Marlene Dotterer - Shipbuilder

However, he was not going to be aboard for Olympic’s sea trials. Most of the guarantee group would be aboard. He was sending Ed Wilding in his place to run things. He could depend on a thorough report from Ed regarding the ship’s performance. Tom was conflicted about this. The Olympic was up to then the largest ship ever to sail, and her trials would last two days and be unaccountably thorough. In fact, if he had not been privy to future knowledge, and already aware that the Olympic would function perfectly, he didn’t know if he could have stayed away. But Lord Pirrie expected him to personally handle the launching details for Titanic , and for that he had to be at the yard, not at sea.

Until the Olympic sailed for her trials, Tom was able to depend on Ham to substitute for him as they prepared for Titanic’s launch. They had handled many launchings, and Ham knew the process frontwards and backwards. They met two or three times a day to quickly go over details, but all was proceeding smoothly, and Tom felt able to concentrate on the Olympic . After Olympic sailed off for her trials, he settled into the launching procedure and last-minute details for Titanic . They expected around a hundred thousand people to view the launch from various points around town, and several thousand of them would be watching from the shipyard itself. Three sets of bleachers were erected to hold them. One set alone was reserved for journalists, who would be coming from all points of the globe.

The millions of details that went into the launching of a ship had one important goal: to make Lord Pirrie look good when he gave the signal to release the ship, and she settled into the water for the first time. If they succeeded with this, then Harland & Wolff also looked good, and the people of Belfast could point with pride to what they could accomplish.

On the thirty-first, Tom was at the shipyard by five in the morning, having gone to bed close to midnight. Before leaving, he held each of his sleeping children for a minute. He would be gone six weeks, and every moment he would miss was pushing down on him.

The day dawned bright, with a sky of deep blue. The air was already warm at eight o’clock when Lord and Lady Pirrie arrived with J.P. Morgan and Bruce Ismay. Tom continued to supervise the final steps taking place on the dock and in the water, including the removal of any buoys, and the placement of tugs and flagboats to move the ship after her launch. He made sure the flagpole was secure in the stern, and with George helping him, unfurled the flags and hooked them to the pole: the flag for the White Star Line and a series of white flags spelling out the word “SUCCESS.” The flags would be raised moments before the ship was launched.

At eleven, they opened the gate for spectators to take their places. Jack Andrews reported to his uncle on the dock, ready for duty. Tom inspected him sternly, shirt tucked in, hair combed underneath the cap, shoes clean. Jack bore the inspection well, standing tall and straight, torn between gawking with wonder at the huge ship just a few feet in front of him, and watching his uncle for any sign of displeasure, which could result in his being packed off to the stands with his Aunt Casey and Dr. Altair. Tom made him bear it only for a moment. Then he smiled and clapped the lad’s shoulder, turning to the foreman standing nearby. “Ho, Albright. Here’s your final worker to help with the blocks.”

“Aye, Mr. Andrews.” Albright motioned for Jack to follow him, and Tom sent him on before continuing his inspection of the boilers. He looked up in time to see Jack join the crew, take a hammer, nod seriously at the instruction given him, and with an authoritative whack! , send the block falling onto the dock away from the ship. The men cheered and Tom flushed in delight at the look on Jack’s face. Such a simple thing, but the boy would remember it his entire life.

They were ready. Lord Pirrie began his final inspection of the ship, walking along the dock on both sides, before turning to an examination of the hydraulic launching equipment. He and Tom then walked back to the owner’s gallery, and Lord Pirrie gave the signal.

A rocket was fired and the flags were raised. In the stands, Casey held onto Sam’s hand with a fierce grip and stared in near horror as the ship, which in another time had claimed her husband’s life, slowly moved back and settled into the water. In just over a minute, the Titanic was floating, and the anchors and ropes easily brought her to a halt. The excited crowd roared its approval. Jack, next to Sam, jumped up and down, yelling with delight. Standing still amid the tumult, Casey had eyes only for her husband, as he stood in the owner’s gallery and accepted congratulations from those around him.

After the celebratory lunch, Tom hooked an arm around Casey’s waist and guided her to his office. It was empty since Ham was already on board Olympic ; he would be sailing as far as Southampton to help with the administrative work until the ship left for New York. Tom took a moment to gaze at Casey as she leaned against his desk. She wore a new green dress that demanded his constant attention. A tiny smile moved the corners of her mouth. She had removed her hat. Her hair was up, but shorter strands of red framed her face with curls. Her eyes were large and intensely green, matching the dress. He allowed himself a good long look, then gripped both her shoulders as he smiled down at her.

“That dress is all eyes and cleavage, do you know that?” he asked her teasingly. She laughed and slipped her arms around his neck. Any reply she might have made was forgotten in the kiss that followed. It was all they had time for. He had inspections to do and papers to sign on Olympic before she sailed, but they made that kiss worthwhile. They held each other a moment longer, memorizing the feel of the other’s body before Casey returned to Dunallon, and Tom boarded his ship.

July 1911—October 1911

The police investigator, the same man who took their report about the riot, came to see them one evening shortly after Tom returned. He commented that he was spending far too much time with the Andrews, and he hoped their lives “would settle down and not require his presence again, any time soon.” Then he sat in the parlor with Tom, Casey and Sam, and proceeded to explain how he had captured Colin Riley.

Riley had indeed come close to committing the perfect crime, the investigator told them, waving an unlit cigar in his hands. His alibi was solid, there was no evidence anywhere, and if the victim had died as expected, there would have been almost no questions at all. But like most amateur criminals, Riley was obsessed with his crime. Soon after his return from Paris, he had made his way to the burnt farmhouse, walking around, inside and out.

“I followed him, you see,” the investigator said nonchalantly. “I knew he’d trip himself up, eventually.”

Whatever Riley expected to see at the farmhouse, he didn’t seem to be finding it. He grew more and more disturbed, bending to look under the fallen and burnt bookcase, scraping in the ashes on the floor, searching the ground outside. The inspector finally took pity on him and put in an appearance.

“Startled him a bit, I did,” he said, eyes crinkling in amusement. “In fact, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Who am I? he wanted to know. What did I want? Like he owned the place.”

The inspector shrugged. “So I told him who I was, and asked what’s he looking for? He was nervous, you see. It never occurred to him that Mr. Altair hadn’t died, so he didn’t have a plan for dealing with that. He couldn’t answer my questions, kept contradicting himself. We talked for about fifteen minutes and I told him someone pulled a fellow out of a fire here a few months back, and he completely cracked. Broke down crying and confessed.”