April 10, 2024 was the 112th anniversary of the day that the British passenger and mail-carrying ocean liner RMS Titanic slipped her surly mooring bonds in the English port of Southampton and set sail on her maiden voyage across the Atlantic.
In her honor, and on that date, I embarked on an excursion I don’t undertake much anymore, unless under protest: I gritted my teeth, girded my loins, screwed my courage to the sticking place, and drove to Pittsburgh. My destination, on Pittsburgh’s North Shore, was the Carnegie Science Center. It’s almost adjacent to Heinz Field (which is now called something else), and is at the center of a rats’ nest of narrow roads, twisty alleys, and one way streets that confound any GPS system I’ve ever had the misfortune of using. The last time I was in the vicinity, which was a couple of years ago for the Immersive Van Gogh Exhibit (which was great, BTW), I spent about twenty minutes going round and round in circles afterwards, before I got myself pointed in the right direction, or at least in a direction I recognized and from which I could figure out how to get home. (To be perfectly clear, it’s not the absolute worst rats’ nest of narrow roads, twisty alleys, and one-way streets I’ve ever been in, in my life, but it’s up there in the top two. What makes it better than the other is that, at least in Pittsburgh, the directional signs are posted in a language, and a script, that I can read and understand. Other than that, there’s not much to choose between them.)
My ultimate goal on April 10 was the much-hyped Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition, set to close on April 15, and for which I’d bought a spur-of-the-moment ticket, several days before.
I’ve always been fascinated with shipwrecks. Just as I’ve always loved the sea. Perhaps it goes back to early childhood trips between Liverpool and Lagos on Elder-Dempster Lines vessels carrying British colonial officers and their families off on tour to deepest, darkest West Africa and back home. Perhaps some of it has to do with summers in Prince Edward Island, and the stories of shipwrecks off that North Shore, particularly those of the Yankee Gale.
Or perhaps, when it comes to the Titanic, it has something to do with the fact that two of my childhood playmates were the grandsons of the ship’s junior radio operator.
To be clear, that fact had nothing to do with our relationship. I don’t believe we ever spoke of it, and from everything I understand, the gentleman concerned rarely spoke of it either. I think his response to his ordeal was like that of many combat veterans; he endured it, dealt with it, and then–for better or worse–put it away. And while I think he gave a couple of interviews immediately afterwards, and was probably involved in the many follow-up investigations of the tragedy, I’m sure he just wanted to have it behind him.
Cannot blame him.
Still, it was a fact that was known among us, and my mother sat me down to watch (on television, when we finally got one after moving to the States in 1963) the 1958 movie A Night to Remember. Although not perfect, it’s still (IMHO) the best Titanic movie there is, and certainly it’s far superior to the James Cameron version which–like that bloody song at the end–just goes on. And on. And on. Not for any good reason that I can see.
When it came to A Night to Remember, though, Mum reveled in the role of the junior radio operator, who was played in the film by a very young David McCallum, someone I always thought Mum had a bit of a crush on. That’s how I came to know him too, and–while mostly missing out on the whole Man From Uncle experience, I eventually caught up with him again as Medical Examiner Donald (Ducky) Mallard on NCIS. And fell in love with him myself.
But I digress. Back to the exhibit.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. So I was neither disappointed (as I think some were), not over-the-moon about it. I found it interesting, moving, sobering, and instructive.
I don’t think it’s for kids. There’s no whizz-bang. No moving parts. Not even any moving pictures. Nothing remotely resembling a video-game. It was quiet and intimate. (The Science Center can do the other thing, as it has an IMAX dome theater. Many years ago–maybe 25 or so–Mr. She and I saw the David Brashears Everest documentary there. It was thrilling and spine-chilling.) But the Titanic exhibition was different.
There was a lot of reading. Placards and posters. Someone had done a very good job of intermingling the narrative of events with the stories of the passengers. And they correlated it well with the exhibits under glass of the artifacts recovered from the ocean floor.
Many of those artifacts were small items recovered from passenger luggage.
