Fragile Threads to History

Does anyone reading this admit to recurring nightmares? Is there one kind of knock-you-down in a panic dream that gets you every now and again when you're under stress or otherwise fretting about one thing or another? Mine have always been tidal waves. We lived on the coasts, most of the time, no wonder. We've seen our share of hurricanes, the beach during and after ugly storms, even the towering masts of naval vessels broken like toothpicks and strewn on their decks returning to their berths in Norfolk, Quonset Point or Charleston. (There is also something of intrigue about beaches during and after storms. It's always an experience to walk the beach during storms and after, to see what washes up.) My nightmares can be somewhat threatening, as when I find myself in giant, black, slow-rising swells, with just a hint of fear that one could swamp over me, or the all-out 100 foot crescent only seconds away from the biggest break in recorded history looming over my head.

This explains my morbid interest in anything about the Titanic, Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God and her description of the Lake Okeechobee hurricane of 1928, the Poseidon Adventure, hurricane stories like Isaac's Storm by Erik Larson about the hurricane that hit Galveston, Texas, in 1900, well, you get my drift. (See "The History Channel's rendition rendition of that storm here: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=5738477727172072633 ) A colleague at work is somewhat of an expert in Titanic lore, having traveled over to Southampton via the QE II and returning on the Concorde a number of years ago. This friend has met two of the youngest travelers who were aboard the Titanic when she sunk those many years ago, Millvina Dean and Michel Navratil. (Read the amazing story of M. Navratil here, on Wikipedia http://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-biography/michel-navratil.html .) This leads me to the point of today's blog.

My colleague, Robert, approached me one spring afternoon of 1998 in my office at school asking a strange favor: since I spoke French, could I make a call to France for him to confirm the time of his appointment with a Monsieur Navratil while Robert and his wife were abroad visiting? Laughing, I reminded Robert that my French was rusty. He insisted, saying that it was most important for him, as M. Navratil was one of the few survivors of the Titanic and the appointment meant much to him and his wife. They were reluctant to leave the States for Europe without the confirmation.

Well, now, knowing how water disasters plague me, how could I refuse such an important call? Knowing my sense of place, how could I not make that connection with someone who had been in the maw of the beast and sailed right out again? I immediately felt a sense of urgency and spoke with the retirement center staff in France, who in turn, connected me with Michel Navratil. A gracious, elderly voice greeted me and assured me that my French was fine. After the details were confirmed, I fumbled about but let this venerable survivor know that it was an honor to have spoken with him. This incident remains so vivid in my mind yet it probably only lasted several minutes at most. Michel was only three at the time of the sinking, but remembers well his father's last words to him and his brother.

I recently visited Robert's office and we spoke again of Millvina Dean, pictures of whom are very evident on Robert's bulletin boards. She is 96 years old now, not in excellent health, and will likely not be with us many more years. She is the last of the Titanic survivors, having been only 2 months old when she was placed in the lifeboat.

Years from now, when my grandchildren look back into the dim recesses of the family history, maybe they will be able to "reckon time" by toeholds leading to events that happened in a certain place, or in a certain time. Maybe they can catch threads of history through some of the stories that their great great grandparents, or whoever in the family past whose vision caught their fancy, might have told.

Cathie and I have reservations for a quilt conference/classes in Galveston this February with Sue Garman, a quilt "maven" from the Houston area, whose design, Ladies of the Sea, we are both working on in heavy applique. We are hoping these classes will still take place, as we both want to visit the hurricane museum and "The Elisa", the tall ship anchored in Galveston harbor. Our worries are small, compared to those of others, for sure, who have suffered yet again a major disaster coming from the seas. May these troubles pass swiftly for all.