The Titanic Question

Do you ever find yourself asking, what if?

What if you had taken that other job?

What if you had asked your crush out on a date?

What if you had just left your house five minutes earlier?

Everything in your life could have turned out totally different.

It's easy to get hung up on what ifs, and for good reason, because some of the most consequential moments in history have hinged on that very question.

This is the story behind one of those questions.

What if a single decision could have prevented one of the most infamous disasters of all time?

On today's episode, the Titanic Question.

This

is a twist of history.

It's the afternoon of April 4th, 1912.

37-year-old David Blair darts across the upper deck of the Royal Mail Ship Titanic.

He weaves around crew members hauling crates of fine china into the dining room and skirts past deckhands scrubbing coal dust off the newly sealed wood floor.

He has two minutes to run the length of the ship and make it to the command bridge for a meeting.

That's no small task aboard the RMS Titanic.

The deck is almost 1,000 feet long.

In six short days, the Titanic will make its maiden voyage across the Atlantic, carrying more than 2,200 2,200 passengers and crew members from the port city of Southampton, England, to New York.

Already newspapers are buzzing about the trip.

The Titanic is the largest and most luxurious ocean liner ever built, and by all accounts, a marvel of engineering.

They're calling it the unsinkable ship because its hull is comprised of a series of watertight compartments that'll keep it afloat even if the boat takes on water.

David will be the second officer in command, making him one of the highest-ranking people on board.

He's worked his whole career for a position like this and is determined to prove he's up to the task.

So far, it's been an enormous undertaking.

He stops just short of the command bridge and straightens his jacket.

Then he turns the corner to find Captain Edward Smith standing behind the Titanic's mahogany steering wheel staring out over the bow of the ship.

For a moment, the captain seems lost in thought.

David stays quiet, not wanting to disturb him.

Captain Smith is already a living legend and David's personal icon.

Smith is a veteran of the British Navy who was awarded medals for bravery by King Edward.

Then he was hired as a captain for White Star, the luxury ocean liner company that built the Titanic.

His track record with the company is flawless.

He successfully captained the maiden voyage of the RMS Olympic, the Titanic's predecessor.

And now, he's days away from cementing his place in history by navigating the Titanic to New York.

It's a huge responsibility, especially because the Titanic is a steamship powered by coal, and that itself isn't unusual.

All ocean liners are steamships.

But at 882 feet long, it requires a special steering system that uses hydraulics to connect three separate steering wheels to the rudder, which is why the captain called this meeting with David and the other officers on board.

Over the past few days, David and his crew sailed the Titanic over 500 miles, from Belfast, where it was built, to Southampton.

The learning curve on the steering system has been steep.

Now the captain wants to make sure that all the officers understand how the steering and navigation systems work.

The other officers file into the command bridge and Captain Smith turns to face them.

He gives them each a handshake, then tells David to take it away.

David's caught off guard.

He figured the captain or chief officer would be leading this meeting.

but he's also thrilled at the opportunity to look good in front of his captain.

So he clears his throat and heads to the back wall wall of the bridge, pointing to an intricate series of meters and compasses that show which direction the ship is facing and how fast it's turning.

He gestures to each of the three steering wheels on the bridge and explains how they have to move in tandem to change the direction of the rudder in the back of the ship.

Then he takes time answering questions until he's confident that each of the officers could navigate the ship in a pinch.

When he's finished, Captain Smith thanks David and dismisses the officers.

David smiles and straightens his jacket again.

He knows that impressing the captain could open a lot of doors at Whitestar.

It's important to look collected and in control.

But in reality, David is overworked and struggling to keep a handle on his crew.

For the past few weeks, there's been a nationwide coal worker strike in Britain.

Coal workers across the UK are fighting for minimum wage.

It's causing a coal shortage that forced White Star to cancel or postpone a handful of voyages.

Despite the chaos and complications, the crew of the Titanic is still preparing for its historic voyage across the Atlantic.

But all of the circumstances have put added pressure on David.

Still, he takes the responsibility head-on.

After all, a moment of crisis gives him an opportunity to shine, but he's also aware that the crew is exhausted, and that's when mistakes get made.

He checks his watch.

and he realizes he's overdue for a meeting with the ship's lookouts.

He hurries towards the forwardmost mast of the ship, then climbs the ladder up up to the crow's nest, which towers high above the water.

The moment David steps into the crow's nest, a brisk April wind whips across his face.

