My parents read a lot. We had lots of magazines and books around the house, and from the time we could read, none of us were forbidden to touch any of them. There were no trashy romance novels, no stashes of porn; the closest thing to inappropriate was a pile of Cosmos that a cousin had handed down (and my mom had no interest in). Plus, a lot of the thrillers and such were in Condensed Book form, so they were the equivalent of movies cut for TV. Anything graphic was edited out.
There were books we had to treat carefully, and those were on high shelves - the encyclopedias, the old family Bibles. We were expected to have clean hands, be gentle, put them away.
We had lots of storybooks, too, but if we could read something the adults owned, that was OK. Mom sometimes told us that we probably wouldn't like a book that was really dry, from a kid's point of view, or warned us that there was something we might not like (for me, that meant animals dying. I still loved Old Yeller). But if we could read the words, we could read the book (or magazine).
I remember sitting in the living room and reading a magazine while my mom sat across the room reading something. I came across a word I didn't know. I was never the kid who just skipped those; I had to find out how to say it, and what it meant. So, I asked my mom, "What are genitals?"
She looked a bit surprised, and said, "Private parts - reproductive organs. What are you reading that has that word in it?"
"Reader's Digest." She raised her eyebrows, so I elaborated - "It's an article about a bear attack. It says the man covered his during the attack." Now I understood why.
Mom said, "I'll bet he did." Then she wanted to know, "Did he survive?"
"I haven't finished the article yet, but the title has the word 'survival' in it, so I'm guessing he did."
"That's good," Mom said, and went back to reading.
That kind of parenting was perfect for me. She didn't lecture me about reading something scary and tell me that I'd have nightmares. (Books rarely scared me.) She didn't rush to reassure me that bear attacks were rare, and that we were safe when we went into the woods. (I knew that anyway, and the article had already covered that ground if I didn't.) She certainly never refused to tell me what a word meant, or made me feel bad for asking. She gave clear, factual answers, without unnecessary detail.
I was eight years old when the book Jaws came out. I remember clearly lying in the hammock in the back yard, reading in the opening pages the description of the first victim reaching down, thinking she'd caught her foot on something, and discovering that her whole leg was gone. A fly landed on my book, and in irritation I slammed the book shut, squishing it between the pages, then regretted my impulsiveness.
I loved Brody, Hooper and Quint. I loved the way that each needed the other's expertise to get the job done. I rolled my eyes at their bickering, and was captivated by their bonding. I understood parts of each of their personalities.
At eight, though, my only experience with losing a main character was Old Yeller. I naively assumed that all of our principles would live. After all, so far, everyone who'd died had been someone we'd met for mere moments.
Then Quint died. I took it very hard; I was devastated. Decades later, I still feel it.
I did not understand the reaction that a lot of people had: "I will never go in the ocean again!" A very literal person, I could not figure out if people had never known that sharks existed. That seemed unlikely. If you knew that sharks existed, why would a book about one be surprising? Turns out, most of them had just never considered that a shark might attack them, personally.
My reaction was, "You know what in the ocean is most likely to kill you? The water." Most animals will leave you alone, most of the time. Water is relentless, and doesn't care about you. Still, people felt sure that intellect and ability would keep them safe from the actual water - just don't breathe it, right? A shark sounded much more unpredictable and frightening.
Still, I fell back on the numbers, how many people die every year from drowning vs. shark attack. Plus, Benchley called his character a "rogue" shark, over and over. The whole point was that this was not a normal shark, and not a normal summer. Plus, it was fiction. He could have made the shark talk if he wanted to; fiction is not constrained by facts.
Decades later, I'm still afraid of drowning; sharks still don't bother me a bit.
The next year, when the movie came out, kids at school kept asking each other, "Have you seen Jaws?" I kept saying, "No, but I've read the book." (One kid earned a scowl by saying, "What book?")
When I was sleeping over at a friend's house, her dad asked my mom if it was OK if I went with them to the movie. "Sure. She's read the book; she'll be fine," Mom said. And she was right; the scenes of the camera gliding over the ocean bottom at the beginning of the show felt scarier than any of the scenes with the shark.
Except when we still lost Quint. I hoped that they'd let him live this time, but no. In a way, that made me happy, because I hate it when filmmakers change the plot, but I hated losing Quint, too.
I had the same rules for my kids concerning books as my mom had had for me - clean hands, treat it right, don't leave it out, put it away when you're done. But I didn't have any books that I hid from them. If there was something not appropriate for kids - I read a lot of mysteries and histories, and people in those have a tendency to die, often in colorful ways - I put it on a high shelf. By the time you could reach the shelf, you'd be old enough to read it.
My daughter was home from college for a visit, and I said something about a crime; I forget which one. "Oh, yeah, I read about that in your book," she said.
