Maersk Alabama recalls senseless maritime tragedies of the past

While the actions of Maersk Alabama Captain Richard Phillips—initially praised as heroic but now under fire—have drawn strong media coverage, statements by the vessel’s other skipper have gone largely under the radar.

And what Captain Larry Aasheim said shines light into what may be a longstanding maritime industry attitude of negligence toward the lives of seafarers.

"I told him (Phillips) there are advisories out recommending that vessels stay off an increased distance,” Aasheim is quoted in an Associated Press story. “But he's been on that run for a couple of years. If he increased the distance to 600 miles, it adds 1 1/2 days of transit time and a lot of fuel. You've got to think about that," he said. Aasheim was relieved as master by Phillips ten days before the Alabama was hijacked by pirates in April 380 miles off the Somali coast.

The International Maritime Bureau’s “best practices” recommends that vessels transit over 200 miles further offshore than the Alabama did.

Aasheim’s statement reflects an industry attitude of valuing the cost of doing business over the value of human life. The Alabama incident was hardly the first time that the company bottom line may have dictated courses of action that put the lives of crew members in jeopardy.

Over a quarter century has passed since the sinking of the S.S. Marine Electric in one of the worst recorded storms of the 20th century. It was proven to be not only the storm but also company negligence that allowed an unseaworthy ship to go down in the Atlantic with 31 lives.

The Marine Electric was a 605-foot bulker loaded with 24,800 tons of granulated coal sailing from Norfolk, Virginia to Somerset, Massachusetts. She departed on what was to be her final voyage on February 10, 1983. Once she hit the open waters of the Atlantic upon exiting Chesapeake Bay, she ran full force into 25 foot seas and winds recorded up to 55 knots.

Struggling up the East Coast, the ship was called back by the Coast Guard to assist with the Theodora, a fishing boat that was taking on water. But before it could be of assistance, the Theodora had recovered and made it safely to shore. So the Marine Electric continued its journey.

As the storm intensified, the ship fought a losing battle against the rising seas. Water came in through leaking hatch covers and filled the cargo holds. Mixing with the coal cargo, it formed a “slurry” mixture that rolled with instability.

On February 12th, the Marine Electric sank 30 miles off the Virginia coast. Only three of the 34 crew members survived.

Built during World War Two, the ship had become a rust bucket and the signs of impending doom were obvious with holes noticeable in the cargo hatches and deck plating.

In Robert Frump’s book Until The Sea Shall Free Them, there are accounts of improper vessel inspections and doctoring of inspection records by the company, Marine Transport Lines. Drains had been sealed up. An inspection by the hatch covers’ manufacturer indicated that the vessel was unseaworthy but the report was ignored. According to Bob Cusick, the chief mate and one of the survivors, the company had pressured him to side with their story that the Marine Electric had sunk after running aground while attempting to assist the Theodora.

Instead, Cusick turned over detailed safety records he had kept which clearly showed an extensive cover up of an unseaworthy vessel. The sinking led to the enactment of some of the most important survival reforms of the 20th century, such as the requirement to carry survival suits. Cusick survived over two hours in frigid waters in a winter coat and wool cap his wife had knitted for him. Now in his late eighties and living in New Hampshire, Cusick has some satisfaction in that the 31 souls lost on the Marine Electric have led to reforms which have undoubtedly saved other lives.

Perhaps the lessons learned from the Maersk Alabama and other ships hazardously transiting pirate infested waters may become a silver lining as well.