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Air Force Sergeant John Cassidy drapes a blanket around the trembling shoulders of an elderly woman. She's soaking wet and dressed only in a silk robe. He wishes he could do more to help her, but he can't stay. There are hundreds of others just like her who still need to be rescued. They're on the deck of the oil tanker Williamsburg, which is here to help rescue passengers from Prince and Dam, a cruise ship that caught fire in the Gulf of Alaska.
Cassidy is an Air Force pararescue man and among the first professional rescuers to arrive on the scene. And from what he's seen so far, they've got their work cut out for them. It's 10:50 in the morning on October 4th, 1980. Nearly 500 of Prince and Dem's passengers and crew are still adrift in lifeboats and rafts in the stormy seas.
Helicopters hover above them, reeling them in one by one and bringing them to Williamsburg. Cassidy hears his headset crackle. It's his helicopter pilot, Captain John Walters. Cassidy, if your gun unloading those blankets, hustle back. We gotta go. Cassidy leans towards the woman, shouting to make himself heard above the rotors. You're gonna be okay, ma'am.
The woman gives a small nod. Cassidy turns and sprints back to the chopper. It's a Sikorsky HH-3E, nicknamed the Jolly Green Giant because of its color and size. He climbs into its open door, buckles himself in, and feels the helicopter take off. Sitting next to Cassidy is his partner, Sergeant Jorge Rios. They're both dressed in black wetsuits.
Cassidy speaks into his headset, the only way Rios can hear him over the roar of the chopper. "Nice day for a swim!" Rios grins. "I know, right? Might be a little choppy though." Cassidy and Rios know the forecast. The outer bands of a typhoon are just beginning to reach them. That's going to make airlifting passengers from their lifeboats a challenge to say the least.
Rain is pounding down and Cassidy can see the waves must be at least 15 feet. He speaks again through his headset. Captain, we're two first. Orders are simple. Find a lifeboat, start lifting passengers.
Their helicopter zips over Prinsendam. A skeleton crew and a handful of Coast Guard firefighters are still scrambling across her decks, trying to contain the fire. Cassidy notices a speck on the horizon. A lifeboat. I see one, Captain. Three o'clock. I see it too, but there's one farther out. Let's start there.
Cassidy feels the helicopter bank left, passing almost directly over the lifeboat he spotted. He looks down. Many of the passengers are standing and waving frantically. Cassidy waves back. He wants them to know that they've been seen, but they can only help one lifeboat at a time. And the rule in a situation like this always start with the survivors furthest out.
He just hopes the people they're passing over can hold on a little longer. In our fast-paced, screen-filled world, it can be all too easy to lose that sense of imagination and wonder. If you're looking for new ways to ignite your creativity and open your mind to fresh perspectives, then let Audible be your guide. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, or any genre you love, you can be inspired to imagine new worlds, new possibilities, and new ways of thinking.
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Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and Affiliates. Price and coverage match limited by state law. From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. Shortly after dawn on October 4th, 1980, personnel from the Coast Guard and the Air Force began rescuing passengers from the cruise ship Prince and Damned.
The ship had caught fire several hours earlier, forcing more than 500 souls into lifeboats in the middle of the Gulf of Alaska. Now, as a typhoon bore down on them, the survivors were tossed about in their lifeboats in increasingly rough seas.
Many were elderly and only dressed in pajamas and nightgowns. Some lifeboats drifted more than a mile from the burning cruise ship. Occupants feared that rescuers would never find them.
An oil tanker arrived just after dawn, ready to receive evacuees airlifted from the lifeboats by rescue helicopters. A Coast Guard cutter ship could retrieve more survivors, but it was still several hours away. And as the day wore on, the weather got worse, forcing rescuers to put their own lives at risk in the middle of a raging sea. This is Episode 4, The Last Lifeboat.
John Graham braces himself in lifeboat number two as it crests another wave. Then, at the wave's peak, he stands up quickly to scan the horizon. There, just for a second, he catches a glimpse of another boat.
It's hard to judge distances out here, but he figures it must be at least a mile away, and it still has people in it. Which means Graham, his daughter Mallory, and the other passengers in this lifeboat are not alone. They drop to the bottom of the wave, and Graham reaches out to grab the side of the boat to avoid falling. He plops back down on the bench next to Mallory, who looks up at him. She's shivering.
