Welcome to the channel, Stories of Forgotten Lives.
Today’s story takes us back to 1912 and reveals the extraordinary journey of Joseph, the only black man known to have traveled aboard the Titanic.
For decades, his voice was lost to history until his story finally broke the silence 83 years later.
This is a powerful and emotional account, so take a moment, breathe, and listen carefully.
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Let’s begin.
On the night of April 14th, 1912, the largest ship ever built was crossing the North Atlantic at full speed.
The water was calm, the sky was clear, and more than 2,000 people were sleeping peacefully, unaware that in a few hours, most of them would be dead.
Among those passengers, there was a man whose story would remain hidden for almost a century.
His name was Joseph Phipe Lame Merier Laros.
He was 25 years old.
He was a trained engineer.
He spoke three languages fluently and he was the only black man traveling aboard the RMS Titanic.
But you have never heard his name in any movie.
You have never seen his face in any documentary.
For 83 years, the world forgot he ever existed until his daughter at 84 years old decided to break the silence and tell the world what really happened that night.
This is a story about love, racism, sacrifice, and a promise that was never kept.
And it begins not on a ship, but on a small Caribbean island in a house that smelled of coffee and sea salt.
Joseph was born on May 26th, 1886 in a coastal city called Caphisian in the northern part of Haiti.
At that time, Haiti was a country still recovering from decades of political instability.
But Joseph’s family was different.
They were not poor.
They were not struggling.
His father was a former military officer with connections to the government.
His mother, Usuzeli, came from a respected family with roots in the Haitian elite.
They lived in a house with wooden shutters and a garden filled with tropical flowers.
Joseph grew up listening to French being spoken at the dinner table.
His parents believed in education.
They believed that knowledge was the only thing no one could take away from you.
And from a very young age, they saw something special in their son.
Joseph was curious.
He asked questions about everything.
He wanted to know how things worked.
He would take apart old clocks just to see the gears inside.
He would watch the ships arriving at the port and wonder how something so heavy could float on water.
His mother noticed this.
She knew that Haiti at that time could not offer her son the education he deserved.
The schools were limited.
The opportunities were few.
And she had a dream for him.
She wanted Joseph to become an engineer.
Not just any engineer, a European trained engineer, someone who could build bridges and design machines.
Someone who could return to Haiti one day and help rebuild the country.
So when Joseph turned 15 years old in the year 1901, his mother made a decision that would change his life forever.
She sent him to France.
This was not a simple trip.
In 1901, traveling from Haiti to France took weeks.
Joseph boarded a steam ship with a small suitcase and a letter of recommendation from his father.
He did not speak much during the journey.
He spent most of his time on the deck watching the horizon, wondering what Europe would look like.
He had seen pictures in books.
He had heard stories from relatives who had visited Paris, but nothing could prepare him for what he was about to experience.
When the ship finally arrived at the port of La A, Joseph stepped onto French soil for the first time.
He was alone.
He was 15 and he was black in a country where almost everyone was white.
Joseph traveled by train to a city called Bo, located about 80 km north of Paris.
This was where he would study.
This was where he would spend the next several years of his life.
The city was small with cobblestone streets and old stone buildings.
The winters were cold, much colder than anything Joseph had ever experienced in Haiti.
But he adapted.
He found a small room to rent.
He enrolled in school and he began studying engineering with a focus that impressed his teachers.
Joseph was not just smart, he was disciplined.
He woke up early every morning.
He studied late into the night.
He learned French grammar until he could write better than most of his classmates.
He learned mathematics, physics, and technical drawing.
He wanted to prove that a black man from Haiti could compete with anyone in Europe.
But France was not easy for Joseph.
The people were polite but distant.
Some of them had never seen a black person before.
They would stare at him on the street.
They would whisper when he walked into a room.
Joseph learned to ignore it.
He focused on his studies.
He told himself that once he had his diploma, everything would be different.
people would respect him for his knowledge, not judge him for his skin.
He believed this with all his heart.
And for a while, it seemed like he was right.
Joseph graduated with an engineering degree in the early 1900s.
He was proud.
His mother was proud.
He had done exactly what she had dreamed of.
But when Joseph started looking for work, he discovered something that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
No one wanted to hire a black engineer.
It did not matter that he had the same diploma as everyone else.
It did not matter that he spoke perfect French.
It did not matter that he was intelligent and hardworking.
When employers saw his face, they suddenly had no positions available.
When he submitted applications, they were ignored.
When he showed up for interviews, he was told the job had already been filled.
Joseph applied to dozens of companies.
engineering firms, construction companies, government offices.
The answer was always the same.
No.
This was France in the early 1900s.
Racism was not written into law the way it was in America.
There were no signs saying whites only.
There were no separate water fountains or train cars.
But discrimination existed in quieter ways.
It existed in the way people looked at you.
It existed in the opportunities that were never offered.
It existed in the doors that were always closed.
Joseph felt it every single day.
And it was breaking him.
He eventually found work, but not the kind he had trained for.
He took small jobs, low-paying positions that did not require his engineering skills.
