Dorothy Winifred Gibson
First-class, 22 years old, Lifeboat 7
I was just an ordinary gal from Hoboken, New Jersey.
when artist Harrison Fisher asked me to pose for him.
There were much prettier girls he could have chosen.
The glamorous portraits he painted of me appeared on magazine covers--
Cosmopolitan, Ladies Home Journal, and the Saturday Evening Post.
My image was also printed on postcards.
I became known as the, “Original Harrison Fisher Girl.”
It was his glamourous paintings coupled with my Broadway performances
that set my silent movie career in motion.
In 1911, the Éclair Motion Picture Company offered me a contract,
and I soon became their leading lady and highest-paid actress.
In just a few years, my career skyrocketed.
But working long days in front of the camera was exhausting.
After completing a series of films, I desperately needed a vacation.
Feeling near collapse, I considered breaking my contract.
My producer, Jules Brulatour,
agreed that I deserved time away from the studio.
He arranged a European tour for Mother and me.
Jules was such a darling.
Mother thought highly of him, too.
During our holiday, Mother and I visited museums, ancient architecture,
marketplaces, and the Great Pyramids of Giza.
We even rode a camel.
While we were in Italy, an urgent telegram arrived at our hotel.
Jules requested my immediate return to the states.
He said we needed to get back to making films.
After weeks away from the lights and cameras,
I felt rejuvenated, so I agreed to go back.
Secretly, I hoped Jules missed me enough to ask me to marry him.
But first, he’d have to divorce Clara.
What was it going to take for him to let her go?
In Paris, we booked passage on the Titanic,
and in Cherbourg, we boarded the ship everyone was raving about.
During our voyage, we enjoyed mingling with other first-class passengers.
One evening, we dined with the ship’s architect—Thomas Andrews.
Such a brilliant mind!
He’d thought of every comfort and luxury possible--
a gymnasium, a salt-water swimming pool,
and an exotic Turkish bath,
where Mother and I relaxed on electrical heating beds.
After Sunday’s dinner,
Mother felt tired and retreated to our stateroom on E-deck
while my friend, Frederic Seward,
and I headed to the lounge to play bridge.
As we needed another player,
I persuaded a gentleman, William Sloper, to join our game.
We were having a delightful evening,
then a ship’s steward reminded us that it was rather late,
and he needed to turn out the lights.
We stayed a tad longer, then said our good-nights.
Before going to bed, I decided to take a late-night walk beneath the stars.
As I strolled toward the open deck,
I stopped at the sound of a long drawn out, and sickening crunch.
What was that?
I rushed up the stairs and met up with William.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the railing
just as an enormous ghost-like object skimmed past the ocean liner.
Together, we watched as it melted into the blackness.
Someone said the ship had struck an iceberg.
I rushed off to alert Mother.
.
On the starboard side of the deck,
Mother and I met up with William and Frederic and other first-class passengers.
We watched as sailors dragged a tarp off one of the lifeboats
and swung it outward over the sea.
An officer invited us to step in, but most passengers felt safer on the ship
than in a small boat adrift in the middle of the ocean at night.
Mother and I did not hesitate.
We were among the very first to enter Lifeboat 7.
William and Frederick stayed with the others.
Fearing for their safety, I pleaded with them to join us.
At last, they climbed into the half-empty boat.
Sailors slowly lowered the lifeboat past the lighted decks and portholes.
As we set down onto the waves, the sea gushed into our lifeboat.
The drainage plug on the bottom was gone.
Panicked, we sealed the opening with women’s lingerie and men’s garments.
But even with our joined efforts, water seeped in and puddled around our shoes,
and we were soaked up to our ankles in freezing water.
For more than an hour, we stayed in the vicinity of the sinking ship.
Mother and I watched as other lifeboats were lowered to the sea.
From head to toe, I was freezing.
My sweater and polo coat that I wore over my evening dress
were not enough to keep me warm.
The cold gnawed at my bones.
