The Late Gene Kelly, Hero of the Marine Electric, in his Own Words

I’m proud of my book on the wreck of the SS Marine Electric and think it’s some of the best writing I’ve ever done. But I also always have thought that one of the strongest parts of the book was Gene Kelly, who died this past weekend, describing how he survived on a life ring — as his crew mates one-by-one drifted off.

Here’s how Kelly goes into the water in February 1983.

“Now the ship was in its final seconds of life, and Kelly did things
that were instinctive but of no use at all. He thought: My grandfather
died on this day exactly ten years ago. Then he saw the sea coming for
him as the ship made its final roll, the sea moving up the side of the
ship, like a slowly rising tide.

He tried to move higher. Up the low rail on the deck in front of
him. He put a foot on the first rail, and in slow motion, it seemed, as
if in one of those dreams where you run but do not move, he
climbed up the three-foot rail. Tried to get higher, as the ship was
going lower, meeting the water. He looked up above him, higher,
and saw Corl out on the bridge, climbing the rail, still struggling, it
seemed, to fasten his loose life jacket.

And then, when Kelly could go no higher, as he tried to climb
another rail that wasn’t there, climb toward the sky away from it all,
the sea was upon him. He bellowed into the storm with all his
might. Where the cry came from, he did not know. It was just there.
Deep from within and then out his mouth. A plaintive, savage, pri-
mordial cry, a desperate hollering for help, the sort of sound a zebra
might make as the lions bring it down.

And then the sea had him. Just came up to meet him there on
the rail. Grabbed him almost gently at first, then washed him clear of
the ship.

Instantly, he was in a metal vise. That was exacdy how it felt.
Some strong steel vise was squeezing him, crushing his body and
collapsing his chest. He could not breathe, could not move his lungs
against the force. He gasped shallowly, desperately, hyperventilating
in short gasps. Litde puffs, little clouds of breath were whipped away
by the gale.

Then he inhaled thick black oil. Bunkers spilled from the ship.

An awful, gagging sensation made it even harder to find the air,
bring it into his lungs.

For ten minutes, he struggled to breathe. Then his body adjusted
to the cold, and he coughed up the thick oil and drew a deep lung-
ful of air.

And it struck him there in the water. It was not a figure of
speech. The wind moaned through the waves. Not like a moan. It
was a moan. A sad, singing, howling moan. It had pitch, timber, and
tremolo that were almost human.

Kelly looked up. He was clear of the dangerous deckhouse be-
cause he had been higher up when the ship turned over.

But something was still higher than him. The ship’s stack. He
looked up at it and was frozen. He bobbed in the water. It was com-
ing straight for him. He stared, transfixed, unable to move. The stack
was coming for him, coming for him. He would be pushed down,
like the men below him.”

A hand comes from nowhere and pulls him to safety. He never knows his rescuer. Then he finds a life ring with other crew members arrayed around it.

Kelly in his own words, testifying before a US Coast Guard Marine Board of Inquiry:

“When I turned around there was nobody there. I think we got
separated by the seas.

And it was about a half an hour, maybe a little bit less, that I
swam away from the ship. . . .

Finally, after some time in the water, I came across a life ring, and
there were five other people hanging on. .. .

It was the chief engineer [Richard Powers]; the third mate,

Richard Roberts; one of the ordinary seamen, his first name is
Harold—I don’t know his last name; the day man, Joe, I don’t know
his last name; and it was the radio operator [Sparks Lane], and myself.

We were on the life ring.

Everybody was pretty well stunned.

We sounded off so we could find out who was there. We sounded
off by number and came out with six.

And then it was just talking, giving each other encouragement,
that we thought daylight was coming pretty quick.

Several times the chief thought we saw a ship in the distance, or
saw lights in the distance when we got to the top of a wave.

The only lights I could see around me were the strobe lights of the
life rings, the water lights, and I could hear people calling all the time,
but I couldn’t see anybody else. . . .

And I don’t know when I started to notice that people weren’t on
the life ring.

I noticed that Harold wasn’t there at one time.

And then I turned around and the day man wasn’t there.

Right after that, I called out to Rich Roberts and I asked him
how he was doing. He responded that he was okay, that he was cold, he
was okay.

I don’t know how long it was on the life ring before I noticed that
the only ones there were the chief engineer and the radio operator.

He was stiffening up. He kept saying, “I’m cold. I’m cold.

Help me.”

At that point, I noticed that the chief—the chief—when we went
into the water, had his spotlight and he had been shining it up into the
air all this time.

I noticed that he wasn’t shining it any more. I thought he might
have lost it. So I whacked him on the back of his life jacket, and there
was no response from the chief. And as I hit him, his flashlight floated
away from him, and I was able to grab that, and use that as my signal.

I never looked at my watch in the water because I was afraid that
I would lose my grip on the ring. So I wasn’t concerned with the time
element. I kept talking to Sparks. Sparks was the last one on the ring
with me.

The helicopters arrived, and it seemed like I could see them
passing over me two or three times before they spotted us.

When they lowered the basket, I turned to tell Sparks that the
basket was here, and Sparks wasn’t on the life ring anymore.

It was just myself.“

“Speaking truth to power” is a catch phrase hijacked by bloggers and pod casters these days who have no real skin in the game.

Kelly and the other Marine Electric survivors — Bob Cusick and Paul Dewey — knew they would lose tens of thousands of dollars in settlements from the company, undergo slanderous cross examinations, and stand a good chance of being blacklisted.

They truly spoke truth to power and the power of such stories moved people to more tightly regulate ship inspections, scrap dozens of old unsafe ships and create the now famous Coast Guard Rescue Swimmers program.

You can see Gene tell his own story here in 2019 at Massachusetts Maritime Academy. (His segment begins at the 10:05 mark, following introductions.)

It’s a powerful narrative. Thank you for telling your story Gene. Thank you for letting me retell it. Fair winds and following seas to you sir.