Uncle John's Ahh-Inspiring Bathroom Reader (8 page)

T
he Event:
The sinking of the
Titanic.
The luxury liner sank on its maiden voyage in 1912, killing more than 1,500 passengers and crew members.

What the History Books Say:
Just before midnight on April 14, 1912, the
Titanic
struck an iceberg in the North Atlantic. The impact gouged a hole in the hull so large that the “unsinkable” ship went down in just two hours and 40 minutes. What remains in question is exactly how the hull was breached…and why.

One popular theory is that the steel used to make the hull was defective, and that when chilled by the icy cold waters of the North Atlantic, it became so brittle that the steel plates fractured on impact when the ship hit the iceberg.

The theory fails on two points. The steel used by the Harland and Wolff shipyards was “battleship quality,” strong enough to be used in warships, not just ocean liners. And at the time of impact, the water in the
Titanic
's ballast tanks was unfrozen, indicating that the North Atlantic wasn't nearly cold enough that night to turn steel brittle, even if it were defective. The theory also fails to explain a strange sound that passengers heard during the impact. One witness described it sounding “as though we went over about a thousand marbles.”

New Theory:
The discovery of the wreck of the
Titanic
in 1985 has helped to shed light on the mystery. Submersibles recovered some of the iron rivets that were used to secure the steel plates together, and one of the rivets ended up in the hands of Dr. Tim Foecke, a metallurgist with the National Institute of Standards and Technology. Foecke cut the rivet in half…and found a flaw: pieces of “slag,” or glass added to the wrought iron to give it strength, were not evenly distributed in the iron as they should have been. Instead, they were concentrated in clumps, which
weakens the iron instead of strengthening it.

A properly formed rivet would stretch but remain intact during a collision with an iceberg, but if it were defective the head of the rivet could pop off, leaving a hole in the steel plate about an inch in diameter. Pop enough rivets in a line along the hull—something that might sound “as though we went over about a thousand marbles”—and the plates would separate, letting in enough seawater to sink a ship. And even if the steel plates remained in place, there would be enough one-inch holes in the hull to take on water and send the
Titanic
to her watery grave.

Still, one defective rivet does not sink a ship. So when Foecke learned the submersible was making another trip down to the
Titanic,
he asked them to bring him back some more to study. The submersible brought back 48 rivets. Nineteen of them were defective.

In 1917 the British Admiralty decided to build a fleet of “K-boats”—325-foot-long steam-powered submarines. Bad idea:

• K2 caught fire on its maiden dive.

• K3 sank for no apparent reason (with the Prince of Wales aboard) and then mysteriously surfaced again. Later it was rammed by K6 and sank for good.

• K4 ran aground.

• K5 sank and all on board were killed.

• K6 got stuck on the sea bottom.

• K7 rammed K17 and went to the junk heap.

• K14 started leaking before ever leaving the dock, and was later rammed by K22 and sank.

• K17 went out of control and sank.

• K22 was rammed by an escorting cruiser.

• In 1918 (after the deaths of some 250 British sailors) the K project was abandoned.

These were actually uttered on the air by sports announcers.

“He dribbles a lot and the opposition don't like it—you can see it all over their faces.”

—Ron Atkinson,
soccer announcer

“This is really a lovely horse, I once rode her mother.”

—Ted Walsh,
horse racing announcer

“And here's Moses Kiptanui, the 19-year-old Kenyan, who turned 20 a few weeks ago.”

—
David Coleman,
track and field announcer

“We now have exactly the same situation as we had at the start of the race, only exactly the opposite.”

—Murray Walker,
motor sports announcer

“It's a partial sellout.”

—Chip Caray,
baseball announcer

“The Phillies beat the Cubs today in a doubleheader. That puts another keg in the Cubs' coffin.”

—Jerry Coleman,
baseball announcer

“Anytime Detroit scores more than 100 points and holds the other team below 100 points, they almost always win.”

—Doug Collins,
basketball analyst

“There are no opportune times for a penalty, and this is not one of those times.”

—Jack Youngblood,
soccer announcer

“Coming on to pitch is Mike Moore, who is six-foot-one and 212 years old.”

—
Herb Score,
baseball announcer

“That was a complicated play, folks. So let's have a replay for all of you scoring in bed.”

—Bob Kelly,
hockey announcer

“He slud into third.”