"Which book?" I wanted to know.
She told me, then said, "Whoops. I probably shouldn't have told you that." It was a book about famous unsolved crimes - Jack the Ripper, the Black Dahlia, JonBenet Ramsey.
"Why not?"
"Because I read your book."
"Did you ruin it?"
"No."
"Did you put it back?"
"Yeah."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I figured you'd be mad if I read it."
"Let me get this straight. It's a book that I bought - not just borrowed, but spent money on. It's something that I'm interested in. And you thought that would be a problem?"
"Well, yeah. People were, like, murdered."
"So, you thought that a book that sat in plain sight, on a shelf literally right outside your bedroom, would be forbidden."
"Well, yeah." She actually looked a bit disappointed that I wasn't angry, but I thought that this was very funny. Kid, if I didn't want you to know that the book existed, I would not put it at eye level, 6 inches away from your bedroom door.
Also, if I would have said, "This is really fascinating, you should read this," I probably would have gotten, "Ew! That's gross! What is wrong with you? Why would I want to read that?"
I have only one book with pages that I don't want left where people can see them, and that's because I would have a problem. I own a big, glossy, fascinating book about the Titanic. But, the pages with photos of the wreck are paper clipped together. The kids all know that they're welcome to look, but as soon as they're done, those paper clips go back on!
Because the scariest thing in my books is still the water.
Showing posts with label Titanic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Titanic. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 5, 2020
Thursday, January 24, 2019
Go Now, Do Your Best
Last year, I was teaching once a month in our women's meetings at church. The leaders would choose a talk given by one of the church's worldwide leaders (usually from the twice a year global "General Conference"), and ask teachers to prepare a 45 minute lesson on the topic.
One month, the talk given to me as the theme of my lesson was this one. The theme was "To The Rescue," and talked about both physical and spiritual ways to "rescue."
Other than giving you a talk as a topic, the local leaders really give teachers a lot of latitude in how they present the topic. Teachers are supposed to pray, study, consider the needs of our congregation, then present a 45 minute lesson. Nobody asks for a rough draft or outline; they trust you to develop your lesson, and know that each person would do it differently.
I remembered hearing this talk in General Conference, and it really resonated with me at the time. One of the stories contained in the talk was from Alejandro Patania, sharing an experience that his brother, Daniel, had.
Daniel captained a fishing boat. One day, the boat received word of an approaching storm, and made the decision to head for land. They came across another fishing vessel that was in distress, with its engines having failed. Daniel's crew hooked up a tow line to try to pull the disabled vessel into port.
They radioed in their position and circumstances, asking for help. On land, the navy, the coast guard, and the fisherman's association sent representatives to a meeting to discuss how best to help. Should they send out a rescue vessel? Which one? Should they wait? What was the best course of action?
Here's a quote from the talk: "While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan. When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came."
Oh, my. I cannot describe to you how that makes me feel. I am terrified of water, sincerely terrified by the fear of drowning, and the thought of holding a meeting while ships were asking for help is just too terrible to contemplate. It's a horror.
It also had predictable results. The tow line broke, the boat without power started to sink, and Daniel's vessel radioed that they were attempting to pull survivors from the water. Then, there were no more messages. Both boats, and everyone aboard, were lost.
Men died because people in safety and security couldn't decide on the correct protocol to save them.
It is a horror.
For my lesson, I decided to tell stories of calls for help that had a different ending than Daniel's story. I immediately thought of two - the rescue of the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies and the Titanic.
My main points, in referring to times when others needed help were: 1. Go quickly, and 2. Give your best.
Go Quickly
The Willie Company and the Martin Company were two groups of pioneers headed to the Salt Lake Valley. Instead of horse or cattle drawn wagons, they had handcarts - essentially, trailers pulled by humans. You could only bring as much as your family could physically pull - which, really, wasn't much, since these were some of the poorer emigrants (hence the lack of wagons or livestock). A Wyoming history website notes, " Rations were one pound of flour per person daily, plus any meat shot on the way. The carts were pulled by one or two people while other family members pushed behind or walked alongside."
They also, like the ill-fated Donner Party, left late in the season, and were affected by winter storms that came early in their season. By October, in what is now Wyoming, they were cold, hungry and literally starving, with rations having been slashed. Deaths would eventually be up to 25% of the companies. History notes, "It was by far the worst non-military disaster on the emigrant trails."
This was a time and place in which messages could not be readily sent. The pioneer companies couldn't telegraph or send letters - the only long distance communication available in those days. The only way the settlers in Salt Lake would know what was happening was for messengers on horses to go from the companies to Salt Lake.