He worked harder than anyone else, hoping that someone would notice his talent.
But promotions never came.
Raises never came.
He was always passed over for white colleagues who had less experience and less education.
Joseph was stuck and he was starting to lose hope.
But then something happened that changed everything.
In the city of Viljif, just south of Paris, Joseph met a young woman named Juliet Marie Louise Lafag.
She was the daughter of a local wine merchant.
She had brown hair, soft eyes, and a smile that made Joseph forget all his troubles.
Juliet was white.
Her family was French.
And in 1908, falling in love with a black man was not something society approved of.
But Juliet did not care about society.
She cared about Joseph.
She saw the man behind the skin color.
She saw his intelligence, his kindness, his determination, and she fell in love with him completely.
They met through a family friend who had been mentoring Joseph.
At first, their conversations were polite, formal, but as weeks turned into months, something deeper developed.
Joseph would visit Juliet’s home.
They would take walks together through the streets of Viju.
They would talk about books, about dreams, about the future.
Joseph had never met anyone like her.
She was curious about Haiti.
She wanted to know about his childhood, about his mother, about the ships he used to watch at the port.
She listened to him in a way no one else ever had.
Juliet’s father was not happy about the relationship.
A wine merchant in France had a reputation to protect.
Having his daughter marry a black man would cause scandal.
It would hurt his business.
it would make the family the subject of gossip.
But Juliet was stubborn.
She told her father that she loved Joseph.
She told him that she was going to marry him whether he approved or not.
And eventually her father gave in.
Perhaps he saw how happy Joseph made his daughter.
Perhaps he realized that fighting her was useless.
On March 18th, 1908, Joseph Philip La Merier Laros and Juliet Marie Louise Lafag were married in a small ceremony.
Joseph was 21 years old.
Juliet was 20 and despite all the obstacles, they were finally together.
The first years of their marriage were happy but difficult.
Joseph was still struggling to find proper work.
The discrimination had not stopped.
If anything, it had gotten worse.
Now he was not just a black man.
He was a black man with a white wife.
Some people could not accept this.
They treated him with open contempt.
They refused to do business with him.
They made life as difficult as possible.
But Joseph and Juliet survived.
They rented a small apartment.
They lived modestly.
And on February 19th, 1909, their first daughter was born.
They named her Simon.
She had her mother’s eyes and her father’s smile.
Joseph held her in his arms and cried.
He promised himself that he would give this child a better life.
He would find a way.
A year later, on July 2nd, 1910, their second daughter was born.
They named her Louise.
But unlike Simone, Louise was not a healthy baby.
She was born premature.
She was small and weak.
The doctors said she might not survive.
Joseph and Juliet spent weeks at her bedside praying, hoping, refusing to give up.
And slowly, little Louise got stronger.
She survived.
But her medical problems continued.
She needed constant care.
She needed expensive treatments.
And Joseph, with his limited income, was struggling to pay for everything.
The situation was becoming desperate.
Joseph was working long hours at jobs that barely paid enough to cover rent.
Juliet was taking care of two small children while pregnant with a third.
Yes, by early 1912, Juliet had discovered that she was expecting another baby.
This should have been happy news.
But for Joseph, it was one more reason to worry.
How would he support three children on his salary? How would he pay for Louise’s medical care? How would he give his family the life they deserved? And then Joseph had an idea.
He would go back to Haiti.
It made perfect sense.
In Haiti, Joseph would not be judged by his skin color.
In Haiti, his engineering degree would actually mean something.
His family had connections.
His mother was still alive and well respected.
He could find work.
He could build a real career.
he could give his children opportunities that France would never offer them.
Joseph talked to Juliet about his plan.
At first, she was hesitant.
She had never been to Haiti.
She did not speak Creole.
She would be leaving her family, her country, everything she knew.
But she trusted Joseph.
She believed in him, and she agreed to go.
Joseph wrote to his mother in Haiti explaining the situation.
His mother was overjoyed.
She had missed her son terribly.
She had always hoped he would return and she immediately offered to help.
She would buy the family tickets to travel to Haiti.
She would make sure they had everything they needed when they arrived.
Joseph felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
For the first time in years, he had hope.
The original plan was to leave France in late 1912 or early 1913.
But when Juliet discovered she was pregnant, Joseph decided to move the timeline forward.
He did not want her to travel when the pregnancy was too advanced.
He wanted the baby to be born in Haiti, surrounded by family.
His mother purchased first class tickets for the family aboard a French ocean liner called the SS France.
The ship was scheduled to depart in April 1912.
Everything was arranged.
Everything was perfect.
But then Joseph learned something that changed everything.
The SS France had a strict policy regarding children.
All children traveling on the ship were required to stay in the nursery during meal times.
They were not allowed to dine with their parents.
Joseph found this unacceptable.
Simon was 3 years old.
Louise was not even two.
They were babies.
He could not imagine leaving them alone with strangers while he and Juliet ate dinner in some fancy dining room.
It went against everything he believed as a father.
He wanted to be with his daughters.
He wanted to see their faces when they tried new foods.
