The Incredible Atomic Ship of Dreams

If you visit Pier 13 at the Canton Marine Terminal in Baltimore, Maryland, you will find two very different historic cargo ships. One is the SS John W. Brown, one of nearly 3,000 cheap, quick-to-produce “Liberty Ships” built to haul cargo during the Second World War. The other, by contrast, is one of a kind. With a gleaming white hull and sleek, futuristic lines, she looks more like a luxury yacht than a cargo ship. But she was – and so much more. For sixty years ago, this glittering monument to mid-century modernism made history by becoming the first civilian ship to sail under nuclear power. For over a decade this cutting-edge ship sailed the world’s oceans, serving as a glittering symbol and global ambassador of the post-war dream of peace and prosperity through technology. She would, it was hoped, be the first of many, ushering in a bright new future. But it was not to be. Though she performed her mission well, shifting politics and public sentiment condemned her to be both the first and last of her kind, and today she survives as a lonely relic of this hopeful and optimistic period of human history. This is the story of the Nuclear Ship Savannah, the Atomic Age’s ship of dreams.

The story of the N.S. Savannah begins on December 8, 1953. On that day, U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower delivered a speech before the United Nations General Assembly in which he warned of the growing threat of nuclear proliferation. By this time two other nations, the Soviet Union and the United Kingdom, had succeeded in developing their own nuclear weapons, shattering the American atomic monopoly. A global arms race had begun, threatening to push mankind to the brink of nuclear war:

“Should such an atomic attack be launched against the United States, our reactions would be swift and resolute. But for me to say that the defense capabilities of the United States…[would be] so great that an aggressor’s land would be laid waste… is not the true expression of the purpose and the hope of the United States.

…To stop there would be to accept helplessly the probability of civilization destroyed-the annihilation of the irreplaceable heritage of mankind handed down to us generation from generation–and the condemnation of mankind to begin all over again the age-old struggle upward from savagery toward decency, and right, and justice.

Surely no sane member of the human race could discover victory in such desolation. Could anyone wish his name to be coupled by history with such human degradation and destruction.

Occasional pages of history do record the faces of the “Great Destroyers” but the whole book of history reveals mankind’s never-ending quest for peace, and mankind’s God-given capacity to build.

It is with the book of history, and not with isolated pages, that the United States will ever wish to be identified. My country wants to be constructive, not destructive. It wants agreements, not wars, among nations. It wants itself to live in freedom, and in the confidence that the people of every other nation enjoy equally the right of choosing their own way of life.”

To this end, Eisenhower proposed a bold new vision of global nuclear policy, which became known as “Atoms for Peace”:

“It is not enough to take this weapon out of the hands of the soldiers. It must be put into the hands of those who will know how to strip its military casing and adapt it to the arts of peace

…The United States knows that peaceful power from atomic energy is no dream of the future. That capability, already proved, is here-now-today. Who can doubt, if the entire body of the world’s scientists and engineers had adequate amounts of fissionable material with which to test and develop their ideas, [they would] devise methods whereby this fissionable material would be allocated to serve the peaceful pursuits of mankind. Experts would be mobilized to apply atomic energy to the needs of agriculture, medicine, and other peaceful activities. A special purpose would be to provide abundant electrical energy in the power-starved areas of the world. Thus the contributing powers would be dedicating some of their strength to serve the needs rather than the fears of mankind.

…Against the dark background of the atomic bomb, the United States does not wish merely to present strength, but also the desire and the hope for peace.”

A keystone of this initiative would be the development of an International Atomic Development Agency, which would manage the world’s stockpile of fissile material and distribute it to nations on the condition that they only use it for peaceful purposes. This, in turn, would help build international trust and – hopefully – draw the Soviet Union into productive talks about global nuclear arms control.

