Joseph Lewis Myers was born in New York State, in the United States of America, on 1st February 1867, the son of Louis A. and Sallie Myers (née Hecht). His father, a German immigrant, was a lace manufacturer, while his mother had been born in Maryland of German immigrants parents. The family were Jewish, and Joseph was the eldest of five known children in the family.
He joined his father in the lace industry, becoming an importer and manufacturer. His business address was at 1279, Madison Avenue, New York City, and he travelled frequently to Europe in the course of his business.
On the 5th December 1893, he married Jennie Samuels in Manhattan, New York City, but nothing is known of the marriage, except that they had no children, and that by 1909, his wife had died..
He divided his time between New York City and Paris, France, maintaining homes in both cities. On the 3rd October 1912, he married Marie A. Van Geert in Manhattan. His wife was born in France, and their first child – Roger, was born in Paris in December 1912. The family resided at 176. Madison Avenue, New York City.
Joseph Myers was vice president of Angelo & Myers, a company founded in early 1915, the business of which was the manufacture, importation, and sale in the United
States of America, of silks, laces, and dress trimmings. In the spring of 1915, in order to secure merchandise to conduct business, Joseph Myers decided to travel to Paris, France, to procure supplies.
In April 1915, he booked saloon passage on the May sailing of the Lusitania from New York to Liverpool, on the first leg of his journey to France, and on 1st May 1915, with ticket number 46154, he boarded the vessel at the Cunard berth at Pier 54 in that city. He was then escorted to his accommodation in room B59, which was under the personal supervision of First Class Bedroom Steward Walter Wood, who came from Seaforth in Lancashire, just up the coastline of the River Mersey from Liverpool.
For the next six days, he enjoyed the opulence of the saloon accommodation and the company of his fellow travellers. Then, on the early afternoon of 7th May, with the liner within sight of the coast of southern Ireland and only hours away from her destination, the Lusitania was struck by a single torpedo fired by Kapitänleutnant Walter Schwieger’s submarine U-20.
According to authors Des Hickey and Gus Smith in their 1981 publication Seven Days to Disaster, Myers had seen the submarine itself, as he left the Palm Lounge with fellow saloon passenger Frank Kellett from Tuckahoe, New York. Clutching Kellett’s arm he apparently pointed out the U-20 before muttering My God, we’re lost! The authors then described his further reaction: -
Joseph Myers was mesmerised by the sight of the torpedo cutting through the water like a razor. He watched it describe a distinct arc as it rose from the submarine, then ran along the surface before taking a final downward plunge close to the ship’s side somewhere between, as he thought, the second and third funnels.
As Hickey and Smith hinted, Myers account of the torpedo’s path and point of striking does not totally agree with the facts!
Later, as he tried to get off the sinking ship, Joseph Myers was injured, suffering a broken leg, broken teeth, and crushed ribs. Once the liner had gone down, he managed to reach a lifeboat in the sea, from which he was eventually rescued by the Hopkins and Jones liner Westborough which was actually disguised as a Greek steamer with the name Katerina and was even flying the Greek flag. Under the command of Captain E.L. Taylor, she was outward bound from the Caribbean laden with sugar and was diverted from Queenstown where she had intended to take on coal.
Because of his injuries, Joseph Myers had to be hauled on board by block and tackle. He was then laid on blankets on an engine room grating, to keep him warm, and having been landed at Queenstown, he was taken to the Royal Naval hospital there, where he received treatment for his injuries. There, he was comforted by the United States Consul John Frost, whom he told of the panic he had seen and was critical of the way the lifeboats had been handled. He was of the opinion that few would have drowned, had there been more efficiency and less confusion!
Having then developed bronchitis, he was transferred to Goldings Nursing Home at 18, St. Patrick Place in Cork City, where he remained for four weeks, by which time he was just about able to complete his journey to Paris. During this time, his wife and son had travelled to Ireland to be with him.
While recuperating in Queenstown, he wrote the following letter to his mother, outlining his experience: -
The Golding Nursing Home.
Cork, Ireland.
May 22, 1915.
My dear Mama,
Marie wrote to you last week and I can now do so, although I am in bed and have so been for two weeks on my back. Oh, how it hurts.
