One of the greatest compliments you can pay a man is to tell a story he once told.

We shall do that today …

The Californian set sail from London, England on the fifth of April 1912 on its way to Boston.

It was under the direction of Captain Stanley Lord.

On the 14th, shortly before 11 p.m., the ship called to alert a neighboring ship with which it had made earlier contact that it was stopping for the night. They could see its lights on the distant horizon.

That message never went through because the radio operator on that ship was busy taking incoming messages for its large crew of passengers. So the Californian’s operator turned off the radio … and went to bed.

That was at 11:30 p.m.

On deck, the officers of the Californian continued to make contact by Morse lamp with the ship they could see in the distance. The ship did not respond.

It was now 12:45 a.m., and Second Officer Herbert Stone saw a white flash appear in the direction of the ship, then five more flashes — rockets, brilliant flares into the night sky.

A beautiful light show in the distance.

Officer Stone wondered at the sight. He turned to apprentice Gibson who was on watch with him on the bridge, and said,

“A ship isn’t going to fire rockets at sea for nothing! Look at her now. Her lights look a little odd.”

And Gibson replied, “And she looks to have the big side out of the water.”

But by 2 a.m., their neighboring friend appeared to be leaving the area.

Still Stone and Gibson were puzzled by the light show. At 4:30 a.m.— when Captain Lord awoke — the two men alerted the captain regarding what they had seen that night. And they told him they had seen other rockets, too, these coming from the southeast, headed in the direction of the neighboring ship.

Captain Lord thought the scene was odd, too, so he sent men to awake radio operator Cyril Evans.

It was 5:30 a.m. when the night’s news came across the wire.

While the radio operator slept … and while Mr. Stone and Mr. Gibson watched the light show in the distance during the night … the Titantic sank.

Just six miles away.

The Californian had radioed to warn the Titantic at 7:30 p.m. that they had spotted three huge icebergs in the area. But the Titantic ignored the warning. And when the Titantic sent its radio pleas out during the night, the Californian’s radio operator … slept.

Now you know … the rest of the story.

You should know, too, that I heard a gentleman tell his version of this story in a special, unique way many years ago. And it stuck with me, the way great stories do when crafted by a great storyteller.

This Saturday morning is a tribute to him, our tribute to Mr. Paul Harvey, who died this week but whose legacy is as remarkable as that matchless, rumbling voice of his.

And that is the rest of … the rest of the story.

Good day.

Readers may contact Steven Bowen at steven.bowen@redoakisd.org