“HONORS TITANIC BANDSMEN”
[It all started 111 years ago . . . . The RMS (for Royal Mail Ship) Titanic sank on its maiden voyage from Southampton. England, to New York City on 15 April 1912. Between 1,490 and 1,635 people died in the disaster, among them the eight members of the two orchestras on board. They are reported to have continued to play as the ship foundered, keeping the sprits of the passengers up and preventing a panic at the end.
[The bravery of the musicians is recorded in the many newspaper accounts of the tragedy, attested to by survivors who told their stories to journalists. Among the reports from across the country and around the world were “Nearer, My God, To Thee,” Sun [Baltimore, MD] 19 Apr. 1912: 12; “Musicians Heroes Of Titanic Wreck,” San Francisco Chronicle 19 Apr. 1912: 7; “Spur Of Iceberg Rips Open Bottom Of The Titanic,” Chicago Daily Tribune 19 Apr. 1912: 3; “Band Music Heard After Steamer Sank,” Austin [TX] Statesman 20 Apr. 1912: 1; and “The Orchestra Which Played ‘Nearer My God To Thee,’” Irish Times [Dublin, Ireland] 20 Apr. 1912: 8.
[Seven months after the great ship sank, the musicians’ union, the forerunner of the American Federation of Musicians, mounted a plaque commemorating their eight brothers from across the Atlantic who stalwartly sacrificed their lives to offer a measure of comfort to the doomed passengers. Below is one report of that event, the start of a local mystery which wasn’t solved until a decade ago, 101 years after the musicians of the Titanic lost their lives. It was published in the New-York Tribune on 4 November 1912.]
A bronze tablet in memory of the seven ship’s musicians who died when the Titanic sank was unveiled yesterday morning by members of the Musical Mutual Protective Union at their clubhouse, the Yorkville Casino.
The tablet is the work of Albert Weinert. It is 30 by 24 inches, and has a feminine figure, symbolic of music, placing a wreath of oak leaves on an expanse of placid water, broken by an iceberg. Beneath is the inscription:
A tribute to the bandsmen of the Titanic. When the order was “Each man for himself,” these heroes remained on board and played until the last.
Then follow the first two bars of the music of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” and the names, Wallace Hartley, bandmaster; George Krins, Roger Bricoux, W. T. Brailey, J. Wesley Woodward, P. C. Taylor, J. F. P. Clarke, John L. Hume.
[As readers can see from the list of names, there were eight men. Why the New-York Tribune report reads only seven, I don’t know—unless for some reason the reporter didn’t count bandleader Hartley as a musician.
[The hymn “Nearer, My God, to Thee” was chosen on the spot as the last tune the band played. The Baltimore Sun article referenced above reported that Edward Wheelton, the chief steward of the liner, recounted:
The ship’s band played as the boats were being lowered. These musicians were the real heroes. They played selections from the operas and the latest popular melodies of Europe and America. Only before the final plunge did they change the character of the program. Then they played “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”
[Albert Weinert (1863-1947) was a German-born American sculptor. Yorkville is a Manhattan neighborhood bounded on the south by East 79th Street, on the north by East 96th Street, on the west by Third Avenue, and on the east by the East River. At the time of this history, it had largely German inhabitants.
[The Yorkville Casino at
210 East 86th Street was erected by the Musician’s Mutual Protective Union (the
forerunner of Local 802 of the AFM) as a social center for meetings, dances,
and such for the area’s growing population.]
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“THE MYSTERY OF
THE TITANIC MUSICIANS’ PLAQUE”
by Tino Gagliardi
[The three following articles are all from the magazine of the American Federation of Musicians Local 802, Allegro 113.9 (October, 2013). Local 802 is the branch of AFM that represents the pit musicians for Broadway and Off-Broadway musicals. (There are some supplementary articles at the end of this post, from an earlier issue.) They all have something to do with the same remarkable, and historic, tale which unfolded in the pages of Allegro in 2010 and 2013.
