Ten Degrees of Reckoning (26 page)

Judy answered endless questions as I worked on this book. She gave me every legal document and investigative report. She shared her files of letters and e-mails and her private journals with the rawest of feelings. Earlier, when it was determined that we would indeed start a foundation for maritime safety, I asked Judy if I could explore all the things the Sleavins could have done differently to avoid the collision. “Can I discuss any issue openly, even ones that might point the finger at you?” I asked.

“Go for it,” she replied. “How will anyone learn from this otherwise?”

She isn’t just concerned about the people she knows; she wants to extend her lessons far beyond her circle, in any way she can. Envision the mental power it took for her, with fractured and crushed vertebrae, to haul that dinghy up, high and dry, in case it might be needed for forensic evidence, and you’ll understand just how determined she is in every task she undertakes. Judy is a very unusual person.

With her settlement, she bought a bach (New Zealanders’ word for a simple holiday retreat) to live in as her home. Instead of indoor plumbing, it has a long drop (the term speaks for itself). She wanted to use the bulk of the money to fund programs for maritime safety and to collaborate with professional mariners, so that everyone might be included in her dream for a safer world. Judy’s sense of purpose sustains her and, fortunately, often eclipses her need to make sense of what happened.

Collisions occur all over the world, often between two large vessels. We don’t have an accurate picture of how often they happen, because of loose governance over offshore waters, unenforceable regulations, and, sometimes, poor standards. The
Pan Grace
was easy to trace to South Korea, and its South Korean crew was easy to locate. But this is unusual. More often there is no genuine link between flag and ship, and the crew, as one writer put it, could represent the United Nations. It seems an almost impossible task to uncover the layers and assign blame when the ship is built in one country, the owners are of a second country, the ship is registered in yet another, and the captain and crew are from five other countries. Given that vessels can be registered in flag nations that are politically disintegrating, or land-locked, or uninterested in outcomes, there is a huge general issue of accountability.

Not many of the 167 member states of the International Maritime Organization (IMO) carry out full investigations into accidents involving their vessels. Even fewer have totally independent accident investigation bodies.

The second mate made a terrible error. In a cover-up, of both the error and the abandonment, the master of the
Pan Grace
used the old Nixon tape ploy: the course recorder had a coincidental paper jam during the significant hours. The Pan Ocean Shipping Company condoned the cover-up and attempted to slant the investigation to achieve its own agenda. To their credit, however, the South Korean Maritime Authorities did carry out a full investigation, in a responsible manner. The prosecutor’s decision not to indict, and the shipping company’s decision not to discipline, may have been less than upright, but the maritime authorities’ comprehensive inquiry and examination of the evidence was fruitful; it brought to light valuable information.

It was obvious to me from the records of some of the depositions that there were crew members on the
Pan Grace
who were knowledgeable and ethical, and who would have been more forthcoming. They must have been intimidated by company officials in the room. Each time a crew member provided any important details, a Pan Ocean official would ask for a break. When the questioning resumed, the responses would be either “I don’t understand” or “I don’t remember.” For instance, the chief mate on the
Pan Grace
testified that at the time he relieved the second mate on November 24 at 0400, he looked at the course recorder, the same course recorder that supposedly was inoperable. Minutes later he claimed to have no memory after his testimony was interrupted by a Pan Ocean representative. There were other contradictions, but crew members were cowed into resisting further clarification. I admire those who at least made an effort to tell the truth. Nevertheless, I don’t think the company officials represented their best interests. Justice is for the common good; had justice prevailed, it would have been another step in improving life for everybody.

Nations worldwide are rapidly expanding trade, and this will only increase seaborne traffic. There are certainly flag states that have commendable standards, with responsible and conscientious ownership; they operate safe, expertly run vessels. Those flag states that do not insist upon exemplary standards of seamanship, operations, and conditions for their crews are inviting further catastrophes. And if there is an unfortunate maritime casualty and the flag state is allowed to withhold evidence, or chooses not to undertake an investigation at all, then no one can learn from the errors or lapses in judgment and equipment. In contrast—perhaps because so many commercial flights carry more passengers than cargo—the aviation industry has been a model in frank discussions and candid investigations, resulting in improvements in safety standards for all of us.