They've been drifting for five hours. "What did you see?" "Another lifeboat." "That's it? Where'd that helicopter go?" Graham wonders the same thing. Not long ago, a big green helicopter flew right over them, close enough for him to see one of the men aboard waving. Graham and Mallory, and everyone aboard lifeboat number two, waved and screamed. But the helicopter kept going. Graham can't understand why.
It feels like they've been forgotten. Their lifeboat doesn't have a motor and so they just keep drifting. They can't even see Prinsendam anymore or the massive oil tanker that appeared on the horizon right after dawn, giving them hope they would soon be rescued.
Between the towering waves and driving rain, visibility is severely limited and the weather is only getting worse. He squeezes Mallory tighter. "They saw us, Mal. We just need to hold out a little longer." Graham looks down. With each wave, more water ends up in the boat and sloshes around their feet. Some of the passengers are barefoot and the water is frigid.
Graham guesses the air temperature must be in the 40s. He glances at his watch. It's just past 11 a.m. He looks around the boat and wonders how much longer some of the passengers, shivering and wet, can last. He worries hypothermia will set in. They might be in this freezing cold rain a lot longer if they keep drifting further and further from the ship.
John Cassidy sits in the open doorway of the Jolly Green Giant as it hovers just above the surface of the ocean. Some of the waves are so high they almost touch the black flippers on his feet. He knows he can't wait anymore. He can feel the pilot, Captain Walters, struggling to hold his position in the strong winds. So Cassidy takes a deep breath and jumps.
The freezing water makes him gasp, even through his wetsuit. Rios splashes down next to him, and the two men swim toward the lifeboat. Cassidy tastes the briny water on his tongue as the waves drench his face. The downwash from the helicopter's powerful rotors churns the surface of the ocean.
Cassidy keeps a close eye on the boat as he nears it. A large wave could send the boat lurching into him, knocking him unconscious. But he reaches the boat unharmed, with Rios just behind him. Cassidy reaches up and feels a hand grip his wrist. Grateful for the assist, he hoists himself up onto the edge of the boat. The passenger who helped him flashes a grateful smile. Welcome to lifeboat number six. We haven't come up with a better name yet.
Cassidy grins back, then sees a problem. The boat is packed far beyond its capacity. Every square inch of space is taken up. Cassidy can only perch on the boat's edge. He glances over at Rios, still in the water. "No room for us." The passengers look miserable, pale, and shivering. But at least everyone is conscious.
They squeeze together to try to make room for their two rescuers. Cassidy shakes his head. "No, please, don't worry. We can stay in the water. That's what wetsuits are for." He drops back into the water to confer with Rios. They decide that Rios will straddle the side of the boat and help passengers onto the seat that will be lowered from the chopper. Cassidy will stay in the water to ensure the hoist cable doesn't get caught under the boat and to rescue anyone who might fall overboard.
Cassidy looks up and sees the cable lowering towards them. He knows how fraught these next few minutes will be. The lifeboat is bobbing on the waves and the chopper is fighting the wind to stay in position. They need to make sure no one gets knocked over by the 20-pound steel rescue seat at the end of the cable. As the cable drops closer to their position, Rios reaches out and snags it. Cassidy hears a passenger speak up. How do we get on?
Cassidy understands the man's confusion. At the end of the cable is a bright yellow device called a jungle penetrator. When first dropped from the helicopter, it looks like a narrow projectile. But then when Rios gets a hold of it, he unfolds it to form a crude seat in the shape of an upside-down T. It's not easy to climb onto, and Cassidy and Rios need to ensure each passenger is strapped in safely.
Rios secures the first evacuee on the penetrator and flashes a thumbs up to the flight engineer, who's leaning out of the helicopter's open door. Slowly, the slack tightens and the passenger begins to ascend toward the helicopter. Once the first passenger is safely aboard on the Jolly Green Giant, they repeat the process. The flight engineer lowers the penetrator back down and Rios straps in another survivor.