He wanted to hold Louise if she got scared.
The policy of the SS France was cruel and unnecessary and Joseph refused to accept it.
He went to the ticket office and asked for a refund.
Then he started looking for another ship and that is when he found out about the Titanic.
The RMS Titanic was the largest ship in the world.
It was brand new.
It was making its maiden voyage from Southampton, England to New York City.
Everyone was talking about it.
The newspapers called it unsinkable.
They said it was a floating palace with luxuries that no other ship could match.
First class passengers would have access to a gymnasium, a swimming pool, Turkish baths, and restaurants that rivaled the finest establishments in Paris.
Even secondass accommodations were said to be better than first class on other ships.
And most importantly, the Titanic did not have the same restrictive policies about children.
Joseph could dine with his daughters.
He could spend time with them during the voyage.
He could be the father he wanted to be.
Joseph exchanged the first class tickets on the SS France for secondclass tickets on the Titanic.
The family would board the ship in Sherbore, France on April 10th, 1912.
From there they would sail to New York.
And from New York they would take another ship to Haiti.
It was a longer journey, but Joseph did not mind.
He was excited.
He was finally taking his family home.
The days before departure were busy.
Juliet packed their belongings.
Joseph made arrangements for their apartment.
He said goodbye to the few friends he had made in France.
He wrote letters to relatives in Haiti telling them to expect the family soon.
Simon and Louise did not understand what was happening.
They were too young.
But they could sense the excitement in the air.
Their father was smiling more than usual.
Their mother was singing as she folded clothes.
Something wonderful was about to happen.
On the morning of April 10th, 1912, the Larash family traveled to Sherborg by train.
Sherborg was a port city on the northern coast of France, famous for its deep harbor.
The Titanic was too large to dock at the pier, so passengers had to be transported to the ship on smaller boats called tenders.
The tender that would carry the Lar Ro family was called the SS Nomadic.
It was a sturdy little vessel painted white with the white Starline flag flying from its mast.
Joseph carried Louise in his arms as they boarded the tender.
Simon held her mother’s hand, looking around with wide eyes.
There were dozens of other passengers on the boat speaking different languages, wearing expensive clothes.
Some of them looked at the Lash family with curiosity.
Some of them looked with something else.
Joseph noticed.
He always noticed, but he did not let it bother him.
Not today.
Today was the beginning of a new life.
As the tender approached the Titanic, Joseph saw the ship for the first time, and he stopped breathing.
It was enormous.
It was like nothing he had ever seen.
The hull rose out of the water like a black iron wall, stretching so high that Joseph had to tilt his head back to see the top.
Four massive smoke stacks pointed toward the sky, painted in the distinctive colors of the white star line, buff yellow with black tops.
The ship was longer than any building Joseph had ever entered.
It looked permanent.
It looked invincible.
It looked like something that could never ever sink.
The tender pulled alongside the ship, and passengers began climbing up a gang way to the secondass entrance.
Joseph helped Juliet, who was now visibly pregnant.
He carried Louise, who had fallen asleep against his shoulder.
Simon walked between her parents, clutching her favorite doll.
The family stepped onto the Titanic at approximately in the evening.
The sun was beginning to set.
The ship’s orchestra was playing somewhere in the distance.
And Joseph Lar Ro, the only black man on board, took a deep breath and smiled.
They had made it.
Their cabin was located on deck E in the secondass section of the ship.
It was small but comfortable.
There were two beds, a wash basin, and a port hole that looked out onto the ocean.
The walls were painted white.
The linens were clean.
Compared to their apartment in France, it felt almost luxurious.
Juliet sat on the bed and exhaled.
The journey had been exhausting.
The pregnancy was making her tired, but she was happy.
She looked at Joseph and reached for his hand.
That first night on the Titanic, the family ate dinner together in the secondass dining saloon.
The room was beautiful.
Oak panled walls, white tablecloths, crystal glasses.
Waiters in crisp uniforms moved between tables, serving course after course.
Simon was fascinated by everything.
Louise slept in her mother’s arms.
Joseph ordered food he had never tried before.
He laughed at something Juliet said.
For a few hours, he forgot about the discrimination.
He forgot about the struggles.
He was just a father having dinner with his family on the most famous ship in the world.
But not everyone was welcoming.
Some passengers in the dining room stared at the Lar Ro family.
A black man with a white wife and two mixed race children was not a common sight in 1912.
Some people whispered, some people pointed.
Joseph heard fragments of conversation.
Words that were not meant for him to hear, but that he understood perfectly.
He pretended not to notice.
He focused on Juliet.
He focused on his daughters.
He refused to let anyone ruin this moment.
Over the next few days, the Lar Ro family settled into a routine.
Joseph would wake early and walk around the deck, breathing in the salt air, watching the endless ocean stretch toward the horizon.
Juliet would stay in the cabin with the children, reading books, playing games, resting.
They would meet for meals.
They would talk about Haiti.
Joseph told Juliet about the beaches, about the mountains, about the house where he grew up.
He told her about the food his mother used to make.