But while presented as a radical departure from Cold War nuclear brinkmanship, in reality “Atoms for Peace” was anything but. Far from rejecting nuclear weapons, Eisenhower wholly embraced them, believing a large stockpile of nuclear weapons to be a more cost-effective deterrent to Soviet aggression than conventional military forces and a cure for ballooning defence budgets. This stripped-down, nuclear-centred policy became known as the “New Look”. But there was a problem: this new emphasis on building a massive nuclear stockpile risked frightening the American people. Atoms for Peace was thus conceived as the propaganda wing of the New Look, reassuring the public and allowing the U.S. military nuclear program to carry on under the cover of peaceful intentions. The policy also allowed the United States to project and maintain its global influence through the sharing of nuclear materials and technology. Prior to 1949, the United States had kept its nuclear capabilities a closely-guarded military secret. However, once the Soviet Union detonated its first atomic bomb, it was feared that they would share their atomic secrets with aligned nations and thereby increase their political influence. Eisenhower thus sought to head off the Soviets by sharing American nuclear technology first. Over the course of the Atoms for Peace Initiative, the United States exported over 25 tons of highly-enriched uranium to 30 countries, with many countries – including Israel and Pakistan – receiving their first research reactors and nuclear medicine installations through the program. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union ran a similar program which exported 11 tons of enriched uranium. As we shall see, this policy would have unexpected consequences which are still being felt to this day.

In addition to supplying nations with fissile materials, medical isotopes, and research reactors, Atoms for Peace also manifested in the training of foreign scientists and technicians in nuclear technology, the development of nuclear reactors for civilian electricity generation, as well as the absolutely batshit-crazy Project Ploughshares, which sought to find ways of using nuclear weapons for peaceful purposes like digging canals and stimulating petroleum production – and to learn more about this, please check out our previous video That Time the Soviets Tried to Extinguish a Fire with a Nuke for…Reasons. Another, decidedly less insane idea was Eisenhower’s 1955 proposal to build a nuclear-powered cargo ship. The nuclear submarine USS Nautilus, launched in 1954, proved that nuclear marine propulsion was safe and reliable, and it was hoped that this technology would make global commerce more efficient, cost-effective, and profitable. As with land-based reactor development, Eisenhower also hoped that an effective demonstration of peaceful nuclear marine propulsion would convince the private sector to invest in the technology, further reducing the government’s monopoly on nuclear technology.

The project was approved by Congress in July 1956 and placed under the joint administration of the Atomic Energy Commission or AEC; the United States Maritime Administration or MARAD; and the United States Department of Commerce. Design of the vessel was assigned to naval architects George G. Sharp Incorporated of New York City; and development of her reactor to Babcock & Wilcox of Lynchburg, Virginia, who had already designed marine reactors for the U.S. Navy. The vessel was dubbed the Nuclear Ship Savannah in homage to the SS Savannah, the first steam-powered ship to cross the Atlantic Ocean in 1819.

As originally envisioned, the N.S. Savannah project had five main goals. First, it would demonstrate to the world the United States Government’s commitment to the peaceful use of nuclear power; second, it would help convince the public that nuclear-powered shipping was safe and reliable; third; it would allow any practical issues with operating nuclear technology in a civilian and commercial environment to be worked out; fourth, it would experimentally introduce nuclear power into the maritime shipping industry; and fifth, it would stimulate the creation of new laws and procedures for accommodating nuclear-powered vessels into said industry. As President Lyndon B. Johnson would later state:

“The Nuclear Ship Savannah is more than a demonstration of American technology and engineering skill; she is also an expression of our belief that through the expansion of world trade and the exchange of ideas and materials, a better world can be created for the benefit of all mankind. She is a prophet of a brighter future, a symbol of hope for tomorrow. As her brave and tiny namesake was almost 150 years ago, the Savannah is a true pioneer, carrying swiftly across the seven seas proof that the mighty power which propels her, the atom, can help all men to enter a new era of peace, prosperity, and progress.”

