BASED ON A BOOK BY MICHAEL J. TOUGIAS AND CASEY SHERMAN
February CoverOn February 18, 1952, an astonishing maritime event began when a ferocious nor’easter split a 500-foot long T2 oil tanker, the Pendleton, in half approximately one mile off the coast of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Incredibly, just 20 miles away, a second oil tanker, the Fort Mercer, also split in half. There were men trapped on the severed bows and the sterns of both tankers, and all four sections were sinking in 40-foot seas. Thus began a life and death drama for one Colorado man and his crewmates on board a tiny Coast Guard boat sent on a suicide mission to rescue the trapped men.
In the predawn hours of that February morning, two 500-foot T2 tankers fully loaded with kerosene and home heating oil got caught in the middle of a paralyzing winter storm off Chatham, Massachusetts. The rolling seas were powerful enough to split the large vessels in half.
The first ship to fracture was the Pendleton, which had disembarked from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, six days earlier. The second ship, the Fort Mercer, had left Norco, Louisiana, bound for Portland, Maine, when it became trapped in the gale force winds and gigantic seas. The U.S. Coast Guard was alerted almost immediately of the dire situation facing the Fort Mercer and began planning a large rescue operation to save the 43 men marooned on the ship. The crippled Pendleton, however, had not been able to send a distress signal.
The Pendleton crew members were cut off from the Coast Guard and from each other. The ship’s captain had been stationed on the bow with several of his officers when they heard a roar of thunder echoing from the bowels of the ship. The crewmen braced themselves as the gigantic tanker rose out of the turbulent ocean and then came crashing down. The sudden impact tore the ship apart between the number 7 and number 9 cargo tanks. The men stationed in the stern section of the ship jumped out of their bunks and struggled to climb topside, where they watched in horror as the bow section drifted away in the snow squall with its twisted metal dragging and its cargo of fuel bleeding into the ocean.
With their captain now gone, the battered survivors on the stern whispered a prayer for their comrades’ safety and then looked toward their ranking officer, Raymond Sybert, for guidance and hope. Sybert had sailed every one of the seven seas and nothing in his 14 years on the job could compare to the powerful storm that had ripped apart his ship. He was now in strange waters off a strange coast and his main challenges were to keep his men alive and to keep the stern out of the teeth of the dreaded shoals, particularly those around the Chatham Bar.
Bernie Webber knew how dangerous the Chatham Bar could be. The 24-year-old boatswain’s mate first class was on his second tour of duty on the busy outer Coast Guard outpost of the Chatham Lifeboat Station. He had been groomed by his pastor father for a life in the ministry, but Webber had opted for a more adventurous career path instead. Webber was not sure whether his father approved of his youngest son’s life at sea, but Webber believed in his heart that destiny had led him to the U.S. Coast Guard.
Webber spent the morning hours of February 18, 1952, helping the local fishermen whose boats had been pushed up on shore by the extra high tides that had accompanied the fierce nor’easter. The blizzard had already dumped 9 inches of snow across Massachusetts and showed no signs of letting up. Webber returned to the Chatham Lifeboat Station late in the afternoon cold, hungry and utterly exhausted. He had little time to think about a warm meal or a change of clothes. On his arrival, the station’s chief warrant officer told Webber that two tankers were in major trouble off the coast of Chatham. Both halves of the Pendleton had finally been discovered by a Coast Guard airplane flying at low altitude near the Pollock Rip Lightship some 30 miles from the Fort Mercer. The Coast Guard was now faced with the daunting possibility of four simultaneous rescue operations.
Several of Webber’s comrades had already been dispatched to aid in the Fort Mercer rescue, and now the chief warrant officer was looking to him. “Webber, pick yourself a crew,” the officer ordered. “You have to take the CG36500 lifeboat over the bar and assist that ship, the Pendleton.” In his mind’s eye, Webber could see the tiny 36-foot lifeboat getting chewed up by the unforgiving Chatham Bar. It was then that he realized that he was being ordered on a suicide mission. He quickly thought about the Coast Guard’s official motto; “Semper Paratus” (a Latin phrase meaning “always ready”). However, it was the unofficial Coast Guard motto that was now weighing heavily on his mind: “You have to go out, but you do not have to come back.”
Webber looked around the station and found three eager volunteers.
22-year-old seaman Richard Liversey; 21-year-old engineman Andrew Fitzgerald, now from Centennial, Colorado; and 23-year-old seaman Irving Maske. Webber knew both Liversey and Fitzgerald and found each man competent, but young Maske was a complete stranger to the crew. Maske, a member of a nearby lightship, had just returned from leave and was at the station awaiting transport back when the call went out for volunteers. Webber sized up his young, inexperienced crew and their small vessel and called upon Providence to see them all through.
The crew departed at 5:55 p.m. The sky had turned from charcoal gray to pitch black. The winds were howling and the snow was falling heavily on the ocean. As Webber steered the tiny boat out of Stage Harbor toward the ominous Chatham Bar, he could see the waves breaking over North Beach. This was not a good sign of things to come. He grabbed the radio and called the Coast Guard station, hoping someone there would tell him to turn back. “Proceed as directed,” Webber was ordered.