He told her about the sound of drums during carnival season.
Juliet listened to every word.
She was falling in love with a country she had never seen.
The other passengers continued to treat the Lar Ro family with a mixture of curiosity and coolness.
Some assumed the children were not actually theirs.
One woman reportedly thought Simon and Louise were Japanese because of their light brown skin and dark hair.
Joseph overheard comments in English and French.
He understood both languages perfectly, but he never responded.
He never confronted anyone.
He simply held his head high and continued walking.
He had spent his entire life dealing with people who thought they were better than him.
He was not going to waste his energy on them.
Now on Sunday, April 14th, 1912, the Laros family attended a church service in the secondass dining room.
It was a brief non-denominational service led by the ship’s captain, Edward Smith.
Passengers sang hymns.
They prayed.
They gave thanks for the beautiful weather and the smooth voyage.
Joseph sat with his family in one of the back rows.
He was not particularly religious, but he appreciated the moment of peace.
He closed his eyes and thought about his mother in Haiti.
He imagined her face when she saw him again.
He imagined her holding her grandchildren for the first time.
In just a few more days, they would be together.
After the service, Joseph did something unusual.
He went to the secondass smoking room.
This was a space where men gathered to talk, drink, and play cards.
Joseph rarely socialized with strangers.
He preferred to spend time with Juliet and the children.
But something made him go that day.
Perhaps he wanted to relax.
Perhaps he wanted to feel normal like any other passenger on the ship.
He found a seat in the corner.
He ordered a drink.
He watched the other men laughing and joking.
And for a moment, he felt like he belonged.
That evening, the family had their final dinner together.
The menu included lamb, roast beef, vegetables, and a selection of desserts.
Simon ate everything on her plate.
Louise was fussy as usual.
Juliet looked tired, but content.
Joseph looked at his family across the table and felt a surge of love so powerful it almost hurt.
These three people were everything to him.
He had crossed oceans for them.
He had endured discrimination for them.
He would do anything to keep them safe.
After dinner, Juliet took the children back to the cabin.
Joseph kissed each of them good night.
He told Simone to be good.
He told Louise that papa loved her.
He told Juliet that he would come to bed soon.
Then he returned to the smoking room.
He wanted to enjoy the last peaceful hours of the voyage.
Tomorrow they would arrive in New York.
Tomorrow the real journey would begin.
At p.m., Joseph felt a slight shudder run through the ship.
He looked up from his drink.
The other men in the smoking room had felt it, too.
Someone made a joke about hitting a whale.
Someone else laughed nervously.
The ship’s engines seemed to stop.
The room became very quiet.
Joseph stood up.
Something was wrong.
He could feel it in his bones.
He walked out of the smoking room and onto the deck.
The night was freezing cold.
The stars were incredibly bright, and scattered across the deck were pieces of ice.
Small chunks like broken glass glittering in the light from the ship’s windows.
Joseph picked one up.
It was cold and wet in his hand.
He looked toward the bow of the ship and saw something that made his heart stop.
A massive wall of white was scraping along the starboard side of the Titanic.
An iceberg.
Joseph dropped the ice and ran toward his cabin.
Joseph ran through the corridors of the ship like a man possessed.
His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.
His breath came in short, sharp gasps that burned his lungs.
The hallways of the Titanic, which had seemed so elegant and welcoming just hours before, now felt like a maze designed to trap him.
He turned left.
He turned right.
He nearly collided with a steward who was walking calmly in the opposite direction, as if nothing had happened, as if the world was not ending.
The steward was a young man, perhaps 20 years old, with a pale face and a crisp white uniform.
He told Joseph there was nothing to worry about.
He said the ship had struck some ice, but everything was under control.
He said the passengers should return to their cabins and wait for further instructions.
His voice was steady.
His hands were not shaking.
But Joseph saw something in his eyes.
Something that contradicted every word coming out of his mouth.
It was fear.
Pure, undeniable fear.
Joseph did not believe him.
He pushed past the steward and kept running.
The corridors were beginning to fill with confused passengers.
Some were still in their night gowns and pajamas, their hair disheveled, their eyes heavy with interrupted sleep.
Others were fully dressed, carrying suitcases and valuables, as if they were simply preparing to disembark at a scheduled port.
A woman was crying somewhere nearby.
A child was asking questions that no one could answer.
The ship’s lights flickered once, twice, then steadied again.
Joseph felt the floor beneath his feet tilt slightly, almost imperceptibly, toward the bow.
Something was very, very wrong.
When he reached the cabin on deck E, he threw open the door with such force that it slammed against the wall.
Juliet was sitting up in bed, her eyes wide with confusion and the beginnings of terror.
Her hands were pressed against her pregnant belly as if to protect the child growing inside her.
The children were still asleep.
Louise was curled up in her small bed, her thumb in her mouth, her breathing slow and peaceful.
Simon was sprawled across her mattress, one arm hanging over the edge, her favorite doll clutched against her chest.
The impact had been so gentle, so deceptively mild that it had not even disturbed their dreams.
Juliet asked Joseph what was happening.