[I’m republishing them on Rick On Theater because, first, they are part of New York City’s arts history, which is an element of my mission for ROT, and, second . . . well, it’s a fascinating story.]
President's Report
This month, we’re pleased to present in Allegro a story that’s stranger than fiction. It’s the story of a bronze plaque that Local 802 commissioned over 100 years ago from a well-known artist. The plaque was created to honor the heroism of the musicians of the Titanic, who literally went down with the ship. For years, we owned and proudly displayed this plaque as well as a similar plaque honoring our members who lost their lives in World War II. These plaques were hung in our old location – Roseland Ballroom – on West 52nd Street. When we left Roseland in 1982, the plaques stayed behind by mistake. In fact, they were there as recently as last year. Then, when Roseland started doing some renovations, they got rid of the plaques. (Why we weren’t contacted at that time is a mystery.) The next thing we know, the plaques are in Orlando at a Titanic exhibition! The complete story of these plaques’ journey will boggle your mind.
[Tino Gagliardi is President of Local 802.]
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“TITANIC MYSTERY”
by Charles A. Haas
Musicians & Heroes
If you were performing on an ocean liner and suddenly the ship hit an iceberg and began to sink, would you keep playing? As many know, that’s the story of what the musicians on the Titanic did just over 101 years ago, on April 15, 1912.
The eight musicians, led by bandmaster and violinist Wallace Hartley, died playing their instruments, according to Titanic survivors who heard ragtime and other upbeat music being played until nearly the end.
A little over a year after the Titanic sank, members of the original New York City musicians’ local performed a benefit concert for the families of the musicians. The union also commissioned a bronze tablet to commemorate them.
The tablet was unveiled at a ceremony where eight union musicians played, using the same instrumentation as the Titanic band. The concert closed with the hymn Nearer, My God, to Thee, which some believe to be the last piece that the Titanic musicians played before the ship went down.
But where did the Titanic musicians’ memorial plaque end up? Three years ago, Allegro received an inquiry from the Titanic International Society asking about the whereabouts of the plaque.
It was the first we’d ever heard of it. But we had it all along. —introduction by Mikael Elsila
This is the story of a bronze plaque that was twice rescued from the scrapyard. It has to do first and foremost with the Titanic and its brave musicians. But it also reminds us of the very origins of Local 802. There’s lots of luck here, too. It begins with the tragic events of April 15, 1912 . . .
When news came that the Titanic had foundered in the North Atlantic with the loss of more than 1,500, it was probably inevitable that the heroic deaths of Titanic bandmaster Wallace Hartley and his seven colleagues would touch the hearts of their musical brethren in New York. By Saturday, April 27, 1912 – a mere 12 days after the Titanic met its demise – the Musical Mutual Protective Union (MMPU), Local 310, then the New York City affiliate of the American Federation of Musicians, had appointed a committee chaired by its president, William J. Kerngood, to organize a concert to aid the bandsmen’s families. Victor Herbert and John Phillip Sousa were among the committee’s members. Additionally, the union apparently asked its 5,000 members to contribute what they could to the cause.
The concert, featuring the talents of more than 500 musicians, duly took place on Sunday, June 2, 1912 at New York’s Moulin Rouge Theatre (later renamed the New York Theatre), donated for that purpose by its owner, theater impresario Florenz Ziegfeld. As they entered their box seats, the captain and some of crew of the Carpathia – the ship that rescued the Titanic’s survivors – received prolonged applause, while about 100 additional Carpathia crew members took their seats below. Seven New York City-based bands played selections ranging from the grand march from Aida to the Leonore Overture and the Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana. The evening, which raised $1,500, concluded with a poignant rendering of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” the hymn famously played by the Titanic musicians as they went down with the ship.
On May 19, 1912, the musicians’ union offered a Sunday evening concert for members at their New York headquarters – the Yorkville Casino – to further aid the bandsmen’s next of kin, raising another $1,800. Meanwhile, the MMPU had begun to plan a more permanent remembrance of the heroism of Titanic’s orchestra in the form of a bronze tablet. The chosen design was that of German-born Albert Weinert, a 49-year-old sculptor at the zenith of his career. Among his earlier commissions had been the William McKinley Memorial in Toledo, Ohio, the Haymarket Martyrs’ Memorial in Chicago, and, at Washington, D.C.’s Library of Congress, the Court of Neptune Fountain and extensive Reading Room interior decorations.