Well, I suppose you want to know what is the matter with me. My right leg is broken, my left leg was torn, the nerves all exposed under the thigh, three ribs broken front and back on the left side and two on the right, my right arm badly torn. This all happened after the second explosion – I am sure we were torpedoed twice. I saw the first leave the submarine and saw the submarine dive and saw the torpedo strike us and saw everything else. My God, what a sight. In twenty minutes we were gone. I went down with the ship. How long I remained down I don’t know, but it was while I was under water that I got so badly knocked about. Wreckage bumped me up against the ship under water and I fought like a devil. The face of my dear wife and our little boy was before me and I said to myself over and over again “I can’t go. I must fight this out and win out for their sake”, and that is what gave me strength and courage.
Well, I was about four hours in the water swimming and floating about with a broken leg and ribs, but not until I was pulled on a boat did I feel that I was hurt. They thought I was about gone. They took all my clothes off and rolled me about until I cried for help and mercy, then they found that I was injured, threw me into the engine room and left me there without anything on. We arrived in Queenstown the next morning at 2.30, just twelve hours after we went down. They put me in a naval hospital, where I remained until Sunday evening, and was then transferred here without any clothes and now am on the road to recovery.
Not until Monday did the Cunard company report me as saved, although I sent them my name on Saturday at 3 A.M., but their office in Queenstown can only be compared with the confusion of the Lusitania. When we were struck, all the officers lost their heads, boats could not be launched. Only two got away safe, all the rest were lost. Those four hours in the water I shall never forget. I saw my friends and acquaintances float by dead, or almost so and I could not tender any help: I was too weak; it almost drove me mad. Thank God, it was such a fine day and the water so warm. I had on a life belt and can swim and float. At 6.30 P.M. I was pulled on a
Greek steamer which picked up fifty-two survivors and I was the last one saved.
Your loving son,
James L. Myers
On arrival in Paris, he received further treatment from a local doctor, being confined to bed for a further three weeks. It was a full three months from the time of the sinking, before he was fit enough to conduct any business, but by this time the business in New York was suffering badly, and eventually failed.
In August 1915, he approached The Cunard Steam Ship Company with regard to the wet clothes he had been wearing at the time of his rescue, which had contained a sum of money and his passport and which had never been returned to him. Cunard approached Hopkins and Jones for help in the matter - by which time Captain Taylor was in command of the S.S. Winnfield, but the matter was never satisfactorily resolved. Cunard’s opinion of the captain and crew of the Westborough was not of the highest order: -
It seems that the crew of the Westborough from Captain to Cook are out to make all they can.
and with regard to Myer’s missing clothes and their contents the Company’s opinion was: -
..... looking at it in the most charitable light, it was indeed very shady.
Joseph Myers eventually returned safely to New York, accompanied by his wife and son, sailing on the Espagne from Bordeaux, France, on the 21st August 1915. In November 1915, their daughter, named Yvette, was born in New York City.
Fellow saloon passenger Frank Kellett did not survive the sinking, however and never saw New York again. Bedroom Steward Walter Wood, who had looked after Joseph Myers in room B69, did survive, however, to return, eventually, to his Seaforth home.
There was a Herman Abraham Myers who also lived in New York, travelling as a saloon passenger on the last voyage of the Lusitania, but there is no evidence that he and Joseph Myers were related.
The Mixed Claims Commission later awarded Joseph Myers the sum of $15,000.00 in compensation for his injuries, and a further $4,000.00 as compensation for the personal belonging he lost, and medical and other expenses incurred as a direct result of the sinking.
Joseph Myers continued to make regular trans-Atlantic voyages in connection with his business until at least November 1928, after which, no record of him can be found.
New York U.S. Extracted Marriage Index 1866 – 1937, 1900 U.S. Federal Census, 1920 U.S. Federal Census, U.S. Passport Applications 1795 – 1925, New York Passenger Lists 1820 – 1957, Cunard Records, Mixed Claims Commission Docket No. 2203, PRO 22/71, Seven Days to Disaster, PRO BT 100/345, UniLiv.D92/1/1, UniLiv D92/2/154, UniLiv D92/2/257, Graham Maddocks, Geoff Whitfield, Michael Poirier, Jim Kalafus, Cliff Barry, Paul Latimer, Norman Gray.
Copyright © Peter Kelly.