Fitzgerald moved into the forward standing area and manned a small searchlight that was only a little more powerful than a flashlight. As the small 36-foot lifeboat pitched along a canyon of waves, Webber and Fitzgerald began singing the hymn “Rock of Ages” through the freezing sea spray that bit at their flesh. Soon, the other two men joined them. They continued into the white foam and crashing waves of the Chatham Bar, where they were met instantly by a 60-foot sea that tossed their boat into the air like a small toy. Fitzgerald went airborn, and landed on the deck just as another huge wave struck, shattering the windshield and sending shards of glass into Webber’s face and hair. The wave had spun the CG36500 completely around and its bow now faced the shore. Webber pulled himself off the deck and attempted to steer the boat back into the seas before it broached and killed them all.
Yet another wave slammed the little boat, this time knocking out the engine’s power. Fitzgerald scrambled from the bow and into the tiny engine room. He held down the engine’s primer lever, waited two seconds for gasoline to start flowing, then said a silent prayer as he hit the electric starter button. The engine came to life.
The crewmen waged a battle with the open sea as the CG36500 climbed its way up one towering wave and raced down the back side of another. Bruised and battered, they finally made their way beyond the Chatham Bar. Webber knew this because the seas were much higher now, but also spaced farther apart. They had conquered the Chatham Bar, but they still had no idea where they were. The crew now had a new fear to overcome. They motored on and prayed for a miracle, and moments later they got one.
Fitzgerald stared over the bow and saw a darkened hulk bobbing up and down in the distance. Shining his small searchlight in the direction of the hulk, he could make out the name Pendleton written across the side. He also saw that there were no lights coming off the stern, and it appeared to be nothing more than a giant floating tomb.
As the crewmen motored a little farther, their hearts were lifted by the sight of lights shining high up on the ship’s decks. Suddenly, they saw a figure waving his arms, as more men joined him on the deck. “It looks safer up there than it does down here,” Webber told his crew as he moved the CG36500 closer to the stern. The men were getting ready to climb the Jacob’s ladder up to the deck, when they saw the stranded crewmen rappelling their way down. Webber moved the boat closer to the ship’s hull, timing his maneuver so that he’d be alongside at the right moment to let a man jump into the boat. Webber’s main concern now was whether the tiny vessel could carry all of these men. The cabin was built to hold only 12, but there had to be at least 30 men climbing down the ladder. Each of the survivors landed hard on the deck and was whisked by Webber’s crew into the forward cabin.
The last man attempting to get off the stern would pose a big challenge. Webber figured the man must have weighed over 300 pounds. George Myers was known affectionately as “Tiny” by his fellow sailors. He had spent the last several hours firing the ship’s flare gun from the deck to signal their position. He had also helped every man down the Jacob’s ladder before attempting it himself. Myers made it to the bottom of the ladder and Webber steered the boat closer in hope of pulling the large man aboard. As the vessel moved closer, Myers made an ill-timed jump and landed in the frigid water. The man disappeared in the frothy whitecaps until Fitzgerald spotted him with the searchlight seconds later. As Webber moved forward, a massive wave sent the lifeboat racing forward directly into Myers, crushing him against the hull and killing him instantly. There was little time to mourn the loss of Tiny Myers, for moments later another wave hit the stern section of the Pendleton, rolling it over and out of view. All the survivors watched as the stern’s flickering lights dimmed one last time.
There were now 36 men on a 36-foot lifeboat. The possibility of making it back to shore seemed slim. They could only hope that the boat was durable enough to carry such weight.
After several minutes of heading toward shore through mountainous waves, Webber peered out the windshield, which was now a gaping hole surrounded along the edges by shattered glass. Through the falling snow, Webber could make out a red light flashing in the distance. It had to be coming from one of the Chatham radio station towers. “My God, we’re gonna make it home,” he realized.
The crew followed the flashing light to the buoy that marked the entrance to Stage Harbor. They saw the lights of the Chatham Fish Pier shining ahead, where a huge crowd awaited them. The town fathers had been alerted of their plight at their annual town meeting. The men then galvanized the people of Chatham to get ready, should these heroes somehow make it back alive. The townsfolk did just that. As the CG36500 pulled up to the dock, the Pendleton survivors openly thanked God — and the rescue crew — for sparing and saving their lives.
The men aboard the Pendleton bow were not as lucky. Not a one survived. Onboard the Fort Mercer, the men on the stern were eventually saved, but of the nine sailors on the Fort Mercer bow, only four would make it out of the storm alive. Of the 84 seamen aboard the two tankers, 70 would be rescued and 14 would lose their lives. The death toll, however, would have been considerably higher if not for young men like Webber, Fitzgerald, Liversey and Maske, who put their lives on the line to save those in distress.
Michael Tougias is the bestselling author of 19 books from Simon & Schuster including FATAL FORECAST: An Incredible True Tale of Disaster and Survival at Sea, THE FINEST HOURS: The True Story of the U.S. Coast Guard’s Most Daring Sea Rescue and OVERBOARD: A True Bluewater Odyssey of Disaster and Survival. Visit Michael’s website at michaeltougias.com.