surprising was that he had remained married to the same woman (bestowed, no doubt, with the patience of a saint) right up until his death at the age of 68.

Bergo’s story, as amusing as it is, serves as an ode to our not-so-distant past; back when the local area still had a healthy abundance of eccentric characters.

He embodied the same quirky spirit that was seen in such personalities as Ivar Haglund — the Seattle folk singer, prankster, and founder of Ivar’s Fish and Chips (“Keep Clam!”), whose escapades and publicity stunts kept the local area entertained for decades.

Before him existed Robert W. Patten, also known as “The Umbrella Man” due to the iconic umbrella hat that he wore everywhere. Patten lived on a Seattle houseboat and he even served as the main character of a popular daily comic strip.

Likewise, Bergo’s daredevil shenanigans were a page torn from this same book, representing a time when the local populace was kept entertained by those who dared to be a little different.  

• A special thanks to Byron Wilkes for helping me pinpoint the location of where Jim’s Boathouse once sat, and also to Alan Hardwick for the aerial shot of Brackett’s Landing North.

• To view a 1954 newsreel showing Bergo at Brackett’s Landing North, visit here: www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=Fa9p9vWfs6w

— By Brad Holden

A 25-year Edmonds resident, Brad Holden is a columnist for Seattle Magazine, is a contributing writer for HistoryLink.org (an online encyclopedia of Washington state history) and his work has also appeared in the Seattle Times. Holden has been profiled on KIRO and KOMO news, Seattle Refined, NPR, KING 5 Evening! and various publications. Holden’s trilogy of books related to local Prohibition history — including his latest book, Lost Roadhouses of Seattle — are available online and at bookstores.