A few years ago my 10 year old son had to write his first biographical research report. I do not recall if he chose Robert Ballard or if Ballard was assigned to him, but I jumped into the exercise supplying enthusiasm for his shortfall of it. Ballard, if you didn’t already know, was a lead member of a combined set of teams set out to discover the Titanic.
As I am sure it is for many people (hence the popularity of the movie), the story of the Titanic’s sinking is emblematic in its seductive horror. For me the search for Titanic’s submerged remains is equally magnetic. No question, this was a topic into which I could delve. So, we checked out a few books. We scoured Wikipedia and other webpages. We copied and printed numerous photos. Mom may have gone a bit overboard to create a 2 page, hand-written report accompanied by a posterboard presentation. (Admittedly, the distillation from research to 3rd grade quality composition was representative of what was lost on the sea floor between 1912 and 1985.) Still the skeletal remains he presented were enough to piece together the full story.
Something I learned from our research was how Ballard and the others actually discovered the remains. After working with the Navy to discover and explore two submarines, Ballard was given a window with the Navy funded equipment to collaborate with a French research team led by Jean-Louis Michel to find the shipwreck. What Ballard had learned in his search for the subs was that he should not look for the wreckage, but instead to cover wide swaths of the sea floor looking for the “debris field” left behind from the wreck. Indeed, with mere days of funding left, that is how in 1985 they discovered the resting place of the Titanic.
The notion of a debris field – a cemetery strewn about by sea currents – floored me. To think there really is no longer a whole salvageable ship to discover. Instead, bits and pieces torn off during the wreck and over time are strewn about the floor of the sea.
At the time, I could not explain why this drew me in so fully. Now I think I have a better appreciation for the metaphor it represents. A wreckage that is only discovered by following the trail of dross.
Perhaps the first bit of detritus was acknowledged but raised no suspicions. Then with the second and third broken pieces anticipation builds. Perhaps there was a gap, a clueless wasteland that served only to confuse and muddle the hope. Then the stunning uncovering of evidence that cannot be ignored. The rapid thrill as the bulk of it is unearthed before your eyes. More than ever I can relate to this. Logging the clues and following the path with horrific expectancy. Then finding it just lying there: the wreckage of oneself. Leaving you wondering what of it can be recovered?