He breathes deep, taking in the smell of ocean salt.

He loves this feeling, and has since he was 15 years old and first started working on fishing boats.

He never thought he'd graduate to working on steamships like this one, let alone as an officer.

The thought makes his chest swell.

A 29-year-old lookout named George Hogg is already in the crow's nest, looking down at the bystanders on the dock.

Ever since the Titanic pulled into port last night, people have been coming by to gawk at the ship.

A little boy points at David and waves.

David smiles and returns the hello.

George stoops down and fishes a black logbook out of his messenger bag, then hands it to David.

It's the lookout crew's shift schedule.

The team of six lookouts will work in pairs of two and rotate every two hours.

That way, each pair gets a total of four hours to rest and recharge between shifts.

It will still be a grueling schedule, but manageable for the six-day crossing to New York.

David approves the schedule, then points to the telephone mounted on the mast.

He tells George to call down to the bridge and make sure the phone is in working order.

George picks up the receiver.

A moment later, David nods his head affirmative.

He can hear the helmsman in the control room loud and clear.

David smiles, satisfied that the lookout team is organized and well prepared.

Unfortunately, the rest of the ship is in disarray, which means David is needed elsewhere.

He tells George to tidy up the crow's nest.

George goes to hand David a pair of binoculars.

All of the officers on board were issued a pair.

David lent his binoculars to the lookout team during the trial run, since the crow's nest didn't have a set, and now George was giving them back.

But David's got his hands full checking over the ship.

He's too busy to put the binoculars away, so he asks George to put them back in their lockbox in David's cabin.

David spends the next four hours running around the ship, checking on crew, rearranging work schedules, dropping off floral arrangements to the first-class dining hall, and yelling at the helmsman for taking smoke breaks when there's work to be done.

At one point, David is approached by another overworked crewman, who hands him something, adding that George instructed him to do so.

David slides it into his breast pocket and races off to his next meeting.

By the time his shift ends, he's so exhausted he could fall asleep standing up.

The next day offers no reprieve.

David walks so many miles that by early afternoon, he can feel blisters forming on his feet.

But it's exhilarating.

David's finding his groove.

Bonding with the rest of the crew, he feels like an intricate part of the ship.

By the time he makes it down to crew mess for lunch, his stomach is growling.

He loads up a tray with a turkey sandwich and muddy coffee, then sits down for the first time in hours.

As he gobbles down his sandwich, a crew member from the mailroom hurries up to his table and hands him a telegram.

David turns it over in his hands.

It's from the executives at White Star.

They have bad news.

They've had to make more schedule changes with the company.

A chief officer from another ship is being reassigned to the Titanic.

The Titanic's original chief and first officer are being bumped down.

and David is getting reassigned altogether.

He's being moved off of the Titanic and onto the Majestic.

David rereads that last line again, letting the news sink in.

He won't be part of the Titanic's historic voyage and he won't get to sail under Edward Smith.

David sets his sandwich down, suddenly losing his appetite.

He's devastated, but he can't let the crew see him upset.

So he stands up, straightens his jacket, and heads back to work.

According to the telegram, he'll be replaced in four days.

Until then, he has to do everything within his power to get his replacement up to speed and prepare the Titanic to leave port.

He might not get to set sail under Captain Smith, but he can still leave a lasting impression.

By dinner, word's gotten around the ship that David's leaving.

As he dips into different departments for more equipment tests, crew members stop him to say goodbye.

The officers thank him for his navigational training course.

They say he's as much a part of the ship as anyone.

The morning of David's departure arrives quickly.

He's been so busy the past few days that he didn't have time to pack, so he rolls out of bed and shoves his belongings into a duffel bag and then hurries to shower and get dressed.

He wants to wear his officer's jacket as he makes his final march off the ship.

He carries his duffel bag down the gangway, hoping this isn't the last time he'll step foot on the Titanic.

Down on the pier, he takes a final look at the enormous ship and heads towards town.

David walks straight to the nearest pub and sits down at the bar, deciding he's earned a drink after several weeks of hard work.

He goes to unbutton his jacket and he feels something in the breast pocket.

He reaches his hand in and closes his fingers around it.

He pulls it out of the pocket to look.

For a moment, he's confused.

Then he realizes he took something from the Titanic.

He'd been so busy he'd completely forgotten it was in his jacket.

He considers rushing back up the gangway to return it, but he thinks about it over a pint and decides that nobody is going to miss it.