On October 4, 1856, word reached Brigham Young that there were companies still on the way, and that some were in distress. The next day, October 5, he was scheduled to speak in General Conference, which, at that time, might be the only time that families who had traveled considerable distances would hear the leaders speak. (Today, we have live satellite broadcasts, the Internet, and published copies of the talks; back then, you heard people in person, or you got a second, third, or even fourth hand, account, often weeks or months later.)
When President Young (his title as church president) got up to speak, he cancelled the prepared remarks, telling the assembled worshippers that the people struggling to reach Salt Lake should be everyone's highest priority. He said, “I will now give this people the subject and the text of the Elders who may speak to-day and during the conference. It is this. On the 5th day of October, 1856, many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them...
I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 112 or -15 wagons...
I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom (heaven) of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains."
The townspeople began loading the wagons immediately; the first wagons left the valley on October 7. More left on October 22, October 31, (a nearby fort sent some on October 22) - they weren't content to say, "We sent help, and now we wait," they sent it as soon as the wagons could be loaded, and they kept sending it.
"I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor the next day;" that's a true leader. Keep in mind, October 5, 1856 was a Sunday, but there was no talk of resting that day, because someone needed help.
That kind of leadership was also displayed by Captain Arthur Rostron, captain of the RMS Carpathia, the ship that rescued the Titanic survivors. (Read details in "A Night to Remember" by Walter Lord.)
On April 15, 1912, the Carpathia received the Titanic's distress signal. There were other ships who received the call who thought it must be a mistake, or a hoax, and at least one ship, the Californian, just barely in sight of Titanic, testified that they had her radio off, and that they never received the middle of the night call. (Rumors, then and now, whispered that the Californian heard the call, but ignored it, as they were stopped in an ice field, and paralyzed by fear. If so, I totally understand - as I said, fear of drowning overwhelms me. Plus, I'm not worried about a crew, vessel and cargo for whom I have resposibility. So, I get it; it's understandable. But understandable does not mean desirable or beneficial.)
On the Carpathia, wireless operator Harold Cottam went immediately to Rostron's quarters - the captain was already in bed. Sitting up in bed, the captain gave the order to turn the ship around immediately, and head for Titanic's coordinates. He also ordered extra lookouts to watch for ice. Only after those orders were carried out did he seek out Cottam and say, "Are you sure?"
The Carpathia was a passenger ship. Diverting would put them behind schedule, which could mean angry passengers and an angry Cunard line, the ship's owners. And, if the captain or the wireless operator had misheard the news, there would undoubtedly be excessive ribbing from the crew. Yet, he ordered the new course before he confirmed that there actually had been a distress call from Titanic. He was willing to act on the need immediately, and confirm later, because if the need was real, there was not a moment to spare. Turn the ship first; ask, "Are you sure?" second.
Give Your Best
We humans have a tendency to give "what we can spare" when helping others. Either with good intentions or just exhibiting carelessness, often in our day, people will send wildly inappropriate items to victims of fire, flood, or other disasters. Winter coats arrived in Indonesia for tsunami victims. In recent months, the victims of devastating California wildfires started issuing requests through various agencies - "Stop sending us your old stuff." Sure, when you have nothing, you appreciate any gesture, but when you keep getting used towels and sheets and you need beds and chairs, it can be adding insult to injury. Our local food bank frequently reminds us that a food drive is not a chance to clean out and donate the expired items in your cupboard - they're not allowed to distribute expired food. (Whether you agree or not doesn't change the policy.)
Steam ships, like the Carpathia, could not just speed up, like a car with someone pressing harder on the gas. In order to go faster, the steam engines needed more steam - and they didn't have the option of getting more fuel. Captain Rostron diverted steam from heat and hot water, in order to send it to the engines. (Imagine having no heat or hot water on a passenger ship today, no matter what the reason!) The ship went almost twice as fast as its normal speed, reaching the survivors in 3 1/2 hours.
All told, Rostron gave 23 orders before they reached the survivors. (source: "Titanic Hero: The Autobiography of Captain Rostron of the Carpathia") After they loaded the survivors, they were given blankets, food, tea, beds... they severely crowded the ship, but no one complained. The Carpathia had been headed to Europe, but she turned around and went back to New York. The needs of the shipwrecked survivors outweighed the needs of the other travelers.
In Salt Lake in 1856, the women leaving the church building after hearing about the handcart companies in need began peeling off their stockings and petticoats, tossing them onto the piles of relief supplies, hoping to keep warm some women that they had never met. The clothes on their bodies were the first items donated - their own comfort or modesty was a dim secondary concern.
From the pulpit that day, Brigham Young said, "I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams... First, 40 good young men who know how to drive teams, to take charge of the teams that are now managed by men, women and children who know nothing about driving them. Second, 60 or 65 good spans of mules, or horses, with harness, whipple trees, neck yokes, stretchers, lead chains, etc. And thirdly, 24 thousand pounds of flour, which we have on hand."
