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Praise for Collision Course
“This brilliantly exciting narrative will go down as one of the great sagas of the sea.” —Harper’s Magazine
“Alvin Moscow’s splendid book tells the full story.… More than a magnificent analysis of the accident and sinking; it is a warmly compassionate document, full of understanding for the people on each side.” —Walter Lord, The New York Times Book Review
“One of the most intriguing and thought-provoking books about shipwreck since A Night to Remember.” —The Detroit News
“An electrifying book.” —Newsweek
“People who liked Lord’s A Night to Remember will want to read this dramatic, hour-by-hour reconstruction of the Andrea Doria disaster.” —Booklist
“A highly perceptive, immensely readable account of the [Doria-Stockholm] collision.” —Chicago Tribune
“Dramatically recounts the night of death and horror … Moscow gives the best explanation yet of the basic questions involved in the disaster.” —Akron Beacon Journal
“Thrilling … gripping … a really stupendous book.” —Alexander Crosby Brown, maritime historian, Daily Press (Newport)
Collision Course
The Classic Story of the Collision of the Andrea Doria and the Stockholm
Alvin Moscow
To DEIRDRE, again
Contents
An Explanation
1. A Calculated Risk
2. “Lights to Port”
3. “I Can See a Ship”
4. “Why Did She Turn So?”
5. “Shall I Ring the Alarm?”
6. “We’re Going on a Picnic”
7. “We Need Boats”
8. “I Want to See the Captain”
9. “Send Down a Ladder”
10. “Tell Them I Did Everything I Could”
11. “My Schedule is Imperative”
12. “Seaworthiness is Nil”
13. “I’m Also Wondering About That”
14. “Do I Have to Answer?”
15. “I Loved the Sea—Now I Hate It”
16. Salvaging the Doria
17. Revisiting the Doria
Image Gallery
Index
About the Author
An Explanation
This is a completely factual and true account, within the capabilities of the author, of the worst sea tragedy of our times. The temptation to extend this story to what might have or must have happened has been scrupulously avoided. No words or thoughts have been put into the minds of the survivors beyond those remembered afterwards by each of the men or women who spoke or heard them.
Many facets of the story are steeped in controversy, and, aware of this, I have tried to check and recheck every fact contained in this book. Where accounts conflicted, I have applied the weight of evidence to reach an unbiased conclusion, and where the weight of evidence failed to tilt the scales appreciably to one side, both sides of the story have been presented.
Much of the controversy over the rescue operation stems from the fact that each participant witnessed only a particular segment, be it large or small, of the disaster. The primary purpose of this book is to put into proper perspective for the first time the pertinent aspects of the collision of the Andrea Doria and the Stockholm.
Having approached this subject as a news reporter with little, if any, aforehand knowledge, I am happy to make known the help I received from many sources.
Firstly, I am indebted to The Associated Press, in general, and to my city editor, Joseph H. Nicholson, in particular, for introducing me to this subject by assigning me to the four months of court hearings on the disaster, and again for granting me an extended leave of absence for further research and the writing of this book.
I wish to thank the Swedish-American Line and its attorneys, Charles S. Haight and Gordon Paulsen, and the Italian Line and its attorneys, Eugene Underwood and Kenneth Volk, for the extent of their cooperation under the circumstances.
I am grateful to the officers and men of the Andrea Doria and of the Stockholm who individually allowed me to probe their thoughts as well as review their activities on the night of the collision: Captain Piero Calamai, Staff Captain Oswaldo Magagnini, Third Officer Guideo Badano, and Dr. Bruno Tortori-Donati of the Andrea Doria; and Captain H. Gunnar Nordenson, Chief Officer Herbert Kallback, Second Officer Lars Enestrom, Third Officer Ernst Carstens-Johannsen, and Chief Purser Curt Dawe of the Stockholm.