It's the night of April 14th, 1912.

The Titanic is four days into its maiden voyage from England to the United States.

25-year-old Fred Fleet leaves his cabin.

Fred is a lookout.

He and his partner Reginald are on their way from the cruise quarters to the crow's nest for their 10 p.m.

shift.

They reach the staircase that leads to the base of the foremast and make their steep climb up the ladder to the crow's nest.

To Fred, it's a grueling endeavor, especially since the wind is bitter cold.

It bites his cheeks and cuts through his wool jacket.

He doesn't know how high the crow's nest was on his last ship, the Oceanic, but the climb was definitely nowhere near this tiring.

Fred's worked on ships since he was 12.

As a foster kid sent to a youth training program with the Royal Navy, He's been groomed for a life at sea.

Even still, manning the Titanic is a different ballgame.

The ship is just so massive.

Everything aboard is bigger, every task a little harder.

Fred and Reginald make it to the crow's nest.

It's a dark night, with few stars and no moon.

Fred's not sure how he's going to scan the horizon tonight.

It's too dark to see the line where the sky meets the water.

In every direction, it's just black, a vast, empty void.

Fred says hello to the prior shift, George Simons and Archie Jewell.

Simons shivers a little as he warns them that the conditions tonight are dangerous.

Fred nods.

He can guess what they're talking about.

The Titanic is halfway across the North Atlantic, about 400 nautical miles from Newfoundland, Canada.

The waters below are freezing and filled with icebergs.

George says they've already spotted a few smaller pieces of floating ice they call bergie bits.

The ship was able to avoid them, but in the dead of night, spotting them is going to be a lot harder.

Fred looks back out across the water, taking in the endless black.

A chill runs down his spine.

He asks Simons for the binoculars, but Simons says they don't have any.

He reminds Fred that technically it's not standard procedure to use binoculars to scan the horizon.

They'd make his field of vision too narrow.

They only use binoculars after they've spotted something and have alerted the bridge.

Fred knows this, but that procedure is in place because typically the only thing that lookouts spot is another ship.

At that point, the goal is to avoid collision.

They use binoculars to identify the ship so the bridge could send an alert to that ship in Morse code, telling them to get out of the way.

But this far north, Fred isn't worried about passing ships.

He wants to spot icebergs in the dark.

George just shrugs and tells Fred to keep a weathered eye.

They'll be fine.

Then he and Archie head back down the ladder, leaving Fred and and Reginald to their shift.

Fred looks out at the calm, dark sea.

There are no waves tonight, which means he won't be able to look for waves splashing against an iceberg, and there's no moonlight to reflect off the ice.

He's worried they won't be able to see an iceberg until it's too late.

He and Reginald need to be really careful.

They take their places on opposite sides of the crow's nest.

Fred gazes straight ahead in the direction of the ship's path.

After a few minutes, his eyes adjust and he's able to make out the horizon.

He has to squint every so often to regain his focus, but after an hour it's still smooth sailing ahead.

He starts to relax a little.

Another hour ticks by and Fred still hasn't seen any ice.

As the end of his shift draws near, his thoughts drift toward his warm cabin downstairs.

He can't wait to collapse on his bunk bed and go to sleep.

Reginald tells Fred they have 30 minutes left in their shift, and Fred yawns so big his eyes water.

He refocuses on the horizon.

And then he sees something.

A massive shadow looming ahead.

He can't tell how far away it is or if it's even really there.

He's tired.

He's been straining his eyes for hours.

He could be seeing things.

He knows it's not another ship.

Another ship would have lights and whatever's in front of them is pitch black.

It looks like a large blot of ink over the water.

He wants to get a better look, so he reaches for the binoculars, like a phantom limb, before remembering that they aren't there.

As they draw closer, the inky mass gets bigger.

One of the few stars on the horizon seems to disappear behind it.

That's when Fred realizes the mass is solid.

It's real.

They are headed straight for a massive iceberg.

Fred instinctively reaches for the warning bell and rings it three times, then spins around and grabs the bridge telephone.

He dials down, and after after one ring, an officer picks up.

Fred practically yells into the phone, Iceberg, right ahead.

The phone clicks, and Fred hears the officer shout down below.

In an instant, the helmsman throws the steering wheel as fast as he can to the left, the port side.

Fred watches in horror as the iceberg draws near.

In the light of the ship, it shifts from inky black to glistening white.

He can make out its craggy ridges jutting out of the water.