Notice, he repeatedly asks for good horses, good men, good everything. Not, "Do you have a spare in your barn?" or something else that left room for second best. He notes that the things he wants are "in this Territory" or "on hand" - no "take time to look around, see what you can find." He wanted the best, and he wanted it now - and he got it. The people gathered things quickly and willingly.
There were approximately 650 survivors of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. There were between 701 and 713 survivors of the RMS Titanic; counts vary.
I did not include in the lesson another hero of mine, Captain Bernie Cooper of the SS Arthur M. Anderson, because that story does not have a happy ending. The Anderson was a cargo ship on the Great Lakes; in 1975, she was the last ship in contact with the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a freighter lost in a storm on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975.
The Fitzgerald and the Anderson, along with other ships on the lake, were caught in a ferocious storm. Both were headed to Whitefish Bay and the safety of the port. Captain Cooper was in contact with Captain Ernest McSorley of the Fitzgerald as the storm progressed. The Fitzgerald was taking on water, but the last message from her bridge, sent to the Anderson, was, "We're holding our own." That message came in at 7:10 PM. Then she was gone, so fast that no mayday was sent, no lifeboats launched.
Capt. Cooper repeatedly radioed the shore and other vessels to express concern for the Fitzgerald, starting at 7:39 PM, asking if anyone had been in contact with McSorley, as he now couldn't reach the Fitz by radio, or see them on radar. He officially reported the Fitz missing at 9:03 PM. When the Anderson was sailing into port, the Coast Guard asked Captain Cooper to go back and look for the Fitzgerald; they feared that her communications were out, and she might be adrift. Cooper had just experienced sustained winds of 58 MPH, and gusts up to 86 MPH. The waves were as high as 35 feet. Yet they turned and went back out into the storm, the same storm that had swallowed the Fitzgerald. An hour and a half later, the Coast Guard asked other vessels to assist. But the Fitzgerald was gone, and all 29 crewmen were dead.
Sometimes, your best efforts won't be enough.
But, always, go quickly, and give your best.
One month, the talk given to me as the theme of my lesson was this one. The theme was "To The Rescue," and talked about both physical and spiritual ways to "rescue."
Other than giving you a talk as a topic, the local leaders really give teachers a lot of latitude in how they present the topic. Teachers are supposed to pray, study, consider the needs of our congregation, then present a 45 minute lesson. Nobody asks for a rough draft or outline; they trust you to develop your lesson, and know that each person would do it differently.
I remembered hearing this talk in General Conference, and it really resonated with me at the time. One of the stories contained in the talk was from Alejandro Patania, sharing an experience that his brother, Daniel, had.
Daniel captained a fishing boat. One day, the boat received word of an approaching storm, and made the decision to head for land. They came across another fishing vessel that was in distress, with its engines having failed. Daniel's crew hooked up a tow line to try to pull the disabled vessel into port.
They radioed in their position and circumstances, asking for help. On land, the navy, the coast guard, and the fisherman's association sent representatives to a meeting to discuss how best to help. Should they send out a rescue vessel? Which one? Should they wait? What was the best course of action?
Here's a quote from the talk: "While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan. When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came."
Oh, my. I cannot describe to you how that makes me feel. I am terrified of water, sincerely terrified by the fear of drowning, and the thought of holding a meeting while ships were asking for help is just too terrible to contemplate. It's a horror.
It also had predictable results. The tow line broke, the boat without power started to sink, and Daniel's vessel radioed that they were attempting to pull survivors from the water. Then, there were no more messages. Both boats, and everyone aboard, were lost.
Men died because people in safety and security couldn't decide on the correct protocol to save them.
It is a horror.
For my lesson, I decided to tell stories of calls for help that had a different ending than Daniel's story. I immediately thought of two - the rescue of the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies and the Titanic.
My main points, in referring to times when others needed help were: 1. Go quickly, and 2. Give your best.
Go Quickly
The Willie Company and the Martin Company were two groups of pioneers headed to the Salt Lake Valley. Instead of horse or cattle drawn wagons, they had handcarts - essentially, trailers pulled by humans. You could only bring as much as your family could physically pull - which, really, wasn't much, since these were some of the poorer emigrants (hence the lack of wagons or livestock). A Wyoming history website notes, " Rations were one pound of flour per person daily, plus any meat shot on the way. The carts were pulled by one or two people while other family members pushed behind or walked alongside."
They also, like the ill-fated Donner Party, left late in the season, and were affected by winter storms that came early in their season. By October, in what is now Wyoming, they were cold, hungry and literally starving, with rations having been slashed. Deaths would eventually be up to 25% of the companies. History notes, "It was by far the worst non-military disaster on the emigrant trails."