However, Savannah’s unusual status as both technology demonstrator and global ambassador for peaceful nuclear power posed unique challenges for its designers. By the time the project was approved, the ship’s mandate had changed from simple bulk cargo carrier to combination freighter and ocean liner capable of carrying VIP passengers in style and luxury. This placed a much greater emphasis on safety and comfort. For balance and protection against collisions, the reactor had to be placed in the very centre of the ship; however, it also had to be easily accessible from the top to allow the core to be refuelled. Engineers at George G. Sharp Incorporated thus moved the superstructure farther back on the deck, giving the ship a distinctive profile. Indeed, the entire ship was designed for maximum visual impact, with clean, futuristic lines dripping in mid-century modern style. As we will see, however, this emphasis on style would severely impact Savannah’s effectiveness as a commercial vessel.

Construction of Savannah began in 1958 at the New York Shipbuilding Corporation shipyard in Camden, New Jersey. On May 22 – National Maritime Day – Savannah’s keel was laid down in an unusual ceremony presided over by Patricia Nixon, wife of then Vice-President Richard Nixon. As a large crowd looked on, Mrs. Nixon waved a special “atomic wand” containing a small amount of radioactive material, triggering a geiger counter. This, in turn, signalled a crane operator to swing the first keel section into position. The same “atomic wand” had been used by President Eisenhower on September 6, 1954 to initiate the groundbreaking of the Shippingport Atomic Power Station in Beaver County, Pennsylvania – another Atoms for Peace project and the world’s first full-scale nuclear power plant devoted entirely to peacetime uses. Construction of the hull was completed in a little over a year, Savannah being launched and christened by First Lady Mamie Eisenhower on July 21, 1959. Fitting-out, including reactor installation, fuelling, and initial sea trials, took another two and a half years.

The completed ship was a marvel of mid-century engineering and design. Measuring 182 metres long with a beam of 24 metres and a loaded displacement of 19,800 tonnes, Savannah was powered by a Babcock & Wilcox pressurized-water reactor driving twin de Laval steam turbines with a maximum power output of 20,000 shaft horsepower or 14.9 megawatts. This, along with her streamlined hull, allowed her to reach a maximum speed of 23 knots or 43 kilometres per hour. To provide a smoother ride at high speeds and in rough seas, Savannah was fitted with fold-out stabilizer planes – only the sixth such use of this technology in maritime history. The ship also featured a 750 horsepower or 560 kilowatt electric motor geared to the high-pressure steam turbine. Powered by a pair of emergency diesel generators, this provided the ship with rudimentary propulsion in case of a reactor shutdown.

Though it was originally intended to simply copy the reactor used aboard USS Nautilus, Babcock & Wilcox ultimately chose to design a brand-new reactor to civilian specifications. The finalized reactor was fuelled by 312 kilograms of low-enriched uranium oxide – enough power the ship for up to 3.5 years or 480,000 kilometres – that’s 14 times the circumference of the earth – without refuelling. 21 neutron-absorbing control rods arranged between the fuel elements could be raised and lowered to control the rate of the nuclear chain reaction. In an emergency, these rods could be lowered in 1.6 seconds to shut down or scram the reactor. A separate system allowed neutron-absorbing boron to be dumped into the core, but this option was reserved for dire emergencies only as the core would have to be completely dismantled and cleaned out to get the reactor working again. To protect against collisions and prevent radiation leakage, the reactor was surrounded by an elaborate containment vessel measuring 10 metres in diameter and 15 metres tall and composed of nearly two metres of steel, polyethylene, lead, concrete, and redwood planks. Radioactive wastewater was collected in a 38,000 litre storage tank, which, when full, could be pumped out by a special unpowered tender barge called the Nuclear Servicing Vessel or NSV Atomic Servant. Also featuring a lead-lined storage pit for reactor refuelling operations, the Atomic Servant could be made available anywhere in the world.

Befitting Savannah’s mission as a peaceful nuclear ambassador, the turbine compartment and reactor control room were fitted with large windows and an observation gallery so passengers and the visiting public could observe the miracle of nuclear power first-hand. This ran contrary to the United State’s typical policy regarding nuclear technology, prompting President Eisenhower to state:

“The ship’s design will not be secret. It will be possible for engineers not only of our own country, but of other nations, to view the nuclear power plant and see first-hand this demonstration of the great promise of atomic energy for human betterment.”

