Titanic—Rose’s Story
A novelization of the script
Written by James Cameron
Adapted by Olivia
Based on “Titanic: James Cameron’s Illustrated Screenplay”
My name is Rose Calvert. Two years ago I started my second century of life. In my long life, I have done many things. I have been married and widowed. I have raised children, watched them raise my grandchildren, and now watch them raise my great-grandchildren. But I have also acted in silent pictures. I have flown a plane. I have ridden a horse in the surf. But all of these things I might have never done had it not been for one man, one man whom I think of and thank every day of my so-long life. I had not spoken of him in over 80 years, keeping him close to my own heart, but last year something happened that changed my mind.
It was the summer of 2005 and I was sitting in my glassed-in studio that was attached to the living room of my small house in Ojai, California, throwing a pot on my potter’s wheel. The liquid red clay covered my hands…hands that might be gnarled and age-spotted, but were still surprisingly strong and supple.
My forty-year-old granddaughter, Elizabeth Calvert, who I call Lizzie, was in the kitchen, opening a can of dog food for my Pomeranian, Freddy. I will always be grateful to Lizzie for taking care of me for the last ten-twenty years so that I can continue to live in my own home—no nursing homes for this old lady! As the can opener buzzed, I could barely hear the small television set sitting on counter, so it was simply background noise, until a certain word caught my attention.
It was one of those news programs and the announcer was saying, “Treasure-hunter Brock Lovett is best known for finding Spanish gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean. Now he is using deep submergence technology to work 2 ½ miles down at another famous wreck…the Titanic.”
Hearing that name, I turned off my wheel and began wiping the clay from my hands with a rag as I listened more carefully. The announcer was saying, “He is with us live via satellite from a Russian research ship in the middle of the Atlantic. Hello, Brock?”
And for the first time, I heard the voice of Brock Lovett, treasure hunter: “Yes, hi, Tracy. You know, Titanic is not just a shipwreck, Titanic is the shipwreck. It’s the Mount Everest of shipwrecks. I’ve planned this expedition for three years, and we’re out here recovering some amazing things…things that will have enormous historical and educational value.”
Hearing this, I rose from my stool, took my cane and slowly began walking towards the kitchen. As I walked, the announcer’s voice sounded skeptical. “But it’s no secret that education is not your main purpose. You’re a treasure hunter. Your expedition is at the center of a storm of controversy over salvage rights and even ethics. Many are calling you a grave robber.”
Entering the kitchen, I told Lizzie, “Turn that up, dear,” and after she did, I could clearly hear the sneer in Mr. Lovett’s voice. “Nobody called the recovery of the artifacts from King Tut’s tomb grave robbing. I have museum-trained experts here, making sure this stuff is preserved and catalogued properly. Look at this drawing, which was found today, a piece of paper that’s been underwater for 84 years…and my team was able to preserve it intact. Should this have remained unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity, when we can see it and enjoy it now?”
As he spoke, I was standing right next to the television set, staring at the screen, which showed an old, old pencil drawing still in excellent condition except for its partially-disintegrated edges. The drawing showed a beautiful young woman, beautifully rendered. In her late teens or early twenties, she was nude, though posed with a kind of casual modesty. She was on an Empire divan, in a pool of light that seemed to radiate outward from her eyes. Scrawled in the lower right hand corner is the date: April 14, 1912.
The girl was not totally nude. At her throat was a diamond necklace with one large stone hanging in the center.
Staring at that drawing I had to say the only thing I could think: “I’ll be goddamned.”
That program was the beginning of my journey. When I told Lizzie what I wanted to do, she was certain that I had finally lost my faculties, but since she loves me, she humored me. She telephoned the local television station, which transferred her to the network. When they found out what I wanted and why, they connected me with the Russian research ship, and a Mr. Bobby Buell, who represented the partners who were bankrolling the expedition.
When I told him what I wanted, he told me to “hang on”, then I could hear him running, Soon I could hear his feet running back and his voice saying, “You gotta speak up; she’s kinda old,” and I smiled before I heard the same brash, impatient voice I had heard on the television set. “This is Brock Lovett. What can I do for you, Mrs….”
“Calvert,” I introduced myself. “Rose Calvert.”
“Mrs. Calv