Likely during the summer of 1912, the union’s board of directors authorized production of the bronze plaque by the Jno. Williams Foundry of West 27th Street in Manhattan. The highly regarded Williams firm had cast works by Daniel Chester French and Augustus Saint-Gaudens, among other notable American sculptors. Foundry workers carefully etched and sculpted the mold (possibly under Weinert’s direct supervision). Several test castings in a base metal may have been made before production of the final plaque began. Amid hellish heat inside the foundry building, workers began melting copper and tin, then mixed them to form bronze, and carefully poured the molten metal into the mold. On the plaque’s reverse side, mounting posts were imbedded or attached at each corner while the plaque’s metal was still liquid. The assemblage was allowed to cool and solidify. Then Williams’ skilled bronze smiths separated the plaque from its mold and carefully polished and perfected the tablet’s bas-relief front surface.
The completed plaque measured two feet tall by three feet wide by about a quarter-inch thick and weighed nearly 70 pounds. The first view of the finished product was a stand-alone photograph in the October 1912 issue of the Quarterly Bulletin of the American Institute of Architects, which credited the sculptor and foundry, but offered no further information.
While the bustle of America’s largest city paused on a Sunday, November 3, 1912, the musicians’ union officers, board of trustees, the Titanic Musicians Memorial committee and union members gathered at 11 a.m. at 210 East 86th Street in Manhattan, the MMPU’s Yorkville Casino headquarters. Associated Press reporters were invited to attend, and stories recording the plaque’s dedication soon appeared in newspapers throughout the United States.
In a simple ceremony in the building’s lobby, the tablet was formally dedicated. Draped in American and British flags, it was unveiled by union president William Kerngood, who said, “Language fails in attempting a tribute to the conduct of these heroes, just as it failed in the tumult and the panic when they died. The call of the Lord was as sudden for them as for the others, but they found a selection appropriate to that supreme moment and did their duty as they saw it. May we and all musicians prove as worthy of Music as they did, and may these men rest in peace.” Under union member Nic Briglio’s direction, an eight-member orchestra with instruments identical to those on board the Titanic played “Nearer, My God to Thee,” which was followed by a solitary trumpeter playing “Taps.”
Those present then pressed forward to view sculptor Albert Weinert’s artistry. His design featured a female figure representing music, casting a laurel wreath upon the ocean, its placid surface interrupted by an iceberg. Below were the words, “A Tribute to the Bandsmen of the Titanic. When the Order was ‘Each Man for Himself,’ These Heroes Remained on Board and Played Till the Last.” The words were followed by an image of the two opening bars of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” (the “Bethany” or “American” version), followed by the eight musicians’ names: “Wallace Hartley, Bandmaster; George Krins, Roger Bricoux, W. T. Brailey, J. Wesley Woodward, P. C. Taylor, J. F. P. Clarke, John L Hume.” To the right of the union’s raised seal, the text concluded, “Erected by the M.M.P.U. 1912″; the sculptor’s name “A. Weinert” modestly appeared in the plaque’s outer framing.
The dedication ceremony concluded, the crowd quietly dispersed.
The plaque remained in its place of prominence even as a sizable addition to the building was constructed from 1916 to 1919 on adjacent East 85th Street in Manhattan. The Musical Mutual Protective Union’s Local 310 lost its charter in 1921 after a dispute with the parent union and soon was dissolved, to be replaced by Local 802.
Over the next 54 years, thousands of visitors – union members and those attending functions booked at the hall – passed by this enduring tribute to Titanic’s gallant musicians. No photographs of the plaque in situ are presently known to exist.