I needed and received “expert” advice for the understanding of certain technical aspects and background material concerning the disaster, and for this help I wish to thank, among others, H. L. Seward, Professor Emeritus of Mechanical and Marine Engineering at Yale University, who served as consultant to the Committee on Merchant Marine and Fisheries of the House of Representatives in its investigation of the collision; W. R. Griswold, sales manager of the Marine Division of the Sperry Gyroscope Company; Frank O. Braynard, of the American Merchant Marine Institute; and John Sherman, of the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy, Kings Point, New York.
My thanks are due also to the commanders of the major rescue vessels at the scene who submitted to my interrogation, to those passengers who corresponded, telephoned, or spoke with me about July 25 and 26, 1956, and to the many seafaring men who revealed to me shipboard practices that are not to be found in books, periodicals or newspapers.
With the passage of so many years since the original publication of this book in 1959, I have now the rare opportunity of thanking the reading public for their high and continuing interest in Collision Course. This was my first book. Its success in the marketplace changed my career and my life. I have a very special affection for it, as my firstborn, and so I would like to express here my appreciation to Robert Markel and Norma Anderson, editors at Grosset & Dunlap, for bringing Collision Course back to life in a new edition in 1981. And now I would especially like to thank Jonathan McCullough and Emily Ginsberg, editors at Lyons Press, for their help with this new updating of Collision Course.
In writing a new chapter on the Andrea Doria as the “Mount Everest” for scuba divers, I was coached by three intrepid and experienced deep sea scuba divers who know the Doria so well: David A. Bright, Christina Young, and Bart P. Malone. They are now part of the story, and I thank them. Finally, for moral support and critical editing throughout the writing of the three editions of this book, I am—as I was before for other reasons—forever indebted to Deirdre Meadow Moscow, my wife.
It must be said, however, that with all the help received from persons mentioned above and others not listed, the views and conclusions expressed in this book are solely those of the author.
—ALVIN MOSCOW
ST. GEORGE, UTAH 2004
Chapter One
A CALCULATED RISK
The North Atlantic, like all oceans, is trackless and free, a no-man’s body of water beset by storms and ice in the winter and storms and fog in the summer. This mighty ocean has been made safe for travel by the genius of man. Yet in his frailty man must take care, for despite all the electronic wonders devised through the years of scientific progress, periodically the sea takes its toll.
On a Wednesday, the 25th day of July, 1956, at 2:40 in the afternoon, Superior Captain Piero Calamai, who had devoted thirty-nine of the fifty-eight years of his life to the sea, sensed fog in the air. He made straightaway for the bridge of his ship, the Italian luxury liner Andrea Doria.
The captain, a tall, well-built man whose swarthy suntanned face was dominated by an aquiline nose, was credited by his crew with a sixth sense by which he could smell fog on the horizon b
efore it became evident to the men on watch. It was an unusual occurrence when Captain Calamai had to be summoned to the bridge because of fog. The captain, like masters of all ships, had standing orders that he be called in the event of any kind of reduced visibility at sea. He seemed always to arrive there, though, just before he was needed. The simple explanation for Captain Calamai’s “sixth sense” probably was that he was a worrier. He never was away from the bridge of his ship for long. Of the multiple duties incumbent upon the master of a ship, Captain Calamai favored those of chief navigator.
The aloneness forced upon a man by the sea suited the Italian captain. A shy, introverted person, he least enjoyed the social obligations of a captain of a luxury liner. Because he disliked cocktails, liquor and small talk, he discharged his social obligations to celebrities and important passengers aboard by showing them the bridge of his beautiful ship during the morning hours. He preferred conducting a tour of the ship’s bridge and instruments to acting as host at the usual cocktail party in the captain’s cabin. Neither did he dine with passengers at a “captain’s table.” He ate with his senior officers in a small room off the First-Class Dining Room.