It's agonizingly slow, but there's no other way. Cassidy can see how hard it is for Captain Walters to maintain his position above the lifeboat. It's not just the wind or the roller coaster waves. As the helicopter burns fuel, it becomes lighter. But with each new passenger that comes aboard, weight is added. And so Walters must adjust accordingly. Cassidy treads water and marvels at the pilot's delicate balancing act.
When a dozen passengers are aboard the helicopter, the flight engineer gives a wave and the chopper banks towards Williamsburg. Cassidy knows the Jolly Green Giant is at full capacity now and probably low on fuel. They'll land on the deck of the oil tanker, discharge the first batch of evacuees, then rendezvous with King Bird to refuel.
Kingbird is an HC-130 tanker plane that's circling the site and acting as kind of a flying gas station for the choppers. It's faster than flying all the way back to shore to refuel, but still, it'll take a while. Cassidy hoists himself into the lifeboat. At least there's room for him and Rios now. After all this time in the water, he's starting to feel the cold.
and he feels like he's swallowed half the ocean. He leans over the side and vomits. John Graham reaches for the metal basket swaying from a cable over his head. It's being lowered from a Coast Guard helicopter hovering about 20 feet above them. He and another passenger grab the basket and hold it steady. Graham glances around. Everyone wants off this boat, but no one is volunteering to be the first.
He remembers the Titanic and gives a shout. "Women and children first!" No one objects. Graham makes eye contact with Mallory. At 13, she's the youngest person on board. She seems to know what he's thinking and shakes her head, then motions to her left.
The woman sitting next to Mallory is probably in her 70s and she's soaked to the bone. A sopping wet blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She stops shivering, a worrying sign of hypothermia. He and Mallory help the freezing woman to her feet and guide her to the basket, which another passenger holds steady. They lift the woman into it, then flash a thumbs up to the rescuer looking down from the helicopter.
The woman sways in the wind as the cable lifts her up. Graham was hoping a rescue ship would pull up alongside them so they could all come aboard at once. But if a helicopter is the only way off this lifeboat, he'll take it. After eight passengers have been lifted up, Graham watches as the helicopter banks away, flying toward the huge oil tanker in the distance.
He looks at Mallory and the other remaining evacuees, some of whom looked dejected. "Don't worry, they'll be back." An older gentleman next to him is almost giddy with relief. He takes a flashlight out of his pocket. In the pre-dawn hours, it had been the only light on board the lifeboat. He hurls it into the water. "Ha, won't be needing that anymore." Graham's not so sure. He looks around.
The wind is gusting harder. Waves are jostling their lifeboat even more violently than before. Graham wonders if the Coast Guard can keep operating in these worsening conditions. If they have to suspend rescue efforts, they could still be stuck out here in this lifeboat for a long time. Commander Richard Scholl bites into an apple as he stands before a map of the Gulf of Alaska.
He's been here at the Coast Guard Command Center in Juneau for almost 12 hours straight, and he just noticed how starving he is. But there's no time for a meal break. Despite tough conditions and drifting lifeboats, his rescue teams have been making good progress. Multiple Coast Guard helicopters, plus one each from the Air Force and Canadian Armed Forces, have slowly but surely been lifting passengers to the oil tanker.
But with the typhoon intensifying, winds are now surging past 40 miles per hour, making helicopter airlifts increasingly difficult and dangerous. A safer option in this weather would be to use their cutter ship, Boatwell. But it's still en route. Shoal looks at his watch. Passengers have been adrift in lifeboats for nearly nine hours. He turns to an officer who's on the phone. What's Boatwell status?
The officer holds up a finger and then puts the receiver back in the cradle. That was Boutwell, sir. She's just arrived. She's launching a tender to assist with the final evacuation of Princeton Dam. Then she'll assist with lifeboats. Shoal relaxes, but only for a moment. Most of the lifeboats have no emergency flares. If Boutwell doesn't track them down before nightfall, they might be impossible to find until the next morning.
Some of the evacuees will probably die of exposure before then. So, the crew of Boutwell needs to move fast. The lives of Prince and Dam's passengers depend on it.
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Wobika releases the button and waits for a response. This is a captain's worst nightmare. The dining room is an uncontrollable inferno. On some of the lower decks, seawater is pouring into portholes that were blasted open by the fire. While the ship is not at an immediate risk of sinking, Wobika knows that he and his remaining crew need to leave.
