One Woman's View
Contributing writer
Last week I had an amazing adventure. I sailed on the Titanic and lived to tell about it. I went with a group of senior citizens to the exhibit of artifacts from the ill-fated ship at Exploration Place in Wichita.
The articles salvaged from the ocean floor reminded me of the aftermath of a Kansas tornado. In the midst of phenomenal destruction, some seemingly fragile things remain intact. Some of the soup dishes were not cracked or chipped. A perfume salesman was carrying a sample case with 65 vials of perfume, and 62 of them were recovered.
Although the recovered artifacts were interesting, I was even more fascinated by the information about some of the passengers. Each of us was given a boarding pass with an identity and information about our alter egos. The last item in the exhibit was a passenger list, where we could find out whether or not we survived.
I was Juliette LaRoche, a 22-year-old woman traveling with my husband and two small daughters. My husband Joseph was of mixed race. Even though he was a qualified engineer, discrimination in France had made it difficult to find work. We were sailing from Paris to Cap Haiten, Haiti, where his wealthy family lived, hoping for greater opportunity. We had been booked for passage on the steamship France, but at the last minute we learned our daughters, three-year-old Simone and one-year-old Louise, would not be allowed to dine with us. Thinking such separation would upset the toddlers, we transferred to the Titanic.
There were quite a number of passengers who had originally planned to take another ship. A coal strike had delayed the departure from England of some ships, and some of their passengers were transferred. It seemed eerie that such a seemingly minor change of plans could prove a matter of life or death.
Even more interesting to me was the behavior of some of the passengers. I suppose I should not have been surprised that such a crisis brought out the best in some people and the worst in others. So it has always been, and so I imagine it will always be.
Ismay, the owner of the White Star Line, got into the first lifeboat, when there were still children waiting. When they were rescued by the Carpathia, he immediately began demanding a private room and other special treatment. This seemed especially outrageous, when his arrogance was at least partly responsible for the disaster. This ship was supposed to be unsinkable, so the line did not provide enough lifeboats, and early warnings about icebergs were ignored. Although his selfishness resulted in survival, it also resulted in much condemnation from everyone. He never lived it down.
Another man got into a lifeboat and paid each crew member five pounds "for the loss of their gear." This was generally interpreted as a bribe to keep them from filling the boat to capacity and possibly increasing the chances of foundering in the cold waters. Called the "money boat," this lifeboat carried only 12 passengers, when there was room for 30 to 40.
Such self-serving egoism, however, is balanced by acts of incredible selflessness and heroism. A woman named Funk, who had been a missionary in India and was traveling home, was stepping into a lifeboat, when another woman came running up saying, "My children are in that boat. Is there room for me?" Since there was only one place left, the missionary stepped aside and let the other woman on. She went down with the ship.
A Catholic priest helped other people board lifeboats and then prayed with those still on the ship. He made no attempt to save himself.
The crew members manning the generators were below decks, where they had no chance unless they got out quickly, Nevertheless, they stayed on the job keeping the generators going until an SOS message could be sent. They perished, but it was thanks to them that the Carpathia knew about the accident and came to the rescue.
One elderly woman traveling with her husband refused a place in a lifeboat saying, "We've spent all these years together. Now we'll either live together or die together." They died together.
A woman traveling with two teenage sons made a similar choice. The boys were old enough to be considered men by the White Star Line, so they were not allowed on a lifeboat. The mother stayed with them holding their hands until a wave washed them all overboard. The force of the wave apparently separated them. She was rescued, but her sons were not.
Getting a glimpse of the ordinary lives and purposes of people caught in one of the most publicized tragedies in history seemed to give an unusual perspective on life.
Being somewhat visually challenged, I did not try to read the fine print of the passenger list. However, a kind friend later looked Juliette up on the Internet and learned that she and her children survived, but Joseph did not. She also discovered a fact not included on my boarding pass. Juliette was pregnant at the time of the disaster. Actually I not only survived the wreck; I lived to the age of 91, dying in 1980. Do I have Lady Luck with me or what?