Her voice was calm, controlled, the voice of a woman trying very hard not to panic, but Joseph could see the fear beginning to form behind her eyes.
He could see her hands trembling slightly as she pushed the blankets aside.
He told her to get dressed.
He told her to dress the children warmly.
He told her they needed to go up to the deck immediately.
He did not explain why.
There was no time for explanations.
There was no time for questions.
Every second they wasted in this cabin was a second closer to disaster.
Juliet moved quickly.
She was 7 months pregnant, and her body was heavy and slow, but the adrenaline gave her strength she did not know she possessed.
She pulled a thick wool coat over her night gown.
She grabbed scarves and hats from the small wardrobe.
She wrapped Simon in a blanket, lifting the sleepy child from the bed with a mother’s practiced efficiency.
Simon murmured something unintelligible and nestled against her mother’s shoulder.
Louise was harder to wake.
She whimpered and cried when Juliet lifted her, her small body stiff with protest.
But there was no time for comfort.
There was no time for soothing words.
Joseph grabbed the life jackets that were stored in the cabin.
He had noticed them when they first boarded, tucked away in a corner near the wardrobe, and had thought nothing of them at the time.
They had seemed like a formality, a precaution for a danger that would never come.
The Titanic was unsinkable.
Everyone said so.
The newspapers said so.
The company said so.
The captain himself probably believed it.
But now those life jackets seemed like the most important objects in the world.
Joseph pulled them out and examined them quickly.
They were made of cork, covered in white canvas with straps that tied around the chest and waist.
They were bulky and uncomfortable, but they would keep a person afloat.
They would buy time.
Joseph helped Juliet put on her life jacket, his fingers fumbling with the unfamiliar straps.
He fastened one around Simone, who was now fully awake and beginning to cry.
He held Louise while Juliet adjusted the straps on her own jacket, the little girl squirming and wailing in his arms.
She did not understand what was happening.
She did not understand why her father’s hands were shaking.
She only knew that something was wrong.
Something was different, and she was scared.
The family left the cabin and made their way toward the upper decks.
The corridors were more crowded now.
Passengers were emerging from their rooms, some moving with purpose, others standing frozen in confusion.
Stewards were everywhere, their voices artificially calm, their instructions maddeningly vague.
Please proceed to the boat deck.
Please put on your life jackets.
Please remain calm.
But how could anyone remain calm when the floor was tilting? How could anyone remain calm when the lights kept flickering? How could anyone remain calm when the greatest ship ever built was dying beneath their feet? Joseph led his family through the maze of corridors, upstairs cases that grew more crowded with each passing minute.
He held Louise in one arm and pulled Juliet with the other.
Simon clung to her mother’s coat, her small legs struggling to keep up, her face pale with terror.
The sounds around them were overwhelming, crying, shouting, praying, the distant crash of something heavy falling somewhere deep in the ship.
The groan of metal under stress, and beneath it all, a horrible subtle sound that Joseph would remember for the rest of his life.
the sound of water, rushing, pouring, unstoppable water flooding into the lower decks of the ship.
When they finally reached the boat deck, Joseph understood the full scope of the disaster.
The deck was chaos.
Hundreds of passengers were gathered near the lifeboats, pushing, shoving, crying, praying.
Officers in white uniforms were shouting orders that no one seemed to hear.
Crew members were struggling with ropes and pulleys, trying to lower the boats into the water.
Women were screaming for their husbands.
Children were crying for their parents.
The cold was brutal, far worse than anything Joseph had experienced in his years in France.
The temperature was below freezing, and every breath felt like swallowing ice.
The stars above were impossibly bright, indifferent to the suffering below, and the ship’s orchestra was playing.
Joseph could hardly believe it.
In the middle of this nightmare, a group of musicians stood on the deck, their instruments in their hands, playing cheerful melodies as if this were a garden party.
The music was surreal, almost offensive in its normaly.
It clashed violently with the screams and the chaos, creating a dissonance that made the whole scene feel like a fever dream.
Later, Joseph would learn that the orchestra had been instructed to play to keep the passengers calm.
Later, he would understand the bravery of those musicians who continued performing even as the ship sank beneath them.
But in that moment, the music only made everything worse.
Joseph pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning the lifeboats.
He needed to find one that was still loading.
He needed to get his family off this ship.
The Titanic was sinking.
He could feel it now.
The unmistakable tilt of the deck.
The way gravity was shifting beneath his feet.
The bow was going down.
The stern was rising.
Time was running out.
He spotted a lifeboat on the port side of the ship.
An officer was standing nearby calling for passengers.
Women and children first, he kept shouting.
Women and children first.
It was the rule of the sea.
It was the code of honor.
Men would wait.
Men would find another way.
Men would die so that women and children could live.
Joseph understood the rule.
He accepted the rule.
But accepting it did not make it any easier.
Juliet looked at Joseph with tears streaming down her face.
The cold wind was biting at her cheeks, turning her skin red and raw.
She did not want to leave him.
She grabbed his arm with a strength he did not know she possessed.