But what impressed passengers and visitors most about Savannah was her luxurious accommodations and futuristic style. The ship could accommodate up to 60 passengers in 30 air conditioned staterooms – each with its own private bathroom – and seat up to 100 in its lavishly-appointed dining room. This, in turn, was served by a large galley packed with all the latest gadgets – including a Raytheon Radar Range, the world’s first commercially-available microwave oven. This allowed the Savannah to host large banquets and other events while in port. Other amenities included a large windowed veranda with a bar; a swimming pool; a library, a barber shop; a well-stocked infirmary with a full surgical suite; and a lounge which doubled as a movie theatre, which showcased paintings by contemporary American artists and featured coffee tables cut from petrified wood and a television screen showing a live feed of the reactor compartment. All this was in turn decorated in a distinctive atomic-age style designed by Jack Heaney and Associates of Wilton, Connecticut, which left no doubt as to the ship’s revolutionary form of propulsion. Everything from light fixtures to dinnerware to the giant logo splashed across the ship’s superstructure bore an instantly-recognizable atomic motif; the wine rack behind the bar was modelled after a chart of nuclear decay chains; and one wall of the dining room was dominated by a curved wall sculpture titled Fission by artist Pierre Bourdelle. And at the other end of the room stood a golden model of the ship’s namesake, the pioneering steamship SS Savannah. Uniquely among passenger liners, Savannah could boast that her gleaming white paint job would never be smudged by soot, for her clean atomic power plant produced no smoke.

While largely advertised as a luxury liner, Savannah was also designed as a freighter and could carry up to 7,700 tonnes of cargo in 7 holds totalling 18,500 square metres: 4 forward of the superstructure and reactor compartment and three aft, with Hold #5 located beneath the swimming pool. Like every other aspect of the ship, the three cargo-handling cranes were specially designed to complement the Savannah’s sleek, futuristic appearance.

Following initial fitting-out, Savannah’s reactor first achieved criticality on December 21, 1961. Then, on January 31, 1962, Captain Gaston DeGroote took command of the ship and sailed her under temporary oil-fired power to Yorktown, Virginia for sea trials. These trials, attended by representatives of the Atomic Energy Commission, the Maritime Administration, the U.S. Coast Guard, and the ship’s builders, culminated in the first full-power run on April 14, 1962, during which Savannah reached a maximum speed of 22 knots. Meanwhile, a corps of engineers were being specially trained to operate and maintain Savannah’s nuclear power plant. Drawn mainly from the United States Merchant Marine Academy at King’s Point, New York, these men were put through an intensive 15-month course at Babcock & Wilcox’s headquarters in Lynchburg, Virginia, using full-scale mockups of Savannah’s reactor, turbine machinery, and control room. Once operational, Savannah sailed with a complement of 124: 35 engineers, 27 deck officers, 49 stewards, and 13 support staff, including one senior nuclear advisor and three health physics monitors.

At last, on May 1, 1962, Savannah was accepted by the Maritime Authority and handed over to her chosen operator, States Marine Lines Incorporated. On August 20th, she set sail for her home port of Savannah, Georgia, where she received a triumphant welcome complete with cannon salutes and fireboats spraying giant fountains of water. From here, she transited the Panama Canal and sailed up the Pacific coast to Seattle, where she spent three weeks as a popular attraction at the 1962 Century 21 Exposition – the same World’s Fair which introduced the city’s iconic Space Needle. She then sailed on to San Fransisco, Long Beach, and Los Angeles before crossing the Pacific to Honolulu, Hawaii. This was followed by stops in Portland and San Diego before Savannah once again transited the Panama Canal, docking in Galveston, Texas in early 1963 for much-needed maintenance.

