Titanic's Radiomen

Jack Phillips celebrated his twenty fifth birthday aboard the RMS Titanic. The finest ship in the world, he had taken on the position of senior wireless operator for the ship, quite an accomplishment for someone so young, and he already had a good amount of experience under his belt. He had worked on a good number of ships, including the RMS Lusitania, which would become infamous just three years later in the leadup to World War 1.

Like any young man who had gotten a little bit of praise and had the success to back it up, Jack Phillips had an ego. He knew his job and his place in the world and was perfectly satisfied with that. On the night of April 14, everyone aboard the Titanic seemed to be doing very important or very fun things, but Jack was working through a backlog of messages the ship had received. The wireless system had been broken down the day before, so he was furiously trying to contact Cape Race, Newfoundland, with an abundance of passengers’ personal messages. Other ships kept interrupting him, with warnings of ice or otherwise, but Jack repeatedly pushed them aside. He relayed the first few to the captain, but they got so repetitive he figured that the captain wouldn’t like to keep bothering. Cyril Evans, aboard the SS Californian, radioed that their ship was stopped due to ice, and suggested the Titanic do the same. “Keep out!” Jack replied, “Shut up; I’m working on Cape Race!” Evans waited a little longer before eventually shutting off their communications with Titanic and going to bed for the night.

At 11:40 p.m., just twenty minutes before Jack’s shift ended and junior operator Harold Bride would take over, the Titanic struck an iceberg. The captain came in and calmly told him to send out distress signals. Harold Bride had stumbled in sleepily, still wearing his pajamas, and began to help out. Jack started sending out the distress signal CQD, which had recently begun the process of being replaced by SOS. Harold jokingly told Jack, “Send SOS, it’s the new call, and it may be your last chance to use it.”

Assured by Harold that everything was under control, Jack took a short break to gauge the situation outside of the wireless room. It was chaos. God help me, Jack thought. This is when he realized just how many people would die.

He returned to the wireless room. “Hey,” he told Harold. “The ship is flooding, put your life belt on.”

Harold left to get the pair more clothes and life vests while Jack remained in the room, furiously sending out distress calls. The Californian was clearly within range, why were they not responding? The Carpathia had heard them, but they were too far away. Jack began to freak out. He looked at the pile of ice warnings he had shoved beneath a paperweight. He had been diligent about reporting the first few, but had stopped when they got too repetitive. Would the next one have been the one to change Titanic’s course, preventing this disaster? And his antagonization of Cyril Evans can’t have helped. By God, what had he done.

Harold returned a moment later and tossed a lifebelt at Jack. Jack clipped it on and remained at work, facing the desk with a staunch ferocity on his face. The captain stopped in and told the men that their work was done, and that they could go seek help. Jack remained at work. “Come on,” Harold told him, gathering a few of his things. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“No.” Jack responded, “there is still something, and I have to do everything.” At that moment, the power went out. Titanic’s last lifeline had gone out, and Jack truly had done everything he could. He stood up and faced the man who had become his friend in the past few days, and the two men with inflated egos saw each other for what they were: two twenty-somethings dwarfed by a situation far larger than themselves. Jack began to gather a few of his own belongings, although he had heard enough stories of sea-disaster to know that none would do him any good. While his back was turned, another crew member snuck in the wireless room and attempted to steal Jack’s lifebelt. Without a second thought, Harold knocked him out. Jack looked amazed at the bony 22 year old, but no words were exchanged.

They both ran out of the wireless room, climbing over the unconscious crew member on the ground. When they reached the deck, the two men looked at each other, both for guidance and reassurance.

“We did what we could,” Harold said.

At the same time, Jack said, “it has been a pleasure to serve with you.”

The two men ran in opposite directions.

Jack panicked and ran towards anything that looked like a lifeboat. “Women and children only!” demanded Charles Lightoller, whom Jack had formerly considered a friend. Taking in the chaos of the scene, Jack took only a second to accept his fate.