It's almost as tall as the top deck.

Fred glances at Reginald, who's now standing beside him, a look of terror plastered across his face.

Below, the helmsman keeps spinning the steering wheel.

He's shouting orders while first-class passengers look toward the bridge with interest.

Others have noticed the iceberg and are running toward the starboard railing for a better look.

For a moment, Fred doesn't understand why they're excited and not afraid.

Then he remembers, the Titanic is not like other ships.

It's unsinkable.

The hull's compartments are watertight.

Slowly, he feels the ship veer left, putting distance between the iceberg and the starboard side of the ship.

He exhales as they bypass the berg.

Then, Fred and Reginald feel a slight lurch.

A low scraping sound echoes from the hull.

And that's it.

The ship barely wobbles.

Down below, a helmsman straightens the wheel and wipes his brow.

Officers gather at the railing where the iceberg bumped the ship.

They watch it pass, then walk calmly back to the bridge.

Everything's okay.

Fred glances at Reginald, and they both start laughing until the adrenaline leaves their bodies.

Then Reginald sighs and says, just a few more minutes, and they can go to bed.

Ten minutes later, two new lookouts climb into the crow's nest to start the next shift.

Fred and Reginald climb down the ladder and the spiral stairs into the bows of the ship.

It's quiet as they pass through the third-class cabins towards crew quarters.

Which makes sense.

It's almost midnight and most people have gone to bed by now.

But once they're down in the crew quarters, the silence strikes them as odd.

Usually, crew members are up around the clock.

That's when they hear a low grinding sound coming from deep within the ship.

Then, the ship lurches to a halt.

Fred hears someone coming down the staircase behind him.

He turns to see an officer who summons him and Reginald to the upper deck.

Fred's annoyed.

The last thing he wants to do right now is go back into the night air, but he knows better than to argue.

Up top, the deck is almost as quiet as the cabins.

Just a few handfuls of first-class passengers are out for their pre-bedtime strolls.

At first, everything looks normal.

Then, Fred realizes why they've been dragged up here.

All along the railings, crewmen are quietly removing the canvas covers from the lifeboats.

Fred realizes they're doing a safety check after hitting the iceberg, just to make sure everything is in working order.

They probably brought him up here for extra help.

The low-level officer sends Reginald to the starboard side of the ship, then tells Fred to go help out portside.

Fred stifles a yawn as he walks over to the lifeboat in need of another deckhand.

A crewman hands him one of the ropes that fastens the lifeboats to the pulley device that lowers them into the water.

He feeds the rope through the pulley just like he's done in safety training courses.

But as Fred looks down the length of the deck, he sees that crew members are actually stepping into some of the boats.

Which is strange, it's nearly midnight.

They can't expect the crew to practice lowering the lifeboats right now when it's pitch blackout and freezing.

But the safety drill gets weirder.

Down the line, elegantly dressed women are helped into some of the lifeboats.

They're even handed life vests.

The second officer of the Titanic, the one who replaced David Blair, approaches Fred's lifeboat and Fred jumps at the chance to ask what's going on.

The officer's voice is barely above a whisper as he says there's no time to explain.

He tells Fred to climb into the boat and get into the water.

Something about the officer's tone makes the hair on Fred's neck prickle.

He climbs into the lifeboat and takes a seat at the helm.

He watches as the officer speaks to first-class women passing by.

The officer reassures the women that this is a precautionary safety drill and invites them to get into the lifeboat.

The women giggle, seeming amused.

A few agree to participate and Fred helps them climb into the boat.

Meanwhile, the officer tries to flag down more passengers willing to get in.

Some of them seem annoyed and say they'd rather stay on board.

They prefer the warmth of the ship to the rickety lifeboat.

But eventually, the officer convinces about 30 women and children to jump into the lifeboat, only enough to fill about half the seats.

Then the crewmen begin lowering the lifeboat down into the water.

To Fred's right and left, other half-empty lifeboats are being lowered down the side of the ship.

The passengers look confused.

Back on deck, everything's eerily quiet.

No instructions being called down or safety officers arriving at muster stations.

It's like this entire drill is being conducted in secret.

The lifeboats hit the water with a hard splash.

Fred scans the water.

still pitch black and smooth as glass.

Then he grabs the oars off the floor of the lifeboat and begins rowing away from the Titanic.

He follows the other boats until they're about 100 yards from the ship.

Then they wait.