Her fingers digging into his coat, her eyes pleading with him to come with them.
Joseph shook his head.
He could not.
He knew he could not.
The officer was watching.
The rules were clear.
If Joseph tried to board the lifeboat, he would be stopped.
He would be thrown back.
He might even be shot.
He had heard stories about officers using guns to maintain order during shipwrecks.
He would not risk it.
He would not risk his family’s chance to survive.
He told Juliet that he would find another way.
He told her that there were more lifeboats on the other side of the ship.
He told her that he would see her in New York.
He told her to be strong, to take care of the children, to never forget how much he loved her.
His voice was steady, but inside he was breaking.
Inside he was screaming.
He did not want to let her go.
He did not want to watch his family disappear into the darkness.
But he had no choice.
The officer gestured impatiently for Juliet to board the lifeboat.
Other women were already climbing in, their faces white with fear, their movements clumsy and desperate.
Juliet hesitated.
She looked at Joseph one more time.
memorizing his face, burning his image into her memory.
He was holding Louise in his arms, the little girl’s face pressed against his shoulder, her small body shaking with cold and fear.
Simon was standing between them, looking up at her parents with eyes that did not understand what was happening.
Joseph handed Louise to Juliet.
The transfer was awkward, complicated by the life jackets and the crowd and the rocking of the ship.
Louise wailed as she passed from her father’s arms to her mother’s.
Joseph kissed his daughter’s forehead, his lips lingering on her cold skin.
He whispered that Papa loved her.
He whispered that everything would be okay.
Then he lifted Simone and placed her in the lifeboat next to her mother.
The three-year-old immediately started crying, reaching for her father with both arms, her small voice cutting through the chaos like a knife.
But something went wrong.
In the confusion and the crowd, the lifeboat began to lower before everyone was properly seated.
Juliet and Simon were pushed toward one side of the boat by the surge of boarding passengers while Louise was still in Joseph’s arms.
He had handed her to Juliet, but somehow in the chaos, the child had been passed back.
Or perhaps he had not let go.
Perhaps he had been holding her one second too long, savoring the weight of his daughter in his arms, not realizing that the boat was already descending.
The ropes creaked, the pulleys groaned.
The lifeboat dropped several feet, then stopped, swinging slightly in the frigid air.
Juliet screamed.
She could see Louise still on the deck, still in Joseph’s arms, getting farther away with each passing second.
She reached out, her arms stretched toward her baby, her face twisted with an anguish that was almost inhuman.
Joseph tried to push forward, but there were too many people.
Bodies pressed against him from every direction.
A crewman was blocking his path, his arms spread wide, his face hard and suspicious.
The crewman saw a black man trying to approach the lifeboat and assumed the worst.
He thought Joseph was trying to board.
He thought Joseph was trying to take a place that belonged to women and children.
He did not see a father trying to reunite his family.
He saw a threat.
Joseph shouted.
He begged.
He pointed at Juliet in the lifeboat.
He pointed at Louise in his arms.
“That is her mother,” he said.
“This is her daughter.
Please let me give her the baby.
” But the crewman did not move.
The crewman did not listen.
The seconds were ticking away.
The lifeboat was descending and Louise was still on the deck of the sinking ship.
In that moment, Joseph made a decision that would haunt Juliet for the rest of her life.
He turned to a stranger standing next to him, a woman he had never seen before and would never see again, and thrust Louise into her arms.
The woman was startled, confused, but Joseph did not give her time to react.
He begged her to pass the child to the woman in the boat.
He pointed at Juliet, whose screams were now so loud they could be heard over the chaos.
“That is her mother,” he said.
“Please, please give her the baby.
Save my daughter.
” The stranger looked at the crying child in her arms.
She looked at the lifeboat descending into the darkness.
She looked at the black man with tears streaming down his face.
And then she did something that Joseph would never be able to thank her for.
She leaned over the railing and passed Louise down to another passenger standing below, who passed her to another and another, a chain of strangers united by a single purpose.
Until finally the little girl reached Juliet’s outstretched arms.
Mother and daughter were reunited.
The lifeboat continued to descend.
Joseph stood at the railing and watched his family disappear into the darkness.
The lifeboat hit the black water with a splash that seemed impossibly loud in the stillness of the night.
Crew members began rowing, pulling away from the sinking ship, putting distance between themselves and the disaster.
Joseph could see Juliet’s face in the dim light growing smaller and smaller as the boat moved away.
Their eyes met across the growing distance.
She was crying.
She was holding both daughters against her chest, one in each arm, as if she could protect them from the whole world.
She mouthed something to him.
He could not hear the words over the wind and the chaos.
But he understood.
She was telling him she loved him.
She was telling him to survive.
She was telling him to find a way.
Joseph raised his hand in a final wave.
He tried to smile.
He wanted her last memory of him to be a smile.
He wanted her to remember him as brave, as strong, as hopeful.
He did not want her to see the terror in his heart.
He did not want her to know that he had already accepted his fate.
The lifeboat disappeared into the darkness.
And Joseph was alone.
He did not move for a long time.