William offered me his overcoat, and I thanked him with a kiss.
Deck by deck, the ocean liner settled lower into the water.
The sailor in charge of our lifeboat ordered the rowers to pull away
to avoid any chance of getting caught in a giant whirlpool.
From a safer distance, we watched as the ship’s lights flickered.
The bow dove further beneath the sea until it completely vanished.
All of her lights went dark.
People scrambled toward the safety of the back of the liner.
Slowly the stern rose out of the ocean like the shadow of death.
It stood on end, towering over the merciless sea.
But unlike a movie set, there was no director to shout, “Cut!”
With the power of Niagara Falls, the vessel unleashed an enormous roar,
and the Titanic disappeared into the deep Atlantic.
For a moment, the suffering seemed to be over,
then all at once, hundreds of voices arose from the immense darkness.
I buried my face in William’s tensed shoulder.
For as long as I draw breath, I will never forget their haunting cries.
Never.
While adrift at sea,
William asked me, “What would you do if we were to be rescued?”
I said, “I will thank the Lord!”
Beginning to quietly weep,
I thought of Jules. Would I ever see him again?
At dawn, our collective prayers were answered.
A ship had come to save us from this dreadful nightmare.
As we vigorously rowed toward the ocean liner,
I spotted green cushions, bobbing along the ocean waves.
Recognizing them from the first-class lounge,
I looked away.
Upon our arrival in New York,
I ran crying down the dock ramp toward my stepfather and collapsed into his arms.
I wished it had been Jules’ loving embrace instead,
but a public scene would have caused a scandal for the two of us.
Later, we secretly met, and Jules surprised me with an engagement ring.
As I admired the diamond, he suggested we make a film about the shipwreck.
I shuddered at the thought of reliving the horrific ordeal,
but how could I say no to my future husband?
So I co-wrote and starred in the movie, Saved from the Titanic.
Jules insisted that I wear the same clothes I wore on that fateful night.
One afternoon on the movie set, I burst into uncontrollable tears.
And filming came to an abrupt stop.
One month after the sinking,
Saved from the Titanic was released at movie houses
in America and Europe, to astonishing reviews.
Jules was over-the-moon ecstatic.
Soon afterwards, I no longer had the desire to make movie pictures.
I resigned from Éclair Films and for a short time studied opera,
performing with a chorus at the Metropolitan Opera House.
A year after the shipwreck,
While driving Jules’ sports car in New York,
I lost control of the vehicle and struck a man and his wife.
The man was dead. I couldn’t breathe.
How could I ever live with myself knowing I killed someone?
His wife filed a lawsuit.
At the trial, when Jules came to my defense our love affair was exposed.
Reporters called me his mistress.
To save his reputation, Jules divorced his wife, Clara, and we finally married--
but like the Titanic, our marriage ended in disaster in 1919.
Jules moved on with his life.
He married another young actress—Hope Hamilton.
For several months, they kept their marriage a secret.
Since we shared many of the same social circles,
it was difficult to ignore the gossip.
I felt completely humiliated.
In 1928, I relocated to Paris where I enjoyed my new life.
Mother preferred to spend most of her time in Italy.
A dark cloud hung over Europe.
Benito Mussolini and Hitler declared war on America.
We attempted to return to the states,
but with Mother’s ill health, we ran out of time and remained in Florence.
With the war escalating in Europe, my nerves were on edge.
My good friend and journalist, Indro Montenelli, was sent to the Fossoli camp.
It was controlled by the German SS.
His crime? He had written an article about Mussolini and his mistress.
Then I nearly lost my mind when my fiancé, Emilio Antonio Ramos, disappeared.
Had he been murdered like so many of the others?
In April, 1944, I was suspected of being an anti-fascist agitator.
The Italian police informed me that I was to be sent to Fossoli.
Here, prisoners were transferred to death camps.
It was time to flee.
I entrusted Mother to good people in Florence
and drove toward the Swiss border only to be captured and taken to the camp.