By 1966, the Upper East Side of Manhattan was undergoing a building boom, and the East 86th Street portion of the building, now owned by the Ornstein family of real estate developers, was demolished and replaced by a high-rise, multipurpose building; the East 85th Street addition remained, its engraved “Musical Mutual Protective Union” fascia still present in 2013. It is now a movie theater. It is not known who rescued the tablet when its longtime home was torn down, but it found its way to the Roseland Ballroom at 229 West 52nd Street, then Local 802’s headquarters. The building’s then-owner Louis Brecker said, “Cheek-to-cheek dancing, that’s what this place is all about,” but according to Wikipedia, “Brecker sold the building in 1981. Under new owners the Roseland began regularly scheduled ‘disco nights,’ which gave rise to a period when it was considered a dangerous venue and neighborhood menace,” with several murders taking place there. And apparently it was here, for more than 35 years, that the Titanic musicians’ plaque remained. Local 802 left Roseland for its new quarters in 1982, apparently leaving the plaque behind.
Titanic International Society’s historian John P. Eaton, a lifelong music aficionado, has maintained a long-term respect for and interest in Titanic’s musicians. His capacious files included a rather blurry photocopied image of the plaque he’d found years ago in a musicians’ journal at the New York Public Library; the image found its way into the first (1986) edition of the book he co-authored with Charles Haas, Titanic: Triumph and Tragedy, with a caption noting the plaque’s “current whereabouts are not known,” a notation sadly repeated in the second (1994) edition. In 2010, as work on the third edition of this book began, Haas suggested that Eaton contact Local 802 to inquire whether the union knew the plaque’s location. Eaton received a response from Mikael Elsila, the editor of the union’s magazine Allegro, who interviewed Eaton by telephone about the missing memorial. In April 2010, Allegro ran a story that said, in part, “The search is on for a missing plaque that commemorates the musicians. It’s just possible that an Allegro reader has some clues of where it might be,” and it urged union members to get in touch with Elsila if they “had ever heard of this tablet or even seen it.” And there, response to Jack’s inquiry ended, without success. Until now.
Upon graduation from high school in central Pennsylvania, Douglas Turner served in the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army. He relocated to Naples, Florida in 1989, and now, at age 45, is a sergeant in the Collier County (Florida) Sheriff’s Department, a 23-year veteran specializing in criminal investigations. It’s a tough job with long hours and high stress. In his off-duty hours, Doug and his wife enjoy visiting local antique dealers and scrap yards, looking for unusual items.
On Friday, Jan. 25, 2013, Turner visited one of their favorite local scrap yards, meandering through a veritable jumble of discarded items awaiting resale or disposal. On the floor, leaning against a basket filled with insulated wire about to be melted down, was a flat metallic object covered with dust, grease, some corrosion and verdigris. Turner thought the item “kind of peculiar.” After going home and giving the matter some thought, its reference to Titanic intriguing him, he returned on Wednesday, Jan. 30, and inquired of the yard’s owner about its origins and the asking price. The owner, a friend of Turner’s, said someone had brought it in with another plaque, a Local 802 war memorial. The scrap yard owner was asking “a ridiculous price” for the pair, according to Turner, just $2 per pound, the going price for bronze, mentioning he had purchased it from someone from New York for $1.61 a pound. Turner happily paid the asking price for both the Titanic and war memorial plaques, totaling, with sales tax, just over $300, which certainly did not reflect any historical value. When he pointed out one plaque’s Titanic reference, the yard’s owner remarked, “I knew I should have thrown it into the basket to melt it down!” and said that within days, that would have been the fate of the plaque and the wire in the basket. During its five-day presence at the scrapyard, hundreds of people had passed it by without giving the historic piece much notice.
As a law enforcement officer, Turner realized he had a special obligation to check further into the plaques’ origins. He found no reports that either had been stolen. Eventually, he learned how they had made their 1,100-mile journey to Florida.
Under new ownership, the Roseland Ballroom underwent renovations in 2012. Early in that year, a Roseland employee told “Percy,” a construction worker in his early 40s, that the two plaques should be removed from the premises, and, so far as she was concerned, he could “take ’em and sell ’em for scrap.” Percy took the tablets and kept them at his home for nearly a year.
