I've been fascinated by the Titanic ship wreck ever since I managed to acquire an original newspaper from April 15 1912. It was such an early edition that the White Star lines were still expressing doubt that the ship could have been lost. The irony of that report struck me in a way I still don't quite understand. Suffice it to say I've studied the wreck for years and read numerous accounts of that horrible night.
I always knew in my mind that the loss of life was terrible and often tried to imagine how it might have been to see the life boats adrift in that very cold ocean, knowing that escape was not an option for you. Ok... a bit morbid, but the bravery and the fear such a situation were something few of us will ever understand.
This week, I visited the Atlanta Aquarium with my grandkids... something that seems to be evolving into an annual birthday present from them to me. On display there were artifacts recovered from the Titanic, where it lies today. I was quite curious, even though I strongly disagree with the site being disturbed for profit. We purchased our tickets and entered the exhibit. As we entered, each of the 5 of us were given "boarding passes" with a name, a berthing location and a short but informative biography of our identity. It felt a little hokey, but we all held onto our boarding pass as we toured the collection.
As I previously said, I'd always known, on an intellectual level, that that night held unspeakable personal horrors and acts of bravery, along with a lot of less admirable human actions and reactions. What I was not prepared for was the impact that those very human related items would have on me..... emotionally. Items as simple as buttons, toothbrushes and chamber pots or as complex and inhuman as parts of an engine telegraph or the whistle pipe from stack #4 brought the picture I'd always carried in my mind to a whole new level of focus. There were letters still un-posted, calling cards and immigration ID's, all giving clues to the status of the former owners. Dishes adorned according to travel class and mock ups of state rooms for each class told bits of the story as well.
At the end of the tour, you walked into a room where personal effects and clothing from multiple classes were on display, still covered with mud from deep beneath the waters. Central to this display was a HUGE list of names who were onboard the ship that fateful night. You were invited to find "your" name among them, thus determining your own fate in the disaster. Of the five of us, my youngest grandson was the only one to survive. It was then that the cold chill of reality was complete for me.
Sobering is a very small word to describe a pretty large feeling. I will never quite see the Titanic in the same light, and for that I am both grateful and sorrowful. It will never be seen in abstract, ever again, but perhaps my own attachment to it's history will be much more based in reality than if I'd never visited the exhibit. Either way, a simple exhibition of perhaps mundane artifacts brought forth a deeper understanding of our mortality in a world we have only small control over. I'm not the same as I was, but I'm not quiet sure I could define the difference, even if I knew exactly what changed within me.
Sorry of the melodramatic flavor of the post, but I thought you might share a few moments of reflection with me.
Steve