Fred has worked on ships his entire life.

He knows the difference between a safety drill and an emergency.

He's not sure what's going on, but he's certain this isn't a drill.

Right now, his job is to stay calm, like he's done this a thousand times.

He doesn't want to upset the passengers who are still watching the Titanic, confused.

An hour seems to tick by and the passengers get restless.

An elderly woman woman asks if they can head back to the ship.

Another woman complains they're tired, she wants to go to bed.

Fred assures them they'll head back to the ship the moment he knows it's safe.

But then, he notices something strange.

The Titanic seems to be tilting.

Not by much, but the front of the ship is dipping into the water, lower than at the stern.

The passengers must notice too because they stop complaining.

The boat falls silent.

But from the other lifeboats, he can hear passengers murmuring to one another.

They watch as the front of the ship slips down into the water.

The bow of the Titanic inches closer to the waterline.

Fred can't believe what he's seeing.

The Titanic is sinking.

His mind flashes back to the end of his shift.

The iceberg, the lurch, the scrape, the low growling noise he and Reginald heard when they were walking to the cabins.

Fred had thought he spotted the iceberg just in time, if only he could have identified it sooner.

Now he knows he was too late.

The iceberg tore through the hull.

The Titanic is sinking, and it's his fault.

This is why the officers were so quiet about filling the lifeboats.

They didn't want to cause a riot.

There are only 20 lifeboats aboard the Titanic, enough for about half the passengers.

Technically, 20 lifeboats meets the legal requirement for a ship that size, and White Star never dreamed they'd actually be needed.

A shriek cuts through the night air.

Fred turns to see a woman on a nearby lifeboat, panicking and pointing at the ship.

Other passengers scream that their husbands and belongings are still on board.

But the cacophony from the lifeboats pales in comparison to the panic that erupts on the ship itself.

It seems like those still on board have figured out that the ship is going down, and that most of the lifeboats have left without them.

Fred feels the blood in his veins turn to ice.

Guilt consumes him.

He watches helplessly as the bow of the ship disappears beneath the surface of the water.

Then the lights flicker on board, and everything goes dark.

For half a breath, it's so quiet Fred can hear his own heartbeat.

Then, blood-curdling screams ring out of the ship as passengers fumble through the darkness looking for lifeboats.

Some jump over the railing, plummeting ten stories and landing in the water with a sickening crack.

Fred's stomach roils as the ship's stern lifts out of the water, and for a moment, the Titanic is nearly vertical.

It looms over the lifeboats like a sea monster blocking out the stars.

Then a low groan rumbles across the surface of the water.

The lifeboats keel as the calm sea turns rough.

The Titanic is pulled down beneath the surface, creating a whirlpool of suction in its wake.

Fred fights to steady the lifeboat, unable to take his eyes off the Titanic as it folds into the water.

Passengers who survive the jump try to swim away from the whirlpool, but Fred can hear their screams turn watery as they're pulled under the waves.

Hundreds of people thrash in the frigid water.

Some cling to pieces of wreckage, screaming for help.

Fred watches in horror, wanting to save them, but there isn't enough room on his boat.

And if he rows too close, the passengers will swarm and capsize the lifeboat.

So he's forced to listen in agony as one by one the screams fade.

The air goes quiet and the sea turns to glass again.

Overhead, it's the same starless night that first greeted him when he started his lookout shift.

It's April 23rd, 1912, inside the grandiose caucus room of the Russell Senate Office Building in Washington, D.C., just across Constitution Avenue from the U.S.

Capitol.

It's been nine days since the Titanic sank to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, and a formal inquiry into the unthinkable disaster is underway.

It's the biggest news story in the world and everyone wants answers, including the members of the United States Senate who are in charge of the inquiry.

It's difficult to parse fact from fiction and exact numbers are hard to verify, but of the approximately 2,200 people on board, around 1,500 of them perished in the frigid waters, leaving about 700 survivors to tell the world what happened.

One of those people is lookout Fred Fleet.

Now he sits in front of the panel of senators and answers their questions about the events of that fateful night, trying to help them understand what exactly happened.

He does his best to recount the moment he first sighted the iceberg.

It was pitch black, and then a large shadow appeared straight ahead.

He explains that he had no binoculars to confirm what he was seeing, so he phoned the bridge and the man at the helm steered the ship away as fast as he could.

Senator William Alden Smith leans in and Fred's face grows hot.