A Peruvian by birth and a U.S. resident for more than 20 years, Percy’s English was imperfect, perhaps explaining why several New York City antique dealers, when contacted, offered him as little as $10 for both plaques. It would have been easy for Percy to have ridded himself of them for such a pittance, but he did not do so.
Percy and his wife moved to Florida in early January 2013, bringing the plaques with them. The trip to the Sunshine State having left them nearly penniless, he sold the plaques to the scrap yard for $100.
After making his purchase, Doug Turner wanted to know more, and online had found the Allegro article in which Jack Eaton had inquired about the Titanic musicians’ plaque’s whereabouts. Turner contacted the musicians’ union in New York City and was given historian Eaton’s contact information.
On Jan. 31, 2013, Titanic International Society’s president Charles Haas spoke by telephone with Doug Turner at his Florida home. He mentioned that at some time in the past, likely when the plaques were removed from the MMPU’s Yorkville Casino, the mounting studs on the Titanic plaque’s reverse side had been broken off, and someone had drilled holes in each corner to permit its remounting, but otherwise it was in good condition.
Within minutes, Haas knew the plaque was in very good hands. Turner had gently wiped the plaque’s surfaces with a damp cloth to remove dirt and grime, and was seeking our advice about valuation, insurance, conservation and ongoing care. Haas offered several suggestions, then put Turner in touch with Andrew Aldridge of Henry Aldridge & Son Auctions in the UK, a respected firm specializing in Titanic items. Upon receiving details and photos of the plaque, Aldridge provided a valuation that permitted Turner to obtain insurance coverage and advised conservation (rather than restoration), explaining that the plaque’s present imperfections are part-and-parcel of the piece’s history. Despite its considerable value and its uniqueness, Turner does not wish to sell this historic piece. Instead, he wants very much to exhibit it publicly. Titanic International Society has assisted Turner in finding suitable venues for its public display.
On Aug. 15, 2013, in a ceremony recalling the original dedication in 1912, Turner and Haas unveiled the plaque at “Titanic: The Experience,” Premier Exhibitions, Inc.’s Titanic artifact exhibition in Orlando, Florida, where it will remain on display for at least six months. The plaque is the highlight of an exhibition room detailing the human cost of Titanic’s loss.
More than a century ago, the heroism of Titanic’s bandsmen prompted their musical colleagues ashore to create a lasting tribute to those men and their final moments. History saw fit to abbreviate the plaque’s role in reminding us of their deeds. But now, with its providential, last-minute reprieves from the smelter and its re-emergence in the hands of a history-conscious sheriff’s officer, it can resume its rightful place as one of America’s most significant Titanic memorials.
[Charles Haas is president of the Titanic International Society. Mikael Elsila is Communications Director at Local 802; he studied French horn, piano, improvisation and ethnomusicology. Additional information about Titanic International Society may be obtained from the Society’s Web site, www.TitanicInternationalSociety.org, or by sending a stamped, self-addressed envelope to Titanic International Society, Inc., Post Office Box 416, Midland Park, NJ 07432-0416.]
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“LOST AND FOUND”
by Harvey S. Mars, Esq.
Legal Corner
I recently had the unique experience of attending the unveiling of the recently discovered 101-year-old plaque commemorating the musicians who lost their lives on the Titanic. The ceremony took place at “Titanic: the Experience,” an exhibition in Orlando.
In April 2010, Allegro published an article regarding this plaque after we were contacted by John P. Eaton, historian of the Titanic International Society. Mr. Eaton was interested in learning the whereabouts of the plaque. The article beseeched anyone knowing of the whereabouts of the plaque to contact Allegro’s editor, Mikael Elsila.
Well, the plague was found, partially as a result of our article.
Florida resident Douglas Turner, a law enforcement officer who enjoys visiting scrap yards looking for items of value, found and purchased the Titanic plaque as well as another plaque commissioned by Local 802 memorializing musicians who had lost their lives in World War II.