—Dizzy Dean,
baseball announcer

“We'll be back with the recrap after this message.”

—Ralph Kiner,
baseball announcer

The Great San Francisco Earthquake was one of the costliest—in both lives and money—natural disasters to hit the United States in the 20th century. Here's the story.

Most of San Francisco's 450,000 people were asleep at 5:13 a.m. on Tuesday, April 18, 1906. Firefighters lay exhausted in their beds after fighting a fire at the California Cannery Company the night before.
The Daily News
was about to go to press with an article noting that San Franciscans had collected $10,000 for the victims of the recent earthquake in Formosa. It mentioned that committees had been meeting in town to discuss how to handle such a disaster should it ever happen in San Francisco.

Then it happened. The jolt from the earthquake was felt from Los Angeles to Coos Bay, Oregon, a distance of 730 miles. San Francisco stood at the epicenter. It's not known how high on the Richter scale the quake was—some estimates say more than 8.5—but when the earth shook, electric lines came down, trolley tracks twisted, water pipes shattered, bridges collapsed, and buildings crumpled. In some areas, the ground moved 20 feet. It was over in 48 seconds.

All services—including communication, transportation, and medical—were either completely gone or heavily damaged. The city lay in ruins, and the casualties mounted. The situation was bad…and it was about to get worse.

Smaller earthquakes had hit the town in 1857, 1865, 1868, and 1890. As the city was reconstructed over the years, people built their homes out of wood, knowing it withstood shaking better than brick. But there was a problem with wood: it burned. So anywhere a gas line was ruptured, a stove was upset, or a lantern was overturned, there was enough ready fuel to start a serious fire…and that's exactly what happened.

People reported more than 50 fires within the first half hour following the quake, but because the city's alarm system was out, San Francisco's 585 firefighters had no way of pinpointing the
locations. And even if they could, there was little they could do because most of the water mains were broken. Worse yet, Fire Chief Dennis Sullivan lay dying of injuries suffered in the quake. The fires quickly began to consume San Francisco.

Brigadier General Frederick Funston, stationed at the Presidio, an army outpost on the northern edge of San Francisco, was flung from his bed by the quake. He immediately sprang into action. Funston knew that army troops were needed to help with the disaster, but he also knew that federal law prevented soldiers from entering the city without first being invited by local authorities. So he headed to City Hall to find Mayor Eugene Schmitz. What he found instead was the building in ruins, fires in the distance, and no sign of the mayor. He decided that troops were needed—whether or not the proper channels were followed. He sent messengers to the Presidio and to Fort Mason, which was also at the north end of the city, and less than two hours after the quake the first of 500 soldiers were on their way into the stricken city. Later they would be joined by sailors, marines, and the National Guard.

Funston organized survivors, ordering some people to gather and distribute all the food that they could find. Others were sent to find wagons and go to neighboring towns for food and supplies. More were sent in search of any bakeries still standing with orders to help get them back in business. And still others were ordered to begin collecting and burying the dead. At 10:15 a.m., Funston sent a telegram to Washington, D.C., asking Secretary of War William Howard Taft for emergency assistance and tents for 20,000 people. It wasn't long before he revised the request to 100,000. Even that wouldn't be enough.

Mayor Schmitz finally arrived at City Hall at 7 a.m., as bodies were being pulled from the rubble. He immediately moved into the Hall of Justice and later moved his headquarters four more times as the fires grew and spread. His first order of business was to send out messengers—one to find a telegraph office that was still operating, one to Oakland to ask for fire engines, hoses, and dynamite, and one to the governor requesting that food and water be sent with all possible haste.

Schmitz also ordered troops to shoot looters on sight, a rule that was so strictly enforced, it was claimed that people were shot while searching through the rubble of their own homes. Others claimed the troops did most of the looting.

Fires continued to pop up, grow, and join with other blazes to become huge walls of flame. By 9:00 a.m., a fire was moving across the city, devouring entire blocks at a time. In some areas, the flames advanced as fast as a human can run. By noon, 11 blocks had burned and Market Street had turned into a flaming tunnel.

Meanwhile, the streets became clogged with refugees, soldiers, firefighters, and police. Sightseers coming from outlaying areas to view the damage soon found themselves trapped by the crowds and confusion. And before long they were all trapped by the flames. The entire city of San Francisco and many of its citizens were in danger of being reduced to ashes.

Turn to page 251 to find out how the city was saved.