From there, I was transferred to San Vittore in Milan.
The prison was a living death.
You can talk to no one—and if you are caught doing so, the punishment was unspeakable.
While at San Vittore, I discovered my friend, Indro Montenelli, was alive.
He was held prisoner in a different part of the camp.
I heard of a double agent, Doctor Ugo.
We met briefly and spoke.
He convinced the Gestapo that I was a Nazi sympathizer,
and the Germans released me from their prison.
In return, the Nazis wanted me to spy for them.
But with Doctor Ugo’s help, I, along with Indro and General Bartolo Zambon,
made it safely across the Swiss border.
I went directly to the United States Embassy,
where I was held prisoner and interrogated, then eventually released.
Not even Jules could have written such a suspenseful plot!
Twice in my lifetime, I narrowly escaped death.
I was rescued by the Carpathia
and saved at the hands of a double agent.
I never knew Doctor Ugo’s real name.
Nobody did.
Note: Dorothy Gibson’s silent movie career lasted from 1911-1913. She starred in twenty films, fourteen of them for the Éclair-America Film Company in New Jersey and six for the Lubin Film Studio in Pennsylvania. Two years after the release of Saved from the Titanic, the film was destroyed in a fire. Though, there are a few promotional photographs and posters that survive. After her marriage to mogul, Jules Brulatour, Dorothy never remarried. In 1944, she succumbed to a heart attack in her bedroom at the Hotel Ritz in Paris. She was laid to rest at St. Germain-en-Laye Cemetery in France. Dorothy left a lasting impression on her friend, Indro Montenelli, as he based a fictional character after her in his novel, General della Rovere. In 1959, his book, inspired by a true story, was made into an award-winning film by Italian director, Roberto Rosselini. The film won a Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival. As for the double agent, Doctor Ugo earned a reputation of being one of the most skilled Italian spies of the Italian Secret Services during Second World War. His real name was Ugo Luca Osteria. He died in 1988, in Genoa, Italy.
First-class, 22 years old, Lifeboat 7
I was just an ordinary gal from Hoboken, New Jersey.
when artist Harrison Fisher asked me to pose for him.
There were much prettier girls he could have chosen.
The glamorous portraits he painted of me appeared on magazine covers--
Cosmopolitan, Ladies Home Journal, and the Saturday Evening Post.
My image was also printed on postcards.
I became known as the, “Original Harrison Fisher Girl.”
It was his glamourous paintings coupled with my Broadway performances
that set my silent movie career in motion.
In 1911, the Éclair Motion Picture Company offered me a contract,
and I soon became their leading lady and highest-paid actress.
In just a few years, my career skyrocketed.
But working long days in front of the camera was exhausting.
After completing a series of films, I desperately needed a vacation.
Feeling near collapse, I considered breaking my contract.
My producer, Jules Brulatour,
agreed that I deserved time away from the studio.
He arranged a European tour for Mother and me.
Jules was such a darling.
Mother thought highly of him, too.
During our holiday, Mother and I visited museums, ancient architecture,
marketplaces, and the Great Pyramids of Giza.
We even rode a camel.
While we were in Italy, an urgent telegram arrived at our hotel.
Jules requested my immediate return to the states.
He said we needed to get back to making films.
After weeks away from the lights and cameras,
I felt rejuvenated, so I agreed to go back.
Secretly, I hoped Jules missed me enough to ask me to marry him.
But first, he’d have to divorce Clara.
What was it going to take for him to let her go?
In Paris, we booked passage on the Titanic,
and in Cherbourg, we boarded the ship everyone was raving about.
During our voyage, we enjoyed mingling with other first-class passengers.
One evening, we dined with the ship’s architect—Thomas Andrews.
Such a brilliant mind!
He’d thought of every comfort and luxury possible--
a gymnasium, a salt-water swimming pool,
and an exotic Turkish bath,
where Mother and I relaxed on electrical heating beds.