This was a time and place in which messages could not be readily sent. The pioneer companies couldn't telegraph or send letters - the only long distance communication available in those days. The only way the settlers in Salt Lake would know what was happening was for messengers on horses to go from the companies to Salt Lake.
On October 4, 1856, word reached Brigham Young that there were companies still on the way, and that some were in distress. The next day, October 5, he was scheduled to speak in General Conference, which, at that time, might be the only time that families who had traveled considerable distances would hear the leaders speak. (Today, we have live satellite broadcasts, the Internet, and published copies of the talks; back then, you heard people in person, or you got a second, third, or even fourth hand, account, often weeks or months later.)
When President Young (his title as church president) got up to speak, he cancelled the prepared remarks, telling the assembled worshippers that the people struggling to reach Salt Lake should be everyone's highest priority. He said, “I will now give this people the subject and the text of the Elders who may speak to-day and during the conference. It is this. On the 5th day of October, 1856, many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them...
I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 112 or -15 wagons...
I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom (heaven) of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains."
The townspeople began loading the wagons immediately; the first wagons left the valley on October 7. More left on October 22, October 31, (a nearby fort sent some on October 22) - they weren't content to say, "We sent help, and now we wait," they sent it as soon as the wagons could be loaded, and they kept sending it.
"I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor the next day;" that's a true leader. Keep in mind, October 5, 1856 was a Sunday, but there was no talk of resting that day, because someone needed help.
That kind of leadership was also displayed by Captain Arthur Rostron, captain of the RMS Carpathia, the ship that rescued the Titanic survivors. (Read details in "A Night to Remember" by Walter Lord.)
On April 15, 1912, the Carpathia received the Titanic's distress signal. There were other ships who received the call who thought it must be a mistake, or a hoax, and at least one ship, the Californian, just barely in sight of Titanic, testified that they had her radio off, and that they never received the middle of the night call. (Rumors, then and now, whispered that the Californian heard the call, but ignored it, as they were stopped in an ice field, and paralyzed by fear. If so, I totally understand - as I said, fear of drowning overwhelms me. Plus, I'm not worried about a crew, vessel and cargo for whom I have resposibility. So, I get it; it's understandable. But understandable does not mean desirable or beneficial.)
On the Carpathia, wireless operator Harold Cottam went immediately to Rostron's quarters - the captain was already in bed. Sitting up in bed, the captain gave the order to turn the ship around immediately, and head for Titanic's coordinates. He also ordered extra lookouts to watch for ice. Only after those orders were carried out did he seek out Cottam and say, "Are you sure?"
The Carpathia was a passenger ship. Diverting would put them behind schedule, which could mean angry passengers and an angry Cunard line, the ship's owners. And, if the captain or the wireless operator had misheard the news, there would undoubtedly be excessive ribbing from the crew. Yet, he ordered the new course before he confirmed that there actually had been a distress call from Titanic. He was willing to act on the need immediately, and confirm later, because if the need was real, there was not a moment to spare. Turn the ship first; ask, "Are you sure?" second.
Give Your Best
We humans have a tendency to give "what we can spare" when helping others. Either with good intentions or just exhibiting carelessness, often in our day, people will send wildly inappropriate items to victims of fire, flood, or other disasters. Winter coats arrived in Indonesia for tsunami victims. In recent months, the victims of devastating California wildfires started issuing requests through various agencies - "Stop sending us your old stuff." Sure, when you have nothing, you appreciate any gesture, but when you keep getting used towels and sheets and you need beds and chairs, it can be adding insult to injury. Our local food bank frequently reminds us that a food drive is not a chance to clean out and donate the expired items in your cupboard - they're not allowed to distribute expired food. (Whether you agree or not doesn't change the policy.)
Steam ships, like the Carpathia, could not just speed up, like a car with someone pressing harder on the gas. In order to go faster, the steam engines needed more steam - and they didn't have the option of getting more fuel. Captain Rostron diverted steam from heat and hot water, in order to send it to the engines. (Imagine having no heat or hot water on a passenger ship today, no matter what the reason!) The ship went almost twice as fast as its normal speed, reaching the survivors in 3 1/2 hours.
All told, Rostron gave 23 orders before they reached the survivors. (source: "Titanic Hero: The Autobiography of Captain Rostron of the Carpathia") After they loaded the survivors, they were given blankets, food, tea, beds... they severely crowded the ship, but no one complained. The Carpathia had been headed to Europe, but she turned around and went back to New York. The needs of the shipwrecked survivors outweighed the needs of the other travelers.
