Reputation ruined: Bruce Ismay and the Titanic disaster

Everyone’s heard of the loss of Titanic in April 1912, the world’s most famous peacetime shipping disaster. It lives on thanks to the scale of the human tragedy and a sense of hubris: the supposedly unsinkable ship that ended up at the bottom of the Atlantic.

One man’s reputation was ruined on that deadly night. J Bruce Ismay was on board as the chief executive of Titanic’s owner, the White Star Line. As the great ship set out on its maiden voyage he seemed to have it all: wealth, power and prestige. He had succeeded his late father in 1899 as head of White Star but within three years sold the company to JP Morgan’s new shipping conglomerate, International Merchant Marine (IMM). Ismay became president of IMM and masterminded the building of Titanic and its sister leviathans Olympic and Britannic, believing that these giant luxury ships would give White Star a competitive advantage over rival lines such as Cunard. (Their size also made them ideal for the thousands of people emigrating from Europe to the United States; those travelling steerage did so in greater comfort than on most rival liners.)

There are countless books and online stories about the Titanic’s fatal encounter with the iceberg, so here I’ll focus on Bruce Ismay’s dramatic fall from grace.

Titanic’s collapsible D lifeboat, similar to Ismay’s collapsible C

In the early hours of Monday 15 April 1912, Ismay stepped into starboard collapsible lifeboat C, and into infamy. He made it clear to the American Senate inquiry into the disaster that no one ordered him into the lifeboat, giving the following reason for his entering the boat:

‘Because there was room in the boat. She was being lowered away. I felt the ship was going down, and I got into the boat.’

According to most of the accounts of that tragic night, Ismay helped load the lifeboats, calling out for any remaining women to get in. He himself recalled complete calmness: no panic and no crowds of desperate passengers fearing for their lives as the last lifeboats were lowered. In reality, Titanic’s final hour was chaotic. The crew were nervous about filling the boats to capacity. So, although Titanic’s boats could carry 1,100 or the 2,340 people on board, only 705 were actually saved. Ismay’s own lifeboat had room for a few more to board, so he wasn’t condemning anyone to a freezing cold death by getting in. The White Star line boss couldn’t look as his great ship sank below the waves, accompanied by the shocking screams of those condemned to freeze to death in the ice-cold waters of the April ocean.

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Lance Armstrong: It’s not about the bike, it’s about the doping

It’s hard when heroes turn into villains. Today I finally accepted that Lance Armstrong doped his way to an extraordinary seven successive Tour de France victories. The fairytale story of the cancer survivor who went on to dominate one of the world’s most punishing sports now looks like a grim story of cheating and drug abuse rather than heroic endeavour.

There’s still a chance Armstrong may be vindicated. But the fact he’s not fighting the United States Anti-Doping Agency’s case against him strongly suggests he knows the game’s up.

Over a decade ago, I was enthralled and inspired by Armstrong’s moving account of his battle against cancer, It’s Not about the Bike. It was one of my spurs to complete the Land’s End to John O’Groats ride 10 years ago. I knew all about cycling’s sordid relationship with drugs, notably the 1998 Tour de France’s Festina affair. (Paul Kimmage lifted the lid on this culture in Rough Ride.) But I believed the Armstrong line: he was the most tested cyclist in history. And every one had shown him to be clean. Karen and I followed Armstrong’s annual progress in Le Tour. I wore the US Postal team kit on several cycling holidays.

I admired his dedication as well as his success. I loved his account of winter practice in the French mountains: after a long ascent, he told his team to do it all over again, as he wasn’t happy with his performance. This when his top rival Jan Ullrich was piling on the winter kilograms.

One by one, his contemporaries were disgraced in doping scandals: Ullrich, Ivan Basso, Tyler Hamilton, Floyd Landis, Alexander Vinokourov, Roberto Heras… the list is endless. I blogged my disillusionment after Landis failed a dope test after winning the 2006 Tour. My post quoted a comment from a German broadcaster:  “We have signed a contract to show a sports event not a showcase for the pharmaceutical industry.” A year later I wrote of the Tour de France entering last chance saloon as yet another drugs scandal hit. Yet Armstrong appeared the innocent despite similar allegations. It seems the appearance was a sham.

I hope that the new generation of cyclists will discard the tainted world of Armstrong, Ullrich, Landis and Heras. All the signs are that Bradley Wiggins, Britain’s very first Tour winner, and his contemporaries are true, clean heroes. London 2012 was a fitting showcase for them. Yet there was one sour note. The disgraced Alexander Vinokourov won gold in the Olympics road race.

How will the allegations about Lance Armstrong impact his charitable foundation, Livestrong? So far, it seems to be unscathed. (It helps that Armstrong’s name is not the charity’s identity. The Jimmy Savile Charitable Trust has no such luck.) Time will tell.