Story: A Ghost Ship on San Francisco's Shores

Along the industrial shores of San Francisco sits a giant, white, 1950s-era ocean liner. A red patina of rust peeks through the once-spotless freeboards. Two hibiscus-adorned smokestacks proudly emerge from low-lying fog to display the ships now-obsolete steam technology. The portholes are dark and signs of life have all but vanished from its deck. My first up-close look at the SS Oceanic Independence slackened my jaw. I realized that I was about to board a piece of history that probably won't survive another five years.

Prior to finding my way on the Independence, I had never been on any ocean liner or cruise ship before. It never really appealed to me -- likely because when one is on a pleasure cruise the opportunity to see the Captain's quarters, engine rooms, helm, and propeller shafts rarely presents itself. Second, most modern cruise ships lack much of the charm and period design the Indy has.

Once on deck I found myself cautiously, yet hastily making my way from room to room, occasionally glancing at the cracked deck maps prominently displayed at the top of each flight of stairs. I was cautious because of the risk of being caught; and in haste because I knew I was about to find my way through 400 cabins, presidential suites with panoramic views, two mosaic pools, three themed bars, ballrooms, lounges, and theatres.

On my journey of nearly 700 feet from bow to stern I discovered things that one could only imagine in a post-apocalyptic flick or upon discovering a lost civilization -- champagne flutes with fuzzy fungus growing inside; stale macadamia nuts from its final 2001 journey; hypodermic needles staked into cork board near the ship's on-board ward; an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting guidebook for crew members. These things may seem far from glamorous, but considering it was once a liner that served 160 pounds of fresh caviar for every transatlantic journey, all of it seemed so absurd.

The Indy was not only posh -- she was powerful. A massive self-sustaining steam system burned 1,500 barrels of fuel oil per day and donned 120 miles of electrical cable with 75 miles of piping. The four generators were capable of powering a city of over 20,000. She could travel at 26.8 knots and was heralded by all who were intimately aware of her as the "Speed Queen of the American Merchant Machine." Beyond the story of her power, though, is the story of her decline. When she was built, in 1950, the Independence was a first-class ship.

The End of Ocean Liners

Long before cruise ships took people to exotic two-week vacations to feed on second-rate fare, they transported people on 52-day sojourns across the Atlantic. In her final days, this great white whale of a liner spent her days ferrying between the Hawaiian Islands and entertaining middle-class tourists to margaritas, mai-tais, and Hawaiian hospitality. Her glory had since receded -- the classes of the cabins removed in an earlier 70s-era refitting (to accomodate what were then known as go-go cruises, God love the 70s), and the rooms given a generic Hawaiian theme. You walk from cabin to cabin seeing much the same thing -- save the ocassional appearance of a personal letter left behind by a crew member, or a few boxes of hotel toiletries stuffed in a corner.

The Atlantic run was in its last era of great profit and high popularity. in the late 40s the commercial jet was a very distant threat and post-war travel to and from Europe was expected to increase. All of that had changed in the early-to-mid 60s. By 1970, sales had declined. The new Italian liners and some of the Cunard lines latest christenings heralded a new age for pleasure travel.

In this era of fast movement and cheap eats, jet travel and high-speed Internet -- the Indy just fell by the wayside. September 11th was the nail in the coffin. She was an ocean liner that could no longer serve a changing culture. She once hosted Ronald Reagan and King Saud of Saudi Arabia. Today, she sits awaiting a precarious future.