TITANIC: A STORY TOLD
Chapter Eighteen
"She is the largest moving object ever
made by the hand of man in all history..." J. Bruce Ismay, Managing
Director of the White Star Line, was extolling the virtues of the ship.
"...and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews here, designed her from the
keel plates up." He indicated a handsome 39-year-old Irish gentleman to
his right, Thomas Andrews, of Harland and Wolf Shipbuilders.
The group was assembled for lunch on Friday.
Ismay was seated with Cal, Rose, Ruth, Molly Brown, and Thomas Andrews in the
Palm Court, a beautiful sunny spot enclosed by high arched windows.
Andrews disliked the attention. "Well, I
may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ismay’s. He envisioned a
steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its
supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is..." He slapped the
table. "...willed into solid reality."
Molly spoke up. "Why’re ships always
bein’ called ‘she’? Is it because men think half the women around have big sterns
and should be weighed in tonnage?" They all laughed. "Just another
example of the men settin’ the rules their way."
The waiter arrived to take orders. Rose lit a
cigarette.
"You know I don’t like that, Rose,"
Ruth told her.
"She knows." Cal took the cigarette
from her and stubbed it out. To the waiter, he said, "We’ll both have the
lamb. Rare, with a little mint sauce." To Rose, after the waiter moved on,
he asked, "You like lamb, don’t you, sweetpea?"
Molly was watching the dynamic between Rose,
Cal, and Ruth.
"So, you gonna cut her meat for her too,
there, Cal?" Turning to Ismay, she asked, "Hey, who came up with the
name Titanic? You, Bruce?"
"Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer
size. And size means stability, luxury...and safety--"
Rose couldn’t resist. "Do you know of
Dr. Freud? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of
particular interest to you, Mr. Ismay."
Andrews choked on his breadstick, suppressing
laughter.
Ruth was shocked and embarrassed. "My
God, Rose, what’s gotten into--"
"Excuse me." Rose stalked away.
Ruth was mortified. "I do
apologize."
"She’s a pistol, Cal. You sure you can
handle her?" Molly was delighted with the whole thing.
Tense but feigning unconcern, Cal replied,
"Well, I may have to start minding what she reads from now on."
Ismay was still confused. "Freud? Who is
he? Is he a passenger?"