Upon reading the Allegro article, Mr. Turner contacted the Titanic society and inquired as to where the plaque could be publicly shown. Ultimately, a six-month license was awarded to “Titanic: the Experience,” where the beautiful plaque currently hangs. Pictures truly do not do it justice.
During the unveiling ceremony, local musicians played “Nearer, My God to Three,” the same composition that many believe the musicians on the Titanic played while the ship was sinking.
As I listened, I wondered what the musicians were thinking and feeling while the ship was sinking. Were they absorbed by the music and solely focused on it? Did they play to soothe themselves knowing of their impending doom? Did they realize that they were heroes, who – through the calming strains of their music – saved many lives and helped keep order while the life-boats were boarded? It was hard for me not to get choked up.
How did the plaque wind up in the scrap yard? Charles Haas, president of the Titanic International Society, tells this amazing tale in this issue.
Two additional points are worth mentioning. First, the plaques were Local 802’s property for many decades. They last hung on the wall at the Roseland Ballroom, which was formerly the union’s headquarters. However, when Local 802 left Roseland in 1982, both the Titanic plaque and the World War II memorial plaque were inadvertently left behind.
Having been abandoned for more than 25 years, the plaques became the legal property of Mr. Turner when he purchased them in Florida. Under common law rules, the individual who purchases or takes possession of abandoned property becomes its rightful owner. (Hence, the partially true maxim: “possession is nine-tenths of the law.”)
However, we are very fortunate that Mr. Turner salvaged these plaques, since it is clear that they would have been destroyed. The hand of fate definitely played a role in this incident.
The other point is one I learned directly from Mr. Haas after the ceremony. The Titanic’s musicians were not employees of the White Star Line (Titanic’s owner), which had recently begun contracting musicians via an outside agency. Thus, these musicians were independent contractors who had been supplied by a third party. Because of this, they were listed as second-class passengers, and not crew. This meant that they were free to evacuate the ship with the passengers. They chose not to, and remained on board. They met their death doing what they loved to do: performing music for others.
We hope that at the end of the six- month lease, Local 802 can enter into an arrangement with Mr. Turner so that we can return both plaques to where they were meant to be: at Local 802.
[Harvey Mars is counsel to Local 802.]
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“LOCAL 802 HAS
TITANIC HISTORY”
[The two articles below, from Allegro 110.4 (April 2010), were the notices that started the saga of relocating and restoring the AFM plaques commemorating the sinking of the RMS Titanic.]
If you were performing on an ocean liner and suddenly the ship hit an iceberg and began to sink, would you keep playing? As many know, that’s the story of what the musicians on the Titanic did 98 years ago this month, on April 15, 1912.
The eight musicians, led by violinist Wallace Hartley, died playing their instruments, according to Titanic survivors who heard ragtime and other upbeat music being played up until nearly the end.
Now the search is on for a missing plaque that commemorates the musicians.
It’s just possible that an Allegro reader has some clues of where it might be.
Here’s the story.
A little over a year after the Titanic sank, members of the original New York City musicians’ local – originally called the Musicians Mutual Protective Union and later AFM Local 310 – performed a benefit concert for the families of the deceased Titanic musicians, raising $1,800.
The union was then located at the Yorkville Casino at 210 East 86th Street.
Later that fall, the union commissioned a bronze tablet to commemorate the Titanic musicians.
The tablet was unveiled at a ceremony where eight union musicians – utilizing the same instrumentation as the Titanic band – performed a tribute concert.
The concert closed with the hymn “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” which some believe to be the last piece that the Titanic musicians played before they went down.
Both the International Musician and the New York Times covered the event.
But where is the Titanic musicians’ memorial plaque now? Local 310 ceased to exist in the 1920’s after a feud with the nascent Local 802.
And the assets of Local 310 may have been absorbed by the AFM.
Recently, Allegro received an inquiry from the Titanic International Society asking about the whereabouts of the plaque.
It was the first we’d ever heard of it.