My own knowledge has been greatly enhanced by the network of professional mariners who are concerned with advancing safety in our harbors and out at sea. I have a very high opinion of their educational backgrounds, intensive training, skills, and competence. Some of them spent hours providing me with resource material for my Sleavin Family Foundation work. Some accompanied me to presentations and answered questions posed by recreational boaters. And some encouraged me to get on ships in order to familiarize myself with the routines required for the safe transit of these vessels from coastal waters to inland harbors. I have met many harbor pilots and seagoing captains who are conscientious far beyond their credentials. I have met several seagoing captains who diverted their container ships to rescue sailors in storm-driven waters. I have not met a single professional mariner who would hesitate to change course to help a sailor in distress.

Weeping, I read a line in one of Judy’s journals: “Why does God have to show me the face of death up close?”

“Do you still believe in God?” I asked her later.

She gave me an unqualified yes. She told me how glad she was that Kerry Rauber had shared her vision of Mike giving her messages, and of Annie at the Poor Knights. She liked that I had recently told her about Sergeant Dave Palmer’s belief that she’d had guardian angels guiding her to safety in the dinghy. “I know about God now, and I know about heaven, too,” she said. “I feel more connected to the universe.”

We once discussed the fact that their chosen, unconventional life had given the Sleavin family an incomparable experience of being together. Really being together. Sharing a joyful existence. “I know,” Judy replied quietly. “That does give me some sense of peace. Especially since I can feel their presence so often. Ben, especially, likes to give me little tips on living.”

Twenty-Two

Ten Degrees of Reckoning

TEN DEGREES. THE SECOND MATE MADE A FATAL ERROR, based not upon calculations or technology or even experience. He became flustered as his ship was approaching the sailboat, and he had done nothing to correct his course when he had the time. So, on the basis of nothing more than panic, he quickly shouted out a maneuver to the helmsman. Ten degrees, and a family was destroyed.

Look at a protractor. The marked numbers for measuring angles are placed at 10-degree intervals. Such a small modification, with a consequence of such enormous magnitude. In all probability, many of us have had our lives altered by 10 degrees. A 10-degree turn, not necessarily made in panic, not necessarily even one we’re aware of, but changing everything just the same. I am not dismissing the consequences of accidents of birth, or geography, or natural disasters, but I want to set them aside to address the consequences of smaller things—the narrow angle of 10 degrees, the single action or tiny incident— that can change the outcome of our lives. What if we had taken a different course at school, been late for work at the World Trade Center on September 11, stepped off the curb too early, answered the phone, not answered the phone?

Even deliberative and well-reasoned alterations can have unexpected results. So we need to embrace the idea of living well, as Mike and Judy did. It is not a contradiction to live both blissfully and responsibly, or joyously and ethically, or serenely and enterprisingly.

Often I am asked if Judy really has any sense of peace, or if she is awash in anger at the injustice, or awash in the guilt of surviving. Whatever peace she has comes from feeling no regrets about the fullness with which her family lived on a daily basis. Her instincts as a wife and mother were unerring; how could her family be spoiled by her loving words, by her letting them know how cherished they were, by how joyous her time with them was? She always did the best she was capable of, and her capabilities were tremendous. Her refusal to conform helped her in making decisions that were right for her, and then for her family.

I know Judy chose to be happy very early on. After the collision, her beloved uncle Milton wrote her a letter assuring her that she would get through this ordeal. He said that as an infant in her crib, Judy learned to shake the nearby venetian blinds so that her grandmother would come in and smother her with kisses. He added that he prayed every morning and every night that Judy would remember she had always had the skill to make the most of exactly where she was at the moment.