After Sunday’s dinner,
Mother felt tired and retreated to our stateroom on E-deck
while my friend, Frederic Seward,
and I headed to the lounge to play bridge.
As we needed another player,
I persuaded a gentleman, William Sloper, to join our game.
We were having a delightful evening,
then a ship’s steward reminded us that it was rather late,
and he needed to turn out the lights.
We stayed a tad longer, then said our good-nights.
Before going to bed, I decided to take a late-night walk beneath the stars.
As I strolled toward the open deck,
I stopped at the sound of a long drawn out, and sickening crunch.
What was that?
I rushed up the stairs and met up with William.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the railing
just as an enormous ghost-like object skimmed past the ocean liner.
Together, we watched as it melted into the blackness.
Someone said the ship had struck an iceberg.
I rushed off to alert Mother.
.
On the starboard side of the deck,
Mother and I met up with William and Frederic and other first-class passengers.
We watched as sailors dragged a tarp off one of the lifeboats
and swung it outward over the sea.
An officer invited us to step in, but most passengers felt safer on the ship
than in a small boat adrift in the middle of the ocean at night.
Mother and I did not hesitate.
We were among the very first to enter Lifeboat 7.
William and Frederick stayed with the others.
Fearing for their safety, I pleaded with them to join us.
At last, they climbed into the half-empty boat.
Sailors slowly lowered the lifeboat past the lighted decks and portholes.
As we set down onto the waves, the sea gushed into our lifeboat.
The drainage plug on the bottom was gone.
Panicked, we sealed the opening with women’s lingerie and men’s garments.
But even with our joined efforts, water seeped in and puddled around our shoes,
and we were soaked up to our ankles in freezing water.
For more than an hour, we stayed in the vicinity of the sinking ship.
Mother and I watched as other lifeboats were lowered to the sea.
From head to toe, I was freezing.
My sweater and polo coat that I wore over my evening dress
were not enough to keep me warm.
The cold gnawed at my bones.
William offered me his overcoat, and I thanked him with a kiss.
Deck by deck, the ocean liner settled lower into the water.
The sailor in charge of our lifeboat ordered the rowers to pull away
to avoid any chance of getting caught in a giant whirlpool.
From a safer distance, we watched as the ship’s lights flickered.
The bow dove further beneath the sea until it completely vanished.
All of her lights went dark.
People scrambled toward the safety of the back of the liner.
Slowly the stern rose out of the ocean like the shadow of death.
It stood on end, towering over the merciless sea.
But unlike a movie set, there was no director to shout, “Cut!”
With the power of Niagara Falls, the vessel unleashed an enormous roar,
and the Titanic disappeared into the deep Atlantic.
For a moment, the suffering seemed to be over,
then all at once, hundreds of voices arose from the immense darkness.
I buried my face in William’s tensed shoulder.
For as long as I draw breath, I will never forget their haunting cries.
Never.
While adrift at sea,
William asked me, “What would you do if we were to be rescued?”
I said, “I will thank the Lord!”
Beginning to quietly weep,
I thought of Jules. Would I ever see him again?
At dawn, our collective prayers were answered.
A ship had come to save us from this dreadful nightmare.
As we vigorously rowed toward the ocean liner,
I spotted green cushions, bobbing along the ocean waves.
Recognizing them from the first-class lounge,
I looked away.
Upon our arrival in New York,
I ran crying down the dock ramp toward my stepfather and collapsed into his arms.
I wished it had been Jules’ loving embrace instead,
but a public scene would have caused a scandal for the two of us.
Later, we secretly met, and Jules surprised me with an engagement ring.
As I admired the diamond, he suggested we make a film about the shipwreck.
I shuddered at the thought of reliving the horrific ordeal,
but how could I say no to my future husband?
So I co-wrote and starred in the movie, Saved from the Titanic.
Jules insisted that I wear the same clothes I wore on that fateful night.
One afternoon on the movie set, I burst into uncontrollable tears.