He's barely slept since April 14th.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees a pitch-black night and bodies plunging from the sinking ship.

He hears the crack as they hit the water and the groan of the Titanic as it's pulled into the sea.

Fred takes a shuddering breath and wipes the sweat from his brow.

They're going to pin this disaster on him.

He knows it.

And maybe, he deserves it.

Finally, Senator Smith asks why there were no binoculars on board.

Fred explains that the Crow's Nest never had a pair.

They used the second officer's binoculars during the trial run, but after the personnel changeover, the binoculars disappeared.

They asked for a new pair but were ignored, so they set sail without them.

Smith asks if having binoculars would have made a difference.

Fred pauses.

Yes.

He probably could have seen the iceberg sooner.

How much sooner?

Senator Smith asks.

Fred responds, enough, to get out of the way.

The men across the table stare at Fred.

Some have whispered side conversations with one another or scribble on notepads.

Fred swallows hard.

He knows that he did everything by the book.

But still, there's a growing feeling in the pit of his stomach like all of this is his fault.

The feeling never goes away.

Not even when weeks later, the inquiry finds that lack of lifeboats, not the lack of binoculars, was the more deadly issue.

In the years that follow, White Star Line is put under grave scrutiny and faces numerous lawsuits from survivors and victims' families.

But none of this alleviates Fred's guilt.

In 1965, 53 years after the Titanic sank, Fred Fleet takes his own life.

The guilt also weighs heavy on the conscience of the former second officer of the Titanic, David Blair.

But it's not just guilt.

It's shame too.

Because Blair can't help but feel relief.

If he hadn't been reassigned to another ship right before the doomed voyage of the Titanic, he almost certainly would have ended up in that mass grave of twisted steel and saltwater on the ocean floor.

So what was once the low point of his career had evolved over the years into the greatest blessing of his life, which ended in 1955 when he passed away from natural causes.

But when he died, he left behind his biggest secret.

Shortly after his death, David Blair's family sorted through his belongings, including some keepsake boxes from his years at sea.

And inside one of those boxes was the thing that he accidentally kept in his breast pocket when he left the Titanic.

It was the item that he was handed shortly before stepping off the ship.

The item that should have been given to David's replacement second officer that he had considered returning but decided no one would miss.

It was a set of keys.

A small brass tag bore the engraving, RMS Titanic.

A larger tag read, Binocular Box.

David's family pieced together what they believe must have happened.

After he was reassigned to the Majestic, David wrote a postcard to his sister-in-law.

He told her how disappointed he was not to sail on the Titanic.

He also talked about how rushed he was to wrap things up on the Titanic before leaving.

In his haste to leave, David walked off the ship with the keys to the lockbox in his cabin, where the binoculars were stowed.

The incoming second officer couldn't open the lockbox and therefore didn't have access to the binoculars assigned to him, so he couldn't lend them to the crow's nest.

David's binoculars have very likely remained locked away in his cabin on the bottom of the ocean floor for more than 100 years.

In the 1980s, David's daughter donated the lockbox keys to the Sailor Society.

They were later sold at auction as the keys that sank the Titanic.

The proceeds from the sale were roughly $278,000 by today's standards, and that money was used to fund the society's scholarship program.

David's family says he never mentioned having the keys while he was alive, but he would talk about how badly he wanted to be part of the Titanic's maiden voyage and how lucky he was to avoid it.

But if David Blair and the binocular box keys had been on board, perhaps the Titanic would have made it to New York and the ship would be famous for a successful crossing.

Instead, all we can ask is:

what if

From Ballin Studios, this is A Twist of History.

A quick note about our stories.

They're all heavily researched, but some details and scenes are dramatized.

A Twist of History is hosted by me, Joel Blackwell.

Executive produced by Mr.

Ballin and Zach Levin.

Our head of writing is Evan Allen.

Produced by Perry Kroll.

This episode was written by Sarah Batchelor and Aaron Land.

Story editing by Mike Federico.

Sound design and audio mixing by Colin Lester Fleming.

Post-production supervision by Jeremy Bohm and Cole LaCasio.

Research and fact-checking by Abigail Shumway, Camille Callahan, Evan Beamer, Alex Paul, Patricia Nicole Florentino, Calvin Riley-Holgate, Matt Gilligan.

Production coordination by Samantha Collins and Avery Siegel.

Artwork by Jessica Kloxton-Kiner and Robin Vane.

Thank you for listening to A Twist of History.