He stood at the railing, his hands gripping the cold metal, his eyes fixed on the spot where the lifeboat had vanished.
The Titanic was listing badly now, tilting forward at an angle that made it difficult to stand.
Water was pouring into the lower decks through gashes in the hull.
The bow was sinking, the stern was rising, the great ship was dying, and there was nothing anyone could do to save it.
Around Joseph, chaos continued.
Passengers were running in every direction, searching for lifeboats that were already gone.
Officers were firing guns into the air, trying to maintain order.
Men were jumping into the freezing water, preferring a quick death to the slow agony of waiting.
The orchestra had stopped playing.
The lights were flickering more frequently now, casting the deck in alternating brightness and shadow.
The screams of the dying and the desperate filled the air like a symphony of despair.
Joseph walked back toward the secondass smoking room.
He did not know why.
Perhaps he wanted to be somewhere familiar.
Perhaps he wanted to be away from the crowds and the screaming.
Perhaps he simply needed a moment to think, to process, to accept what was happening.
The smoking room was nearly empty when he arrived.
A few men sat at tables drinking whiskey, playing cards, waiting for the end.
They had accepted their fate.
They knew there were not enough lifeboats.
They knew that the water was freezing.
They knew that even if they jumped, they would not survive more than a few minutes.
So they sat and they drank and they waited.
Joseph sat down in the same chair where he had been sitting just 2 hours before.
The same chair where he had been dreaming about Haiti.
The same chair where he had been imagining his mother’s face when she saw him again.
He thought about Juliet.
He thought about Simon and Louise.
He thought about the baby that Juliet was carrying, the child who would never know its father.
He thought about his mother in Haiti who would receive a letter in a few weeks telling her that her son was dead.
He thought about all the things he would never do, all the places he would never see, all the moments he would never share with the people he loved.
And he thought about the life he had lived.
25 years.
That was all he had been given.
25 years of struggle, of discrimination, of fighting for every opportunity.
He had left Haiti as a boy and crossed an ocean to get an education.
He had studied harder than anyone else, worked longer than anyone else, and still it had not been enough.
The color of his skin had followed him everywhere, closing doors that should have been open, denying him chances that others took for granted.
He had loved and been loved.
He had married a woman who saw past his color, who loved him for who he was.
He had fathered two beautiful daughters and was expecting a third child.
He had tried so hard to build a good life, a meaningful life.
And now it was ending on a sinking ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
Joseph closed his eyes.
He thought about Juliet in the lifeboat holding their daughters close.
He imagined them being rescued.
He imagined them arriving in New York, then traveling to Haiti, then starting a new life without him.
He imagined his children growing up, going to school, falling in love, having children of their own.
He imagined Juliet growing old, her hair turning gray, her face lined with the years.
He hoped she would find happiness.
He hoped she would find peace.
He hoped he would tell their children about him, about the father who had loved them more than life itself.
At in the morning on April 15th, 1912, the RMS Titanic broke apart and sank beneath the waves of the North Atlantic.
The sound was unlike anything the survivors had ever heard.
A deep groaning roar as the ship tore in two, a thunderous crash as the bow plunged into the depths.
A moment of eerie silence as the stern rose vertical, pointing toward the stars like a dark finger accusing the heavens.
And then the screams.
Hundreds and hundreds of screams as more than 1,500 people were plunged into water so cold it stopped their hearts within minutes.
Joseph Philip Lameier Laros was among the dead.
His body was never recovered.
The lifeboats drifted in the darkness for hours, surrounded by the cries of the dying.
The passengers huddled together for warmth, their bodies shaking with cold and shock.
Some prayed, some wept, some simply stared into the darkness with empty eyes, unable to process what they had witnessed.
The screams from the water gradually faded as the cold claimed its victims.
Within an hour, there was only silence.
a terrible absolute silence that seemed to swallow the whole world.
Juliet held her daughters close throughout the night.
She did not sleep.
She did not speak.
She simply held Simon and Louise against her body, trying to keep them warm, trying to keep them alive.
Her eyes never left the horizon.
She kept hoping to see Joseph in another lifeboat.
She kept telling herself that he had found a way to survive.
He was smart.
He was resourceful.
He had promised her they would meet again in New York.
Joseph had never broken a promise to her.
He would not start now.
But as the hours passed, hope began to fade.
The other lifeboats came together, sharing survivors, sharing information, sharing grief.
No one had seen Joseph.
No one had seen a black man in any of the boats.
Juliet’s heart sank with each passing minute.
She began to understand what she had been refusing to accept.
Her husband was gone.
The father of her children was gone.
The man she had loved since she was a young girl was at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.
At around 4 in the morning, the survivors saw lights on the horizon.
A ship was approaching.
It was the RMS Carpathia, a Cunard liner that had received the Titanic’s distress signal and had changed course immediately, racing through the night at full speed, navigating through the same ice field that had destroyed the Titanic.
The captain of the Carpathia had pushed his ship to its limits, arriving in just over 3 hours, a journey that should have taken much longer.
His decision saved hundreds of lives.