Nor was he a strong disciplinarian. He was too sensitive and benevolent a man to impose his will upon a subordinate. Although a major part of the time of a ship’s master is spent as an administrator overseeing the smooth running of his little community bounded by the rails of his ship, he may impose his discipline through his second-in-command who holds the rank of staff captain or chief mate. Captain Calamai availed himself of his staff captain in disciplinary cases. He never was known to chastise and openly embarrass a subordinate. Instead, he would take an erring man aside when absolutely necessary for private fatherly advice. And his men loved him and respected him for it. Those who served under him knew he devoted himself selflessly to his ship and that in his innate honesty he expected the same of the men serving him. The only criticism admitted by some of his officers was that perhaps Captain Calamai was “a little mild.”
That he was an excellent seaman and navigator with a sure hand, none of his men doubted. He had served on and commanded large, fast ships of the Italian Line passenger fleet for almost all of his life. He had been commander of the Andrea Doria, Italy’s finest, since her maiden voyage in January, 1953.
Captain Calamai saw the unmistakable signs of fog on the horizon as he stood on one of the bridge wings of his ship. The bridge wings, like the wings of an airplane, extended from either side of the wheelhouse to a point slightly beyond the hull of the ship, and being near the top of the ship’s superstructure afforded the captain an unrestricted view of the sea before him. Fog was not unusual in the waters off the east coast of the United States for the month of July. The question was how dense and how deep the fog was for this voyage. Captain Calamai often had stood eighteen to twenty-four hours of continuous watch on the final day’s voyage into New York. He was not the kind of man who could leave his bridge at such times to his second-in-command, as did most ship captains who would limit their own watch duty in fog to eight or twelve hours.
Depending upon the density of fog, Captain Calamai knew that the law required that he reduce the speed of his fast ship. He knew equally well that any reduction in speed meant a further delay in arriving in New York, where he was scheduled to bring the Andrea Doria into the harbor at six A.M. the following day. Although the Italian Line, like all shipping companies, never instructs a captain to break the law to arrive on schedule, Captain Calamai knew, as do all captains, that late arrivals are costly. Fuel costs, the pay of some two hundred longshoremen hired the day before to be at the dock to unload the ship, and the public relations of bringing passengers to their destination on time—all add up in the costly operation of a passenger ship.
Approaching the fog ahead, the Doria was then about one hour behind schedule because of a storm two nights before. Her twin turbine engines were on FULL SPEED AHEAD, pounding out 35,000 horsepower. The turbines fed by high-compression steam turned the ship’s two giant propellers, each 16 feet in diameter, 134 revolutions per minute. It was a tremendous amount of power and every bit of it was needed to push this colossal ship, 697 feet long and 11 decks high, through the ocean at her full cruising speed of 23 knots. It was necessary to maintain that speed constantly from Gibraltar at the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea to the Ambrose Lightship at the entrance to New York Harbor in order to bring the ship to port on schedule.
But this day, July 25, was the last day of the voyage. Most of the 4,000-mile voyage from her home port of Genoa was behind the Doria. Captain Calamai had taken the shortest route across the North Atlantic, the Great Circle route, passing through the Azore Islands and heading almost due west for the Nantucket Lightship, which served as a substitute landfall for the United States. During the winter months, the Andrea Doria like other Italian Line ships traveled a longer, more southerly route in an effort to follow the sun across the Atlantic. But in the summer, the Great Circle route offered sunshine as well as economy of fuel consumption. Fuel consumption always has been a major concern of shipowners. The Andrea Doria, for instance, burned ten to eleven tons of fuel oil every hour underway, the equivalent of what the average homeowner uses to heat his home for two years. Now, toward the end of her voyage, the Andrea Doria was riding light, with many of her fuel tanks empty, rolling more perceptibly with the waves. The previous day Captain Calamai had radioed ahead to New York his request for 2,200 tons of oil to refuel the ship for the return voyage.