In Salt Lake in 1856, the women leaving the church building after hearing about the handcart companies in need began peeling off their stockings and petticoats, tossing them onto the piles of relief supplies, hoping to keep warm some women that they had never met. The clothes on their bodies were the first items donated - their own comfort or modesty was a dim secondary concern.
From the pulpit that day, Brigham Young said, "I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams... First, 40 good young men who know how to drive teams, to take charge of the teams that are now managed by men, women and children who know nothing about driving them. Second, 60 or 65 good spans of mules, or horses, with harness, whipple trees, neck yokes, stretchers, lead chains, etc. And thirdly, 24 thousand pounds of flour, which we have on hand."
Notice, he repeatedly asks for good horses, good men, good everything. Not, "Do you have a spare in your barn?" or something else that left room for second best. He notes that the things he wants are "in this Territory" or "on hand" - no "take time to look around, see what you can find." He wanted the best, and he wanted it now - and he got it. The people gathered things quickly and willingly.
There were approximately 650 survivors of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. There were between 701 and 713 survivors of the RMS Titanic; counts vary.
I did not include in the lesson another hero of mine, Captain Bernie Cooper of the SS Arthur M. Anderson, because that story does not have a happy ending. The Anderson was a cargo ship on the Great Lakes; in 1975, she was the last ship in contact with the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a freighter lost in a storm on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975.
The Fitzgerald and the Anderson, along with other ships on the lake, were caught in a ferocious storm. Both were headed to Whitefish Bay and the safety of the port. Captain Cooper was in contact with Captain Ernest McSorley of the Fitzgerald as the storm progressed. The Fitzgerald was taking on water, but the last message from her bridge, sent to the Anderson, was, "We're holding our own." That message came in at 7:10 PM. Then she was gone, so fast that no mayday was sent, no lifeboats launched.
Capt. Cooper repeatedly radioed the shore and other vessels to express concern for the Fitzgerald, starting at 7:39 PM, asking if anyone had been in contact with McSorley, as he now couldn't reach the Fitz by radio, or see them on radar. He officially reported the Fitz missing at 9:03 PM. When the Anderson was sailing into port, the Coast Guard asked Captain Cooper to go back and look for the Fitzgerald; they feared that her communications were out, and she might be adrift. Cooper had just experienced sustained winds of 58 MPH, and gusts up to 86 MPH. The waves were as high as 35 feet. Yet they turned and went back out into the storm, the same storm that had swallowed the Fitzgerald. An hour and a half later, the Coast Guard asked other vessels to assist. But the Fitzgerald was gone, and all 29 crewmen were dead.
Sometimes, your best efforts won't be enough.
But, always, go quickly, and give your best.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Water, Water Everywhere
We were watching previews in the movie theater in early 2012, and Bill Paxton's voice said, "Are you ready to go back to Titanic?" The lovely flute notes of "My Heart Will Go On" began, and the preview for James Cameron's blockbuster movie played.
At first, all I thought was, "Oh, they're rereleasing it." After all, rerelease of movies is becoming more commonplace. Then the screen said, "April 2012," and I laughed loudly. My family gave me that look that they give me so often – the one that says both, "Why are you so loud in movie theaters?" and "What is wrong with you?"
I nudged my husband. "April!"
"What?"
"They're rereleasing it in April!"
He did not find this funny, and could not imagine why I did.
After the movie, I explained what I thought was obvious. "She went down in April. This year it'll be 100 years since she sank." Even in a family of history geeks, I'm occasionally the geekiest.
I was a Titanic buff long before James Cameron gave us his story of Rose and Jack, long before Bob Ballard found her in 1985. I remember being about 10 and watching "In Search Of…" on TV. I loved "In Search Of…" I loved Leonard Nimoy's soothing narration, and I loved the show's theme of the odd and unexplained. "The producer's purpose is to suggest some possible explanation, but not necessarily the only ones, to the mysteries we will examine," the voice-over told us every week. It was great fun. I remember clearly watching them try to figure out the sinking of the Titanic.
Most of the experts agreed, even decades later, that she shouldn't have sunk. They discussed the watertight compartments that would close "at the flick of a switch" and the fact that she should have been able to limp into port even damaged.
Mostly, they couldn't explain why she went down in only 2 ½ hours. There must have been something very heavy and undeclared in the cargo hold, some of the experts were sure. The iceberg damage did not explain her quick death.
Maybe she was smuggling munitions, they posited. Her sister ship would sink in the not too distant future after striking a German mine. Maybe she had massive, undeclared stores of arms in her hold. Maybe something ignited explosive charges on the ship.
I was deeply intrigued. The fact that, if pre WWI smuggling was taking place, it would be more likely to go from America to Britain instead of the other way around dampened this theory, but it was still fascinating. "We'll never know," they said. "She'll never be found."
