Frank J. Goldsmith’s Titanic Account on the 60th anniversary

A Nine Year Old English passenger travelling third class

A picture of Frank J. Goldsmith and his mother from The Dayton Daily News March 14, 1943 via Newspapers.com

“Titanic Memories–60 Years Later”

The Akron Beacon Journal

Akron, Ohio

April 14, 1972

“It was April 15, 1912, 60 years ago Saturday, that the magnificent luxury liner Titanic struck an iceberg and sank on her maiden voyage from England to New York.  Frank J. Goldsmith, now 69, was one of the survivors. He owns and operates Mansfield Photo Supplies in Mansfield and has a son, Frank, in Akron. Here is his story. 

“The gentle folds of age that warm his face tighten vaguely when Frank J. Goldsmith forgets a name he heard moments before, but the memory of the proud Titanic stretching toward the sky before shaking with a thunderous cry and settling to death is sharper than ever. 

“It was 60 years ago Saturday on a cold clear North Atlantic night that the Titanic sank. Frank J. Goldsmith, only 9 ½ was aboard, coming with his parents to Detroit from their home near Canterbury, England. 

“It all comes back at this time of year. It comes back to Goldsmith, now sixty-nine plus, the brown hair all gray now, the one fluid movements almost hesitant. It comes back to him in the quiet camera store he runs on the peaceful Mansfield square. 

“‘We sailed from Southampton about noon Wednesday, April 10,’ said Goldsmith, sitting intently in a straight backed wooden chair at the rear of his store. ‘For a young boy it was very enjoyable. Nine or ten of us got to know each other and really had a ball–playing games, looking at the engine room, meeting the firemen and watching them covered with soot as they stoked the furnaces and rattled their shovels on the grates making noises and singing songs. They were our heroes.’

“Goldsmith and his parents, Frank and Emily, had purchased third class tickets for about $150. ‘We had our own cabin but others were kind of snooty to those who couldn’t afford second class’ said Goldsmith. 

“The elder Goldsmith was leaving his tool making job in England to start a new life in America. ‘My aunt and uncle (Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Emans) had settled in Detroit. My aunt had encouraged my grandmother and grandfather (Mr. and Mrs. Henry Brown) to come. After they went, they all wrote us saying we should come to Detroit–they liked it so well. My aunt has been sending the Sunday funnies to her nephew (Goldsmith). Little Frankie just couldn’t wait to get over where the cowboys and Indians were. My friends and I would pay cowboys and Indians, getting our information from the funny papers. So I was looking forward to the trip. 

“‘Things were going along nicely. It was rather cool. Of course, it’s cool in the North Atlantic. But we had nice sunshiny days. On Sunday (April 14, 1912) we went to Sunday School on board, then we had breakfast. Mother and I went on deck to stroll. We saw a note posted saying Alfred Rush was to see the purser. My mother had been asked to chaperone him to Detroit. When we saw him on deck, she told him about the note. 

“‘Alfred returned from the purser’s office saying, “look I got a birthday present.” It was six pence–a refund for overpayment on baggage. His birthday was April 14. He was sixteen that day. A couple of hours later he was to die. I was put to bed around nine, I suppose. The next thing I knew I was half awake and mother was beginning to dress me. I wasn’t told at the time but the ship had grazed the side of an iceberg at twenty minutes to midnight. About 300 feet of the full was slit open.’ Said Goldsmith. 

“‘Dad, Alfred Rush and a friend of ours, Thomas Theobald, went on deck to see what was going on. It must have been after one when dad came back. We put our life jackets on and went upstairs with Mr. Theobald and Alfred Rush. Then we went on deck and up another flight of stairs. There was a gateway there where only women and children were allowed through. Dad put his arm around mother and hugged her. He kissed me and told us, “I’ll see you later.”

“‘Mr. Theobald took off his heavy gold wedding ring and gave it to mother. “If I don’t see you in New York, give my wife this,” he said. Mother and I walked through. The gateman reached for Alfred Rush. “No I’m going to stay back here with the men,” he said. After all, he had turned sixteen that day. In those days you were considered a man. That’s the last we saw of Alfred Rush. 

“‘We got up to the end of the boat and into a lifeboat labeled ‘collapsible D.’ On the way down it caught the plates of the ship. We almost got tipped out three times. I don’t know where they got the strength, but the women pushed against the side of the ship so we wouldn’t tip over. I didn’t see any panicking. Some of the women who couldn’t speak English were crying. I didn’t really understand what was happening. If you were an adult, you knew it was going down. 

“‘They had asked all the men to stay on the port side to keep the boat steady while they were lowering the lifeboats. The full impact didn’t hit me until about six months later in Detroit when I knew my dad wasn’t coming back. As we rowed away, we could see the ship slanting down into the water. All of a sudden, there was a slight explosion. Mother grabbed me and forced and forced my head onto her breast. At the same time a terrific roar went up from those still on board. It was like the sound you hear from a ballpark when a home run is hit. 

“‘They were all either thrown out or pulled under. I could faintly see the outline of the ship. First it pointed up. You could see the tail end of it sticking up. It hung there until people thought it would float. Then it gave a whoosh and slowly disappeared. We started to row away. We had been lowered from the ship about five minutes after two (the morning of April 15). The ship went down at twenty minutes after two. We started to row toward lights in the distance. The harder we rowed the fainter the lights became. The women ignited their petticoats and straw hats and held them aloft on the oars, but the ship disappeared and we just had to sit there.’

“The owners of the Titanic gave Goldsmith and his mother only two railroad tickets to Detroit and $15 expense money. Other relief organizations eventually contributed $2400.

“‘My mother got a job in a dress shop in Detroit for $5 a week and used the other money to start buying a house,’ said Goldsmith. Goldsmith grew up in Detroit, married a native of the city and stayed until World War II when the service drew him away. He eventually settled in the Mansfield area near some of his wife’s relatives.”

Additional Reading

Biography of Frank J. Goldsmith https://www.encyclopedia-titanica.org/titanic-survivor/frankie-goldsmith.html

Rotary Archives- 1977 Club meeting featuring Frank Goldsmith survivor of the sinking of the Titanic https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPyb7Hv71RU