If any member has heard of this tablet or even seen it, please contact Allegro editor Mikael Elsila at Allegro@Local802afm.org.
Otherwise, the spirit of the Titanic musicians must live on in memory.
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“UNLIKELY HEROES:
by John P. Eaton
Heroism in music takes many forms. The political heroism of a Sibelius or a Toscanini. Marian Anderson’s heroism of the spirit. The heroism of innovation: Bach, Richard Wagner, Charles Ives, Stravinsky. The quiet heroism of vocal coaches, chorus members and grade school music teachers: nameless people, but people without whose contributions to music’s fabric there would ultimately be no giants, no legendary stars.
The quietest, least known are often the most heroic.
Many years ago, when I was first encountering details of the liner Titanic and her tragic loss, I was introduced to a veritable pantheon of nameless heroes: men and women among the passengers who unselfishly gave up their lifeboat seats to others; stokers and engineers who kept the doomed vessel’s lights burning until almost the last moment; all those who died that others might live.
Among the many acts of heroism performed on the North Atlantic that cold night so many Aprils ago, none to me surpasses the contribution of Titanic’s bandsmen: Brailey, Bricoux, Clarke, Hume, Krins, Taylor, Woodward, and their leader, Wallace Hartley.
Titanic struck the berg which doomed her at 11:40 p.m. on April 14, 1912.
Shortly after midnight, the musicians assembled in the forward first-class entrance, where passengers began gathering before going to the lifeboats.
The band’s music established a quick, bright tempo that kept the passengers’ feet moving to its beat.
Suspicion and even panic was averted by the musicians’ presence.
(“Why, if they’re playing here, things can’t be that bad.”) Later, when most passengers were on the promenade and boat decks, the band reassembled outside the gymnasium near the first class entrance’s starboard side.
Around 12:45 a.m., as the first lifeboat was being lowered, they began playing a brave counterpoint to the sound of shuffling feet and the increasing murmur of confused passengers.
Their music helped to bring order to the proceedings.
Their repertoire of marches, quicksteps and occasional waltz tunes were performed with coldstiffened fingers through the next hour and 20 minutes.
The last lifeboat was lowered at 2:05 a.m. But a few brief moments remained.
High on the boat deck, Titanic’s bandsmen paused in their music making. The deck beneath them began a slow, almost imperceptible slant forward.
Cold hands gripped instruments tightly, chilled fingers groped for taut strings. Bandmaster Hartley tapped his bow and spoke a title.
The strains of the well-loved “Londonderry Air” (“Danny Boy” to many) drifted across the calm waters now dotted with drifting lifeboats.
The slanting deck grew steeper, more slippery. Footing became more difficult.
The music ceased, then began again, thinly, as Hartley, perhaps in reverie, pulled his bow across the strings for a final time.
He was joined as, one by one, the other players picked up the familiar tune – the hymn played at the gravesides of fellow musicians departed, and Hartley’s own favorite, “Nearer My God, to Thee.”
At this point, it became impossible to stand without falling. The music’s sounds were lost in an increasingly thunderous roar.
Titanic’s stern rose high out of the water.
Lights that had stayed lit for so long – at the price of many lives – flickered, turned red as current fails, then went out forever.
Dark, now, against the starlit sky, Titanic rose almost upright, paused, then began a slow, inevitable slide . . .
Today, Titanic rests in decaying grandeur at the bottom of the North Atlantic, a memorial to all who lost their lives, a remembrance of humanity’s folly and our disregard of nature’s supremacy.
Titanic is cold and dark and silent now.
But above the agony of her loss and the grief for her dead soar the unselfish, heroic harmonies of her bandsmen – steadfast to the end, sharing their lives, their gift of music, so that others might die with dignity; sharing their deaths with Titanic’s dead so that all are surely inscribed in the Book of Life as heroes.
[John P. Eaton (1926-2021)
was the Society’s historian is an authority on the Titanic: he is the co-author
of five full-length books and many articles about the Titanic and has even
dived on the wreck site. Eaton was the
historian of the Titanic International Society until his death.]
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