Lord. I don’t know if the companies that made those suitcases are still in business, but what a story! Eighty years, 2.5 miles underwater, at pressures of about six-thousand pounds per-square-inch, and suitcases were brought up which could be identified as belonging to specific passengers, which had jars of cold cream with the cold cream still in them, razors and shaving brushes, and perfectly preserved (with apparently no water damage) postcards of–from a family with connections to the city–Pittsburgh’s Smithfield Street Bridge and railway station, or–probably from a tourist to the area–England’s Malvern spa town. Most poignant for me, perhaps, was a faux-ivory dresser set. I have one that’s almost identical, that belonged to my paternal grandmother, and is probably from about the same era.
I remember the advertisements, a few decades ago for Samsonite luggage. It was dropped from planes, or shown with troops of chimpanzees jumping up and down on it. All intended to highlight its indestructibility. Cannot help thinking that the manufacturers of the luggage taken onto the Titanic had it beat several times over. Wow.
Other artifacts belonged to the White Star Lines or the ship itself. Pots and pans from the kitchen, some of them so specific their use beggars belief. Asparagus pots. The Bain Marie (which is a ceramic bowl bearing–as I pointed out to the group–a great resemblance to a crock-pot insert, and which was used for much the same purpose, in old-world terms by setting it in a saucepan of simmering water and keeping its contents at a relatively low temperature for a lengthy cooking time). China place settings (different for first, second, and third class). Champagne bottles with the champagne still in them. Tools. Rivets.
Speaking of which: There were over three million rivets in the ship’s hull. Most of them were steel, and were pounded into place with new technology which used hydraulic machines. Sometimes, though, that wasn’t feasible, based on the placement. And in that case, two members from a team of three worked to heat softer iron rivets to red-hot temperatures inside the hull, after which they’d place them in position through the hull and to the outside. Then, the third member of the team would use a hammer to pound the rivets flat and secure the plates in position. There’s some speculation that the different types of rivets, and the different strengths of them, may have contributed to weaknesses in the hull and exacerbated the tragedy.
But the stories! I was struck by the opulence of the first-class passenger experience. Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous simply doesn’t compare. The many restaurants, The Main Concourse, the Veranda Cafe, the Palm Court (complete with live palm trees). Specialty dining. The men’s smoking room. The Turkish baths. The many amenities. A first-class ticket on the Titanic (depending on whether you were traveling lower first-class or upper first-class) would run you (in today’s money) between $50K and $100K.) Second-class wasn’t bad either. Third class (steerage), whose cabin recreation was far more like one of my home bedrooms than I’d like to admit, might have been alright too, although the revelation that there were only two bathrooms for the 700 third-class passengers is a bit daunting, in terms of today’s requirements.
A few of the placards mentioned that many passengers who might have been able to afford a higher class of ticket went with a less-expensive one in order to save money so that they could make a better life for themselves as immigrants to the United States.
The tickets for the exhibit were quite nice, in the guise of a “boarding pass.” Here’s mine:
On the back side was a story about a specific passenger. Mine was that of “Mr. Austin Blyler Van Billiard.” A native Pennsylvanian, he’d traveled to Europe in 1900, married there, gone to Central Africa, where he’d mined diamonds, and was returning home, 3rd class, on the Titanic with two of his sons to reconnect with his family and establish himself as a diamond merchant.
At the end of the exhibit, we could scan the QR code on our ticket, and see the fate of “our” passenger. Sadly, neither Austin, nor his two sons, survived the night. However, a dozen small diamonds were discovered sewn into his clothing. They were sent to his wife, and she used them to buy a passage for herself and the rest of the children to the United States where they settled in Philadelphia and–I hope–were able to make a good life for themselves.
After exiting the exhibition, and finding myself in the (inevitable) shop, I eschewed the T-shirts, afghans and snow-globes (iceberg-globes?) as rather maudlin and somewhat morbid mementos. Even a replica of a first-class china teapot; I really did consider that one. Eventually, I settled on a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle, a black-and-white photograph of the ship as she launched from Southampton. I’ll really have to be in the mood, and it’ll probably take several months to complete. Perhaps a good winter project. Anyone who’d like to stop by and add a piece in the correct spot is always welcome.
Cross-posted from ricochet.com