The ship is lost, and all that matters now is to ensure every last person still aboard is evacuated safely. Wabika hears the captain of Beltwell answer over the walkie-talkie. Roger, Captain. We've got two helicopters en route. You, your crew, and our firefighters will be airlifted to Beltwell. We'll be standing by to receive you. Thank you.
Do you have any reports about my wife? She's safe aboard Williamsburg, Captain. Wabika closes his eyes and clicks the button on his walkie-talkie again. Thank you, Captain. Standing by for evacuation. Wabika puts down the walkie-talkie. He buttons his uniform jacket and brushes ash off his white pants.
He lifts a wet towel to his face to shield his lungs from the smoke and heads toward the stern of the ship. In his other hand, he clutches the ship's log. By the time Wobika reaches the stern, there are just a few crew members left. He sees his first officer, Henrik Valk, guiding a bright yellow evacuation hoist being lowered from a green helicopter. Wobika places a hand on Valk's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I let you down."
Valk's eyes widen in surprise. Sir, we haven't heard a report of a single fatality. Hundreds of passengers have been rescued. The crew is safe. You haven't let anyone down. Valk straps himself into the T-shaped hoist, and the helicopter reels him slowly upward. A few minutes later, it's Wabika's turn. He sits down on the hoist, tightens the straps around him, and then flashes a thumbs up.
With a jerk, the cable starts winding up into the helicopter. As he climbs, more of the panorama is revealed to him. He sees Williamsburg, as long as an aircraft carrier, with helicopters landing on its deck. Lifeboats and rafts are bobbing around, some now empty. And below him, he sees Prinsendam, smoking and ablaze. It's a terrible sight.
And for a moment, he wonders if he did everything he possibly could do to save her. Captain John Walters grabs the cyclic stick and tries to keep his helicopter steady over lifeboat number six. His left leg is cramping from applying constant pressure to the rudder pedal, but he can't let up.
It's a dangerous balancing act as he adjusts the shifting weight of his jolly green giant helicopter in the erratic winds. Below him, 20-foot waves are bouncing the lifeboat around like a cork. He knows that his two pararescuemen, John Cassidy and Jorge Rios, must be exhausted. They've been in the lifeboat for hours, helping passengers get on the jungle penetrator that lifts them to the chopper.
Walters glances at his fuel gauge. He reckons they'll have enough fuel to get two more evacuees under the chopper. Then they can zip over to Williamsburg, drop them off, and recon with Kingbird, the refueling aircraft circling the scene.
For hours, they've repeated the same process, and so far they've rescued 61 survivors. But there are still 20 to go, and Walters can see that Cassidy is exhausted. He's seen the pararescue man vomit twice over the side of the boat. Now, as the penetrator is lowered for the 62nd time, a massive wave lifts the boat at precisely the wrong moment.
There's too much slack in the cable and it ends up under the boat. Walters feels a snap, even from up here in the cockpit. He radios his flight engineer.
Was that what I think it was? Yes, sir. The boat severed the cable. No one was strapped to the penetrator, though. Walters is glad for that. But without a hoist cable, his helicopter is no use to the remaining passengers aboard lifeboat number six. They'll need to be rescued by either another helicopter or a Coast Guard ship.
Walter sends a radio transmission to Coast Guard Cutter Boutwell. Boutwell, this is Rescue 802. Be advised we have a broken penetrator cable and need to abort. Lifeboat number 6 still has 20 evacuees aboard, as well as two of our pararescuemen. The response comes quickly. Acknowledged. Send us their coordinates.
Walters shakes his head in frustration. Cassidy and Rios and the rest of the passengers aboard lifeboat number six are struggling, but there's nothing more he can do to help them. He banks his helicopter towards Williamsburg to drop off their last group of evacuees. After that, the Jolly Green Giant's role in this rescue operation will be over.
Okay, who's next? Next up, fast please, quick. Jeannie Gilmore grabs her mother Neva's elbow and urges her to stand up. That's no easy task in the constantly rocking lifeboat number four. A rescue helicopter has already reeled in enough passengers to make two trips to Williamsburg. It's back now to pick up a third batch of evacuees, and Jeannie is desperate for her 77-year-old mother to be among them.