But then, barely six months into her maiden voyage, Savannah’s career came to a screeching halt when her 35 engineers walked off the job. The strike had been triggered in November 1962 while Savannah was docked in Los Angeles, when a Government-appointed labour arbitrator awarded the ship’s deck officers pay raises which automatically set their salaries higher than those of the engineers. As a result, the engineers would be unable to negotiate higher salaries without also increasing the salaries of the deck officers. Disgusted and prepared to walk off the job immediately, the engineers were persuaded to remain aboard until Savannah reached Galveston.

The strike divided political opinion and placed the entire Savannah and Atoms for Peace project under increased scrutiny. Congressman Herbert C. Bonner of North Carolina called the affair “A national disgrace”, while Congressman Herbert Secretary of Commerce Luther H. Hodges painted the engineers as entitled prima donnas, pointing to their enviable salaries of $14,000-22,000 – equivalent to $140,000-22,000 today:

“The affair has] a strange Alice-in-Wonderland character that the average American would find hard to believe…[these youngsters] have put their petty pride and their concern for wage status…ahead of any concern for the public interest.”

Meanwhile, Jesse M. Calhoun, president of Marine Engineers Beneficial Association, defended the engineers, seeing the strike as symptomatic of deeper problems with the Savannah project:

“This whole affair is a disgrace all right, just as Congressman Bonner says – but not for the reasons he thinks. The real disgrace is that the Savannah, nearly four years after its launching, has made only one trip – from the East Coast to the West Coast and back to Galveston. The real disgrace is that Savannah, far from being a suburb example of advanced maritime technology is not even a first-rate modern ship.”

As for the engineers themselves they maintained that the strike had far less to do with money than with the overall state of affairs and work culture aboard Savannah. As one senior engineer revealed:

“We all felt very proud and lucky to be in on the ground floor of the new era of nuclear shipping….many of us had been chief engineers on other ships – a few had even done nuclear engineering – before we joined the Savannah program. We were appalled at the limited knowledge of the instructors who were supposed to be qualifying us for jobs we already knew more about than they did….More important was the way we felt about the ship itself. We made suggestions for improving the reactor – and especially the standard ship equipment. All we got for our pains was resentment, Even when the shipyard agreed with a suggestion it would soon disappear in a snarl of red tape and that would be the last we’d hear of it. We lost some of our brightest recruits in those early days. They simply quit in disgust.”

According to the engineers, the Maritime Authority had initially intended for the Savannah to be designed first and the reactor designed to fit the ship. However, the Atomic Energy Commission forced a reversal of this plan, turning the ship into a mere appendage of the reactor. As a result, while funds were lavished on reactor development, comparatively little of the budget was allocated to the design of the ship. This was further compounded by the 1956 Suez Crisis, which increased global demand for cargo vessels and caused shipbuilding costs to skyrocket. Furthermore, the Soviet Union’s announcement that they were building their own nuclear-powered civilian ship – the Icebreaker Lenin – placed increased pressure on George G. Sharp Incorporated to finish Savannah first.

All this resulted in a ship that, while outwardly impressive, was riddled with serious flaws. As another senior engineer put it:

“The Savannah is like a man who has a bright smile and a great coat of suntan. He looks healthy and vigorous. Then you talk to his doctor and find out he has diabetes, high blood pressure, and a stomach ulcer. That’s the way it is with the ship. She looks beautiful on the outside. But inside she’s full of substandard and obsolete equipment that keeps breaking down.”

The strike brought to light a whole laundry list of flaws plaguing the Savannah, running the gamut from merely annoying to potentially dangerous. For example, the original telephone system was so defective it had to be replaced at an additional cost of $50,000. The air conditioning system often failed and sometimes leaked, ruining the expensive carpets in the passenger staterooms. The bridge deck lacked adequate drainage and often filled with water during rainstorms, while the ship’s machine shop was full of outdated equipment. More serious problems included a faulty gyro stabilizer, which during one test cruise failed and caused the ship to roll violently, knocking passengers to the deck and nearly emptying the swimming pool.