Directly ahead, beyond the fog, some 165 miles and less than eight hours’ sailing time, lay the Nantucket Lightship for which the Doria was being steered. The red-hulled little vessel was anchored in the ocean some 50 miles off Nantucket, beyond the treacherous shoal waters which extended from the shore of the Island. It was the gateway of the North Atlantic for shipping to and from the United States. For the Andrea Doria, the small lightship represented the first sighting of the United States and the last lap of the voyage off the shores of Massachusetts, Connecticut and Long Island to New York Harbor.
For another ship, a glistening all-white vessel which resembled a long, sleek pleasure yacht more than a liner carrying 534 passengers on a year-round transatlantic schedule to Scandinavia, the Nantucket Lightship represented the point of departure from the United States. This ship, the Swedish-American liner Stockholm, was heading due east toward the Nantucket Lightship as the Andrea Doria was approaching it from the opposite direction. For the Stockholm, whose white was broken only by a single yellow funnel, mast and kingposts, it was the first day out of New York. The Swedish ship, just three inches short of 525 feet from her sharply raked bow to her round stern, had left her pier at Fifty-seventh Street in New York at 11:31 that morning. The day had ben hot, muggy and overcast in New York and not much better out at sea. A haze blurred the rays of the summer sun, yet there was no fog as the Stockholm sailed away from New York. The Swedish ship had followed the French liner Ile de France, which had left her pier at Forty-eighth Street at the same time, down the Hudson River and out to sea. But the leviathan black and white French ship pulled steadily away from the Stockholm at sea, her engines building up to 22 knots. The Stockholm could at best do 18 or 19 knots. It was about 2:40 in the afternoon that the Ile de France faded from sight in the haze ahead as the Stockholm plowed through the sea toward the Nantucket Lightship. Her course was 90° true on the compass, or due east, designed to take her a mile off the Nantucket Lightship, from where she would swing north toward Scandinavia. It was her usual route, the shortest and most economical for a ship going to northern Europe.
Neither the Stockholm nor Andrea Doria was under any compulsion, legal or otherwise, to follow the so-called “recognized tracks” across the ocean, for neither the Swedish nor Italian lines were members of the North Atlantic Track Agreement. The Agreement was purely a voluntary arrangement among nine British, one United States, one Belgian, one French and one Dutch passenger steamship company. No government was a party to it
. Nor did it apply to freighters, oilers, or any type of ship other than passenger vessels of the member companies. Even to the passenger ships of these companies, all plying between New York and English Channel ports, the tracks were not compulsory. The Track Agreement merely urges those passenger ships to use the routes “so far as circumstances permit.”
Thus, on July 25, the Stockholm headed eastward on the usual westbound track which the Andrea Doria was following from the opposite direction toward the Nantucket Lightship. Yet in this there was nothing unusual, for each ship was plying the same route it had always followed.
The Andrea Doria, only three and a half years old, was a maiden in the elite society of luxury passenger ships. To many she was the most beautiful ship afloat. The Italian Line, in designing this ship which was to mark the rebirth of the Italian merchant marine after the second World War, decided wisely not to compete with the United States and Britain for size and speed of their ships. Instead, the Andrea Doria was imbued with Italy’s matchless heritage of beauty, art and design. The 29,100 gross ton ship, 697 feet long and 90 feet wide, of course was no slowpoke midget. She was among the largest and fastest ships of the world. But there was something special about her. The Italian Line itself tried to put into words that special something which marked the Andrea Doria apart among ships of the world. The Italian Line said:
First of all, a ship that is worthy of the name must be a SHIP. She must be able to function as a huge machine … to provide light and heat and numerous essential hotel services to her passengers. She must be able to cleave the ocean waves efficiently and safely, no matter what the weather conditions. She must get her passengers where they want to go with reasonable dispatch, adhering to a schedule announced in advance.
But today a ship must be more than that. For the period of her voyage she must be a whole way of life for her passengers. She must provide them with an experience that will somehow be different and better than a comparable experience they could have anywhere else. This experience must be one they will enjoy while they have it … and one they will never forget as long as they live.
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