The Carpathia began picking up survivors from the lifeboats one by one.
Rope ladders were lowered over the side.
Crew members reached down to pull the freezing passengers aboard.
Some survivors were so weak they had to be carried.
Some were unconscious.
Some were children who had been separated from their parents in the chaos and would never see them again.
Juliet and her daughters were among the 706 survivors rescued by the Carpathia.
When Juliet climbed aboard the rescue ship, she immediately began searching for Joseph.
She walked through the crowds of survivors, her eyes scanning every face, her voice calling his name.
She asked officers if they had seen a black man.
She described him in detail, his height, his clothes, the engineering books he always carried, his smile, the one that lit up his whole face.
No one had seen him.
No one could help her.
As the hours passed, as the Carpathia completed its rescue operation and turned toward New York, Juliet’s hope died completely.
She sat on the deck of the ship, surrounded by crying widows and traumatized children, and accepted that her husband was gone.
The Carpathia arrived in New York on the night of April 18th, 1912.
More than 30,000 people were waiting at the pier.
Reporters with cameras, family members holding photographs, curious onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of history.
The rain was falling, a cold drizzle that matched the mood of the crowd.
Juliet walked down the gang way with Simon in one hand and Louise in the other.
She was 25 years old.
She was 7 months pregnant.
She was a widow.
and she was utterly completely alone.
Charitable organizations took her in.
The women’s relief committee provided her with money and clothes.
The French council helped her with paperwork and translation.
Everyone was kind.
Everyone was sympathetic.
But kindness could not bring Joseph back.
Sympathy could not fill the empty space beside her in bed.
Juliet stayed in New York for several weeks, waiting, hoping, refusing to leave in case Joseph was somehow still alive.
But no news came.
No body was ever found.
Finally, she made a decision.
She would not stay in America.
She would not continue to Haiti.
She would go home to France, to her family, to the only place where she might find some measure of peace.
In May 1912, Juliet and her daughters boarded another ship and sailed back across the Atlantic.
The journey was a nightmare.
Every creek of the hull made her flinch.
Every swell of the waves made her think of that night.
Simon had screaming nightmares.
Louise cried constantly, sensing her mother’s grief, even if she could not understand it.
By the time they reached France, all three of them were broken.
Juliet’s family welcomed her with open arms.
Her father held her while she wept.
Her mother took care of the children.
No one asked questions.
No one forced her to talk.
They simply surrounded her with love and waited for her to heal.
On December 17th, 1912, 8 months after the sinking of the Titanic, Juliet gave birth to her third child.
It was a boy.
She named him Joseph Phipe Lecier Laros Jr.
after the father he would never know.
The baby was healthy and strong.
He had his father’s eyes dark and intelligent and full of life.
Juliet held her son and cried because he was beautiful and because Joseph would never see him.
Juliet never remarried.
She dedicated her life to raising her three children, working multiple jobs to support them, sacrificing her own happiness for their future.
She never forgot Joseph.
Every year on the anniversary of the sinking, she would light a candle and sit alone in the darkness, remembering.
She never spoke publicly about the Titanic.
The trauma was too deep, the wounds too raw.
When reporters came asking for interviews, she turned them away.
When filmmakers offered money for her story, she refused.
She had built a wall around that night, and she would not let anyone tear it down.
The children grew up in the shadow of their father’s absence.
Simon remembered fragments, the cold, the screams, her father’s face at the railing.
Louise remembered nothing, only what her mother told her.
And Joseph Jr.
never knew his father at all.
Only the stories, only the photographs, only the weight of a name that carried so much history.
Decades passed.
The world changed.
Two world wars came and went.
The Titanic became legend, the subject of books and films and endless fascination.
But Joseph Lar Rosh’s name never appeared.
His face was never shown.
His story was never told.
History had erased him as it had erased so many others who did not fit the narrative.
Juliet died in 1980 at the age of 91, her silence unbroken.
Simon died a few years later, taking her memories to the grave.
Only Louise remained.
In 1995, Louise Laros was 84 years old.
She was living in Paris in a small apartment filled with photographs and memories.
She had lived a long life.
She had seen everything and she was tired of the silence.
When a representative from the Titanic Historical Society contacted her asking for her story, she said yes.
The interview lasted hours.
Louise told them everything.
Her father’s childhood in Haiti, his education in France, the discrimination, the marriage, the decision to immigrate, the exchange of tickets.
The night of April 14th, the chaos, the separation, the stranger who passed her from hand to hand, her mother’s grief, her brother, born 8 months later, carrying his father’s name.
For the first time in 83 years, the world heard the story of Joseph Philip Lecier Lar Ro.
Louise died on January 28th, 1998 at the age of 87.
She was one of the last survivors of the Titanic.
But before she went, she ensured that her father would never be forgotten again.
Today, Joseph Larash’s name appears in museums.
His photograph hangs in exhibitions.
His story is taught in schools.
He is no longer invisible.
He’s no longer erased.
He was a father who loved his family.
He was a man who fought against injustice.
He was the only black passenger on the Titanic.
And his story will echo through history forever.