Enter Bob Ballard, the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute, side scan sonar and a secret Cold War era mission to check out possible Soviet submarine activity. There she was, still beautiful over seven decades later, 2 ½ miles down.
Many of the questions were answered then, of course. No one had been able to imagine a circumstance that breached more than two or three of the "watertight compartments," plus they had not taken into account the fact that the doors did not go all the way to the top, allowing water to slop over from one compartment to the next. Impurities in the steel of her double hull meant that it became extremely brittle in cold water, snapping instead of bending. Her quick demise was due to flaws in the ship herself, not shadowy conspiracies.
My family cannot figure out why I am the family expert on shipwrecks. I own two beautiful silver pendants made from silver salvaged from the Nuestra Senora de Atocha, a Spanish galleon whose wreck was discovered by the legendary Mel Fisher. I can tell you what I think happened to the Edmund Fitzgerald, who sank in Lake Superior so quickly that she didn't even call for help. Her last radio transmission, to the nearby Arthur M. Anderson, was, "We're holding our own" against the fierce storm.
I am not afraid of snakes or spiders. I honestly, sincerely thought that the ridiculous cliché of women screaming and leaping onto the furniture at the sight of a mouse was fiction, until I met such women. I tell the kids in my theater class and on my debate team that fear of public speaking usually ranks higher than fear of death for most people, and we can all be proud that we can do something that terrifies others. One of my best friends is terrified of the bearded dragon that lives in my living room; I talk baby talk to her and sit with her on my chest while I watch TV. (She did poop on me once, but hey, I'm washable. So are my clothes.)
Water? That's a different story. Deep water frightens me. Dark water – even an inch of it – induces unreasoning panic. I cannot look at most photos of sunken ships, including the Titanic. I can't watch much deep water video. When I first saw "Jaws," the opening sequence of gliding over the ocean bottom frightened me more than the shark did. (The shark, let's face it, was dorky looking and did not behave factually.)
I once had to sleep with the lights on all night after watching a documentary on the Titanic. I was in my 30s. I did not see the movie in the theaters the first time, and I won't see it there this time. I could barely sit through the previews. Sitting in a dark room, looking at a huge screen and listening to surround sound? I'd have a heart attack. If I watch "Titanic" on the night of April 14, I will do it on a small screen in my brightly lit family room.
I've read both of Walter Lord's books about Titanic. I was about 22, reading "The Night Lives On" when we had guests for dinner, two missionaries from our church. Young men generally go on missions from the ages of 19 through 21, and in order to keep them from subsisting on ramen noodles and microwave popcorn, church members are encouraged to feed them dinner occasionally.
I told them about the book, and about slamming it shut and dropping it when I unwittingly turned the page and found color photos of the wreck. They started chatting about the ship with me and my husband, but I quickly dropped out of the conversation. Soon I was saying things like, "Can we change the subject?" and "I really don't want to talk about it," as they veered into speculation that was curling my toes. I shared my fear of water. They listened in an abstract way and kept on talking. Soon I was saying, "I need you to stop talking!"
They were saying things like, "Can you imagine being trapped on the ship? A lot of people were." Then came the final straw: "There were air pockets, you know, even after it went down. It's possible that some people were alive until the pressure became too great." "Yeah," said the other, "at pressure like that your head would literally explode."
I stood up and shrieked like a banshee. "STOP IT! STOP IT! I TOLD YOU THAT I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! DO YOU WANT ME TO BE AWAKE ALL NIGHT? Do you want me to have to sleep with the lights on all week long?"
They turned and stared at me, all three of them, blinking as if they'd just realized that I was in the room, and wondering why I was so unreasonable.
I had a panic attack the first time I tried snorkeling, and the water was knee deep. The fear is getting more manageable as I get older. I love snorkeling, and have for years.
Three years ago, I went in an actual submarine to the bottom of the Pacific. We all watched out our windows as, yes, we glided by sunken ships.
We went so deep, over 100 feet, that all the color bleached out of everything and our own teeth glowed orange.
It helped that the sub very much resembled the ride vehicle at Disneyland, but hey, riding in it is still a HUGE accomplishment. I am extraordinarily proud of it.
Three years ago, I went in an actual submarine to the bottom of the Pacific. We all watched out our windows as, yes, we glided by sunken ships.
We went so deep, over 100 feet, that all the color bleached out of everything and our own teeth glowed orange.
It helped that the sub very much resembled the ride vehicle at Disneyland, but hey, riding in it is still a HUGE accomplishment. I am extraordinarily proud of it.
We've been through two museum exhibits designed to help you imagine what it was like on the Titanic.