As the lifeboat grows lighter with each rescued passenger, it's tossed around even more violently in the waves. Genie looks at her mother. Neva's skin is a faint blue. And as the hours have dragged on, she's growing delirious. Genie reaches down and takes her mother's hand. It's frigid. She leans closer to her mother's face. "Mom, it's time to go." Neva shakes her head. "No."
I'm going down with the ship. Mom, the helicopter is here to take us, but it won't wait around forever. Neva shakes her head again and starts pulling the rings from her fingers. Here, give these to your Aunt Mary Lou. Jeannie closes her hand firmly around her mother's. She glances up at the helicopter, then back down at the remaining passengers, who are looking at her impatiently.
If Neva won't get into the rescue basket on her own, they're going to have to force her in. Suddenly, an idea pops into Jeannie's head. It's a white lie, but she's desperate. "Mom, your son-in-law John is in the helicopter. He's here doing search and rescue work with the Coast Guard. He's waiting for you." Neva looks up at Jeannie. "John's here?" "Yes, Mom, he's here. He's in the helicopter. But you have to go now."
Neva sighs. "Well, if that's what John wants, I'll do it." Genie feels tears of relief welling in her eyes. She steadies Neva as she struggles to her feet. Some passengers hold the basket steady, while others help lift Neva into it. They secure the straps, and the hoist starts to raise her to the helicopter. Genie looks up and waves at her mother, flashing her the most reassuring smile.
But Neva is looking off into the distance as her basket sways in the wind. After she sees her mother disappear through the open door of the helicopter, Jeannie sits down, exhausted. The woman who earlier introduced herself as Muriel slides over to her. You should go next. Your mother doesn't look good. You need to be with her. Another passenger, a newspaper publisher named Richard Steele, nods in agreement. Yes, Jeannie.
You go. We'll follow after. Now Jeannie feels the tears in her eyes again. Okay, thank you. When the basket lowers to the lifeboat again, Steel and another passenger help Jeannie into it. She feels the jerk of the cable as it starts retracting. As she's swinging free above the lifeboat, the noise of the rotors grows fearsome.
Jeannie weeps as she ascends closer to the helicopter. John Graham holds a rescue basket steady as his daughter Mallory climbs into it. One of the helicopters has sent down a pararescueman and he helps Mallory get settled, then flashes a thumbs up to the roaring helicopter above them.
Graham watches with his heart in his throat as the cable lifts his daughter out of lifeboat number two and up into the sky. He looks up at her through the driving rain and he sees her smile. A terrible thought flashes in his mind. Will I ever see her again? Then rescuers pull her aboard and the helicopter surges away toward the oil tanker. A feeling of relief washes over him. Mallory...
is safe. Over the next two hours, Graham helps load more passengers onto helicopters. By late afternoon, there are just eight passengers left. But the storm is not relenting. In fact, it's growing worse. The swells are so high that each time someone stands, they're in danger of being tossed overboard.
Water is splashing into the boat so fast that they're taking turns bailing it out. And fog is rolling in, limiting their visibility.
The pararescueman exchanges some hand gestures with one of the rescue workers in the chopper, then calls out to the passengers. Okay, I just got word from our pilot that he needs to refuel. So we may be gone for a while, but don't worry. There's a Coast Guard cutter nearby. We'll send them your position. And if we can't get back to you, they can. The rescue basket returns, and this time, the pararescueman climbs in. Graham is dumbfounded.
Wait, what do you mean? You're leaving? The pararescueman shouts something, but Graham can't hear him over the roar of the helicopter. He watches helplessly as the pararescueman climbs into the helicopter, which then banks away and disappears into the fog. Soon, the noise of its rotors are gone, replaced by howling winds. He looks at his watch. It's 5.30 p.m.,
He's been in this boat for 12 hours. It's not the storm that worries him now, it's the fading light. Whoever comes back to look for them will be doing so in the dark. The lifeboat has no means of communication, no lights, and no flares. Graham sits back down in the boat and feels a wave rise beneath them. He readies himself for the thousandth time for yet another terrifying plunge.