“Ships have responded to our distress call, we’re not alone out here. The Carpathia is on their way. The Californian hasn’t responded, but they would have seen the rockets. Direct the departing ships in that direction,” he pointed out at the black horizon.

Lightoller nodded. “God speed, young man.” Jack nodded and took off in the other direction.

Harold had decided before reaching the deck that he would help anyone and everyone who looked like the needed it, but upon reaching the surface, he realized that that was far too much responsibility to take on. He ran to a group of men working feverishly to remove a lifeboat. “It’s no use!” He heard one man say.

“This is the last one, we haven’t got any other options!” was a shouted response. Harold worked his overtired muscles to the breaking point. The lifeboat came crashing down, landing upside down on the deck. The group of men wordlessly gathered to flip it, but it slid off into the ocean, taking Harold with it. He frantically kicked to the surface, and found himself beneath the overturned lifeboat. Not giving up on his promise, he immediately began working to flip it over from the water. With the help of everyone in the vicinity, he succeeded, and climbed in, but the ship had been damaged, and was taking on water fast. Harold shouted. The cold water had flooded into his ears, so he could no longer hear, but he could feel his voice straining, and hoped he was making any kind of noise.

Apparently he was, and was yanked into another lifeboat. For the first time since he’d waken up at 11:40 for work, he was able to think. Jack.

Harold did not adhere to the philosophy that anyone was more deserving of life than anyone else, but only because he had never had to put it to practice, but in that moment, he adhered to the firm belief that Jack had earned Harold’s lifeboat seat. Harold tried not to look for his friend in the sea of bodies occupying the space Titanic formerly had, but morbid curiosity forced his head. He caught a back that he thought could possibly be Jack, and the lifebelt was unfastened in the back, just as Jack’s had been after that man tried to steal it, but Harold would not permit himself a longer look. He had done all he could, and the consequences would wait until morning.

Harold’s lifeboat, along with many others from the Titanic, was rescued by the Carpathia. Harold took a short break, regaining his hearing and taking far less than enough time to process the situation, and then he limped to the wireless room to help Carpathia’s wireless officer, also named Harold, in radioing survivors and personal messages. He maintained his professionality, but his heart secretly dropped when he couldn’t find Jack’s name on the list of survivors. He didn’t dare ask for Other Harold’s list.

Incidentally, he’d known Other Harold, Harold Cottam, before, but their friendship grew to a lifelong one that morning.

When Carpathia arrived in New York, Harold stayed on board. One of his feet was sprained, the other frostbitten, so while he waited to be carried off, a New York Times reporter quickly scurried onboard and met to hear Harold's side of the story. This would be the first of many times he replayed that night. He testified in the British and American investigations in the event, but by the time the fame had worn off, he was lying in the dust. Harold maintained a low profile for the rest of his life.

He never found out exactly what happened to Jack. He had never surfaced, and his body was never found. There were conflicting results about his death: for a brief moment someone swore that he saw him aboard the Carpathia, but that was quickly put to rest. The only thing that was known for sure was that Jack hadn’t made it off of Titanic alive.

Harold served as a wireless operator in World War 1.

Charles Lightoller, who had prevented numerous people from reaching safety aboard the lifeboats due to his strict adherence to the “women and children only” policy, wrote a book outlining why he, as second officer of the Titanic, was not to blame. He used a scapegoat who could not speak up for himself: Jack Phillips. If only Jack had relayed the ice warnings, if only he had reached out to the Californian, regardless of the fact that the Californian was actively ignoring Titanic. He served as a commanding officer for the Royal Navy in World War 1 and, in World War 2 long after his retirement, he sailed his personal boat as one of the “little ships” in Dunkirk, rescuing some 120 British servicemen. The man who had once damned people by preventing them from getting on a boat, rescued people by inviting them on his.

Left: Jack Phillips, Right: Harold Bride