The first was in Long Beach aboard the Queen Mary. As you entered both exhibits, you were given a "ticket" with the identity of a passenger or crew member on it. At certain points, you find out what was happening to "you." As the exhibit progressed, they started playing creaking sounds, designed to sound like the doomed liner. I've gotta tell you, being aboard a ship, one that's bobbing ever so slightly, while you touch a simulated iceberg and listen to the creaking, is exceptionally creepy.
The first was in Long Beach aboard the Queen Mary. As you entered both exhibits, you were given a "ticket" with the identity of a passenger or crew member on it. At certain points, you find out what was happening to "you." As the exhibit progressed, they started playing creaking sounds, designed to sound like the doomed liner. I've gotta tell you, being aboard a ship, one that's bobbing ever so slightly, while you touch a simulated iceberg and listen to the creaking, is exceptionally creepy.
I started sending my family into the rooms ahead of me. "Come back and tell me if there's anything I have to avoid." They always came back and said, "It's fine," until we neared the end of the exhibit.
The doorway showed a narrow room, almost like a hallway, that turned to the right. There was a wall, about waist high, on the right hand side. "Go check it out," I told my son. I've never been there, but I hear that in the Holocaust museum in Washington DC, exhibits that might be too disturbing for young children are behind waist high walls. The room gave me the willies.
He came back with wide eyes. "I can't even tell you about it. Just close your eyes and I'll guide you through."
Closing my eyes was too awful; it was pitch dark, with the ship moving and the creaking, groaning sounds on the tape getting louder. My blood pressure went up. "I'll look straight down at the ground, OK?"
"OK. Just don't look up."
I took hold of his arm. He led me through the smallish room, and I stood staring down at the entrance to the next one while he checked the new room. "There's some pictures and TVs you have to avoid, OK?"
They had artifacts actually brought up from the ship, displayed in plexiglass cases.
Unfortunately for me, above them all hung either still photos or video screens – unnecessarily large ones, I thought – showing where on (or near) the wreck they were found. I had to hurry through that room.
There was one last room, where you checked to see if "you" survived the sinking or not.
Luckily, beyond that was the gift shop, which opened onto the walkway leading off the ship. It was nice and bright and full of fresh air.
Unfortunately for me, above them all hung either still photos or video screens – unnecessarily large ones, I thought – showing where on (or near) the wreck they were found. I had to hurry through that room.
There was one last room, where you checked to see if "you" survived the sinking or not.
Luckily, beyond that was the gift shop, which opened onto the walkway leading off the ship. It was nice and bright and full of fresh air.
After we were safely off the ship, my family told me what was in the room with the partition. On the side of the Queen Mary you could see a small bump-out near the stern. It looked kind of like a little black box attached to the side of the ship. What had looked like walking into a hallway on the ship was actually walking from the ship, out through this little bump-out. If I had looked up, I would have been looking at the side of the Queen Mary, just at the water line. Looking down, over the side of the waist high wall, there was a clear view of her propellers, lit from underneath. "I'm not afraid of water or anything, and it creeped me out," my husband said. My kids all echoed the sentiment. "It was CREEPY!"
Had they told me that while I was still on the ship, I would have come unglued.
Heart attack averted. Thank you, Son. I am ridiculously grateful for his handling of the situation.
When we got our current National Geographic magazine, I had my daughter look through it and tell me the pages I had to avoid. "How did you ever go on a cruise ship, Mom?" she wanted to know.
Well. Yes. I think everyone who's ever been on a cruise ship thinks about the Titanic. The very fact that there are enough lifeboats for all, and that the ship will not leave port until you have participated in a lifeboat drill are a legacy of Titanic. Part of what grips us about the loss of life so long ago is the fact that there weren't enough boats for all, and that there was no set procedure for evacuating the ship. Anyone who reads the inquest testimony that a Titanic crew member turned back third class passengers because they were not normally allowed on the decks with the lifeboats cringes, I think.
"Most of them froze to death, not drowned. No one freezes to death in the Bahamas," I told her. It's not the whole story, but it's true. I'm also proud of going on a cruise, but the truth is, I didn't worry. I had a great time and slept like a rock.
"What about the one in Italy? They drowned."
Thank YOU, Child of Mine, for bringing that up. As if I haven't had unpleasant and unkind thoughts running through my head ever since that fiasco. Don't get me started on the carelessness that caused that mess.
Next year, for his high school graduation trip, my son wants to go on an Alaskan cruise. We're looking up prices and sailing dates, and I'm very much looking forward to it. I hope my mind doesn't decide to play a horror show inside my head while I'm on that ship, where I might indeed freeze if it sank.
Right now, I'm reading a new book, one that my oldest daughter sent to me from her school's book fair. I'm loving it. I'll probably assign it to my seventh grader when I'm done, as a homeschool assignment. It's called, "Titanic: Voices from the Disaster."
There's only two pages I can't look at.
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