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He hears the planks of the boat creak ominously. Winds are spraying water into the boat, soaking the eight remaining men aboard. With every gallon they empty back into the ocean, five more flood in. The waves must be 25 or 30 feet high now. When they're in a trough, it's like being at the bottom of a canyon made of water. He hears another passenger despairing. We're going to sink.
Graham says nothing, but he worries the man might be right. They keep bailing, even as dusk closes around them. Soon, they can't even see the waves. It's pitch black. Graham takes a break and sits back. He's exhausted and just wants to sleep, but part of him knows that if he falls asleep, he may never wake up.
He notices that he's not even shivering anymore, a sure sign that hypothermia is setting in. Graham wants to scream out, "Why?" He quit the Foreign Service, wanting to dedicate his life to a greater purpose, and now he's going to die in the middle of the Gulf of Alaska? Before he gets a chance to find his purpose? And never see his daughter again? It doesn't seem fair. Graham hears something over the howling wind.
It sounds like an engine. Then a searchlight cuts through the darkness, illuminating their bobbing lifeboat. It's a ship. As it gets closer, Graham can see that it's enormous. Almost as big as Prince and Damn. He stands up and waves furiously. On the side of the ship, Graham can read the words, U.S. Coast Guard. They're finally saved.
At the Coast Guard Command Center in Juneau, Richard Scholl takes a seat for the first time in hours. It's 7 p.m. on the evening of October 4th, and it appears that every last passenger and crew member from Prince and Dam has been rescued.
Some have been flown back to the mainland in helicopters. Others have been picked up by the Cutter Boutwell and other ships that responded to the SOS. Most are aboard the oil tanker Williamsburg, but exactly how many, Scholl doesn't know for sure.
The crew aboard Williamsburg is not equipped to take an accurate headcount at this moment. The ship is massive and the passengers are scattered all over it. Still, Scholl has been assured that every last lifeboat and raft has been accounted for and emptied. What a day. Scholl glances over as one of his communication officers answers a phone. The officer's face goes pale. Scholl stands. What is it?
It's a Lieutenant Colonel with the Air Force. Two of their pararescuemen, Sergeants Cassidy and Rios, have not reported back, sir. He wants to know where they are. Shoal suddenly feels lightheaded. That can only mean one thing. There's still a lifeboat out there somewhere. Somebody must have miscounted the boats. He rushes to the phone to alert his personnel still at the scene. There's not a second to lose.
Captain Lee Crum strains his eyes as Beltwell's powerful searchlight sweeps the surface of the water. Somewhere out there, there's a lifeboat with two Air Force pararescuemen and at least a dozen Prince and Dem passengers. But it's been missing for 10 hours, and where it is by now is anyone's guess.
Boutwell is beginning her search five miles downwind of Prinsendam, using the last known coordinates of the lifeboat. Plowing through the dark, turbulent water, Crum feels like a blind man trying to find a light switch in a gymnasium. It's after midnight, and the typhoon is still raging.
Waves are peaking at 35 feet, wind is gusting up to 45 miles per hour. He can only imagine what the passengers aboard the last remaining lifeboat are going through. That is, if they're still alive. At least the missing lifeboat has two pararescuemen aboard. They're trained to do whatever it takes to survive in these conditions until they're rescued. With them on board the boat, the passengers at least have a chance.
Still, as the rain pelts the windows of Beltwell's bridge, Crumb can't escape the nagging feeling that they may already be too late. Sergeant John Cassidy plants his feet apart so as not to fall over as another wave shakes lifeboat number six. He strains his eyes as he struggles to stay standing. He's not sure, but he thinks he sees a small light in the distance.
It seems to be scanning left to right. He calls to his partner, Jorge Rios. "Rios, what do you make of that?" Rios squints into the darkness. "Too low to be a star. It's gotta be a ship." Cassidy reaches for one of the flares he brought with him, and he lights it. The flare erupts above their boat. The noise and light bring several tired passengers out from underneath a tarp.
Cassidy keeps his eye on the distant light. It's now steady, trained in their direction. He hears Rios. "Yeah, that's a ship. Quick, get out the mirror." Cassidy reaches into his pack and takes out a small mirror. He holds it toward the light, trying to reflect the flashback at whatever ship is headed their way. Then Cassidy hears it, the sound of an approaching engine. The passengers start waving toward the light.