And filming came to an abrupt stop.
One month after the sinking,
Saved from the Titanic was released at movie houses
in America and Europe, to astonishing reviews.
Jules was over-the-moon ecstatic.
Soon afterwards, I no longer had the desire to make movie pictures.
I resigned from Éclair Films and for a short time studied opera,
performing with a chorus at the Metropolitan Opera House.
A year after the shipwreck,
While driving Jules’ sports car in New York,
I lost control of the vehicle and struck a man and his wife.
The man was dead. I couldn’t breathe.
How could I ever live with myself knowing I killed someone?
His wife filed a lawsuit.
At the trial, when Jules came to my defense our love affair was exposed.
Reporters called me his mistress.
To save his reputation, Jules divorced his wife, Clara, and we finally married--
but like the Titanic, our marriage ended in disaster in 1919.
Jules moved on with his life.
He married another young actress—Hope Hamilton.
For several months, they kept their marriage a secret.
Since we shared many of the same social circles,
it was difficult to ignore the gossip.
I felt completely humiliated.
In 1928, I relocated to Paris where I enjoyed my new life.
Mother preferred to spend most of her time in Italy.
A dark cloud hung over Europe.
Benito Mussolini and Hitler declared war on America.
We attempted to return to the states,
but with Mother’s ill health, we ran out of time and remained in Florence.
With the war escalating in Europe, my nerves were on edge.
My good friend and journalist, Indro Montenelli, was sent to the Fossoli camp.
It was controlled by the German SS.
His crime? He had written an article about Mussolini and his mistress.
Then I nearly lost my mind when my fiancé, Emilio Antonio Ramos, disappeared.
Had he been murdered like so many of the others?
In April, 1944, I was suspected of being an anti-fascist agitator.
The Italian police informed me that I was to be sent to Fossoli.
Here, prisoners were transferred to death camps.
It was time to flee.
I entrusted Mother to good people in Florence
and drove toward the Swiss border only to be captured and taken to the camp.
From there, I was transferred to San Vittore in Milan.
The prison was a living death.
You can talk to no one—and if you are caught doing so, the punishment was unspeakable.
While at San Vittore, I discovered my friend, Indro Montenelli, was alive.
He was held prisoner in a different part of the camp.
I heard of a double agent, Doctor Ugo.
We met briefly and spoke.
He convinced the Gestapo that I was a Nazi sympathizer,
and the Germans released me from their prison.
In return, the Nazis wanted me to spy for them.
But with Doctor Ugo’s help, I, along with Indro and General Bartolo Zambon,
made it safely across the Swiss border.
I went directly to the United States Embassy,
where I was held prisoner and interrogated, then eventually released.
Not even Jules could have written such a suspenseful plot!
Twice in my lifetime, I narrowly escaped death.
I was rescued by the Carpathia
and saved at the hands of a double agent.
I never knew Doctor Ugo’s real name.
Nobody did.
Note: Dorothy Gibson’s silent movie career lasted from 1911-1913. She starred in twenty films, fourteen of them for the Éclair-America Film Company in New Jersey and six for the Lubin Film Studio in Pennsylvania. Two years after the release of Saved from the Titanic, the film was destroyed in a fire. Though, there are a few promotional photographs and posters that survive. After her marriage to mogul, Jules Brulatour, Dorothy never remarried. In 1944, she succumbed to a heart attack in her bedroom at the Hotel Ritz in Paris. She was laid to rest at St. Germain-en-Laye Cemetery in France. Dorothy left a lasting impression on her friend, Indro Montenelli, as he based a fictional character after her in his novel, General della Rovere. In 1959, his book, inspired by a true story, was made into an award-winning film by Italian director, Roberto Rosselini. The film won a Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival. As for the double agent, Doctor Ugo earned a reputation of being one of the most skilled Italian spies of the Italian Secret Services during Second World War. His real name was Ugo Luca Osteria. He died in 1988, in Genoa, Italy.