For me, Judy is the unsurpassed example of a person eager to cultivate a sense of happiness in the present tense. None of us gets to choose how we are going to die, or when, for that matter. But each of us can take a page from Judy’s book and decide how we are going to live. If Judy had not continued to reshape herself throughout her life, I doubt that she would have had the will to survive when her colossal test came about. She evolved from a fatherless child into a feisty teenager; then into an artist, a wife, an engineer; then into a mother; and then into a cruiser, a teacher, and a navigator; and finally into a widow and a childless mother. But of course, I shouldn’t say “finally,” because this isn’t the end of her story. She has never defined herself as a victim. She will persist in reshaping herself and her life, although the permanent pain of these heartbreaking events could easily have left her powerless. There was no pivotal event when she realized she had to live; no epiphany, no big turning point. She had always challenged herself, and that helped with the process. But really, as trite as it sounds, it is still a day at a time, sometimes just a step at a time. Certainly, some days her steps falter, when the evidence of an altered life is too overwhelming. Some days, her steps are rather jaunty, leading to a skip, a more complicated step, and—on the very good days—a tango.

Epilogue 

THE YACHT MELINDA LEE REMAINS SUNKEN SOME twenty-five nautical miles to the north-northeast of Cape Brett, New Zealand. She is presumed to be lying at a depth of approximately 600 meters. There is nothing to distinguish the heartbreak there, except the GPS coordinates: latitude 34°47’3” south, longitude 174°25’25” east.

The dinghy, reinflated and cleaned, sits on a trailer in Judy’s garage.

On Friday, December 13, 2002, at ten a.m., in the Council Chambers of Whangarei, Judy became a citizen of New Zealand. Her group of new citizens was made up of three people from England, three from India, one from Canada, one from South Korea, and one from the Philippines. Judy now divides her time between the United States and New Zealand, the spiritual home of her family.

Each November, as the cold, rainy season settles in Tacoma and the anniversary of the collision approaches, Catherine Sleavin puts on the vest that Michael made for her with pencils instead of knitting needles and feels the warmth and love of her dearly beloved son. About Judy she says, “I dearly love her. She filled Michael, Ben, and Annie’s lives with unbounded love and joy. All I want for her is happiness again.”

Maureen and Richard Lull reconsidered their circumnavigation plans and sold their racing Shock 35,
Aftershock.
For water sports, Richard can pass on his impressive surfing skills to their wonderful son, born in August 1996. Judy made him his first quilt, forty blocks of tropical fish in purples, blues, and greens.

Geneva Goldenberg is a healthy, happy child, in complete remission from leukemia, still sailing with her parents, Annique and Marco, and last heard from in Malaysia. They have added a little brother as junior crew on
Ruquca.

Kerry and Peter Rauber had a little boy in March 1998. They didn’t name him Ben out of respect to Judy, but Kerry says, “I hope I am bringing up a little chap exactly like him.” They and their son live happily in Switzerland, Peter’s home country. Kerry still sees images of Annie resting peacefully near the Poor Knights.

John and Kathi Sleavin had a little boy. Apparently inviting Judy on their honeymoon didn’t interfere with family planning. Aidan has become another one of the adventurous Sleavins; bicycling first in a BOB Trailer, he has graduated to a Third Wheel.

On November 24, 2005, ten years to the day after the collision, Tim Rooney died in his sleep, at the age of fifty-two.

Erica Crenshaw, from
Aquavit,
wrote that on her night watches she thinks of Judy as Orion, and Mike, Ben, and Annie as the three stars in Orion’s Belt.

Judy has developed compensatory skills to make up for any visual deficits with her agnosia from the brain injury. She stays physically active—walking, bicycling, and kayaking in estuaries—to ward off any physical disability from her vertebral injuries. Occasionally she goes sailing, and while she still understands the appeal, she refers to herself now as a landlubber. She wrote a letter to Patagonia, the clothing manufacturer, thanking the company for saving her from hypothermia, and she made a donation to Northland Emergency Services Trust, which provided the helicopter and personnel for her search and rescue.