Soon, Cassidy can make out the enormous white bow of a Coast Guard cutter. He glances at his watch. It's past 1:00 AM, which means he and Rios have been in this boat for 17 hours. At the thought of that, he feels like he might throw up again. But it feels good to know that they've done their jobs. They've kept all the evacuees on Lifeboat 6 safe and alive.
For the first time since he jumped out of the Jolly Green Giant, Cassidy lets himself think about how great a hot shower is going to feel. John Graham pushes his way through a crowd of onlookers and reporters as he rushes to a gate at Seattle's SeaTac Airport. He pushes up against the plate glass window and silently wills the plane to taxi faster. His daughter Mallory is on that plane, and he can't wait to see her.
It's Monday afternoon, October 6th, 48 hours since his daughter was lifted onto a helicopter from their lifeboat. Graham hasn't seen her since. The chopper took Mallory to Williamsburg, which sailed to the port of Valdez, Alaska. Graham himself stayed aboard Boutwell, which eventually landed in Sitka after finding a lifeboat that had been unaccounted for.
After a much needed hot meal, Graham caught an early flight to Seattle where he was assured he'd finally be reunited with his daughter. The door to the jetway opens up. Graham peers down it, standing on tiptoes as he strains for a glimpse of his daughter. Finally, he sees her. Mal! Mallory!
She spots him and slides past the people in front of her. As news cameras click all around them, she rushes into Graham's arms. He lifts her up and hugs her. Dad, remember, when the going gets tough... Graham laughs. Yes, the tough get going. Then, Graham squeezes his daughter extra hard.
During the rescue of more than 500 passengers and crew of Prince and Dam, there was not a single fatality or any serious injuries. It remains one of the largest search and rescue operations in Coast Guard history. On October 11th, 1980, a week after she caught fire, Prince and Dam sank to the bottom of the Gulf of Alaska, where she remains to this day.
It's believed that a defective seal in a fuel line caused the leak that sparked the fire. The Dutch inspector of shipping concluded that Captain Wabika was not to blame for the disaster. In 1992, the International Maritime Organization enacted new regulations requiring all passenger ships to be equipped with sprinkler systems. When the cutter Boutwell returned to Seattle, she was greeted with a hero's welcome.
Coast Guard commanders issued commendation ribbons to her entire crew. After the Princendam fire, Richard Steele went back to work as a publisher of the Worcester Telegram. He retired in 1989 after 46 years in the news business. His wife Louise died in 1990. Steele himself died a year later. He was 74.
Jeannie Gilmore returned to California and spoke often to civic groups and the media about her experience aboard Prince and Damn. She died in 2020 at the age of 95. Muriel Marvini and Agnes Lillard returned to New Jersey. Muriel died in 2006. In 2010, her friend Agnes passed away in her sleep at age 100.
Lifeboat number four, which carried Agnes and Muriel, Jeannie and her mother Neva, Richard and Louise Steele, is on display at the Valdez Museum in Alaska. After surviving his ordeal in Lifeboat 2, John Graham found the new purpose in life he'd been seeking.
In 1983, he joined Giraffe Heroes Project, a global nonprofit that elevates and empowers risk-takers in the pursuit of peace. He lives in Seattle and continues to advocate for world peace and human rights.
Mallory Graham went on to found a film school for girls and a community martial arts center. Today, she lives in Sweden, where she works as a digital and gender equity advocate. She and her father, John, make it a point to call each other every year on the anniversary of the rescue.
On our next episode, we'll hear from author and retired Coast Guard Captain Stephen Corcoran, who played a role in Prince and Dam's rescue. We'll also hear from father-daughter survivors John and Mallory Graham about how the disaster changed their lives. This is episode four of our four-part series, Fire at Sea, Cruise Ship Rescue.
A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we highly recommend the book None Were Lost by Stephen J. Corcoran. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Steve Fennessy wrote this episode. Our editor is Sean Raviv.
Our consultant is Stephen J. Corcoran. Sound design is by Rob Shieliga. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Our production coordinator is Desi Blaylock. Produced by Matt Almos, Emily Frost, and Alida Rozanski. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our managing producer is Matt Gantt.
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