Even the reactor was not free of faults, in spite of the care and funds lavished on its development. For instance, wastewater production greatly exceeded the ship’s storage capacity, forcing Savannah to dump over 440,000 litres of radioactive water into the sea during its first year of operation. This, in turn, rendered the support barge

The steam generator feed pumps constantly broke down and had to be rebuilt three times, while the AEC insisted upon the installation of two auxiliary boilers as a safety feature. However, these boilers proved inadequate for the task, with one of them even exploding while the ship was underway. Thankfully, nobody was hurt. But the most serious flaw of all was with the hydraulic system for raising and lowering the control rods, which could leak and catch fire while the reactor was powered up. This forced the builders to install a complicated and expensive system to keep the containment vessel flooded with 3500 cubic metres of nitrogen and prevent fires from breaking out. This further complicated operations, as all that nitrogen had to be pumped out before anyone could enter the containment vessel to perform maintenance.

Several of these problems made themselves apparent during Savannah’s maiden voyage. While sailing from Yorktown, Virginia to Savannah, Georgia, a sensor error caused the reactor to automatically scram. This, in turn, caused the air conditioning system to fail and the temperature in the staterooms to soar. With only a small electric motor for emergency propulsion, the crew raised a pair of black balls on the ship’s mast – the universal maritime signal for “We are out of command, we have no power, keep clear of us.” After two frantic hours the reactor was finally restarted, and Savannah belatedly steamed into its home port. Ironically, in spite of all these cut corners, Savannah did not even succeed in beating its Soviet counterpart to sea. Lenin was launched in 1957 and entered service in 1959 – a full three years ahead of Savannah.

In response to the strike, States Marine Lines took its case to court, but its appeal was denied. Eventually a settlement was worked out, but the Department of Commerce chose instead to end its contract with States Marine Lines and turn operation of Savannah over to American Export-Isbrandtsen Lines. This allowed the hiring and training of a new, non-union crew – igniting a lingering debate over the future operation of nuclear-powered commercial ships.

By 1964 Savannah was operational once more, and embarked on a global tour that took her all along the U.S. Gulf and East Coasts and across the Atlantic to Bremerhaven, Hamburg, Rotterdam, and Southampton. During this tour, more than 150,000 people toured the ship. The following year, however, American Export-Isbrandtsen Lines discontinued passenger operations to reduce operating costs and converted Savannah to all-cargo use, closing off the passenger areas and removing 1,800 tons of ballast. However, the many compromises which had been incorporated into Savannah’s design greatly hampered her effectiveness as a freight carrier. Her sleek, streamlined hull limited her cargo capacity to 7,700 tonnes of cargo – significantly less than conventional cargo ships of equivalent size. Her cargo holds were also awkwardly shaped and laborious to load and unload – especially Cargo Bay #5, which was covered by the swimming pool and could only be accessed through narrow side ports. Worse still, Savannah’s cargo handling booms, designed more for aesthetics than functionality, proved inefficient and awkward to operate. These were all serious handicaps, especially in an industry increasingly dominated by automated, containerized shipping systems.

Nonetheless, Savannah continued to operate as a commercial freighter and nuclear ambassador for another six years, with a brief pause in 1968 for refuelling in Galveston. In 1969, she became the first nuclear vessel to dock in New York Harbour and served as the centrepiece of a special event called Nuclear Week in New York, which featured various events including a presentation by Dr. Glenn Seaborg, the discoverer of Plutonium and Chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission; and two special segments on The Tonight Show. By 1970, however, Savannah’s dubious economics had finally caught up with her. Not only could she carry less cargo less efficiently than other ships her size, but she needed a crew a third larger who required special training and cost $2 million more per year to operate than a conventional oil-fuelled freighter. With costs piling up, the Maritime Administration decided to retire Savannah at the end of 1971. Ironically, had MARAD waited just a few years, Savannah might actually have made something of a comeback. While fuel oil cost only $20 a ton in 1971, the 1973 oil crisis caused this price to quadruple, meaning Savannah would have been no more expensive to operate than a conventional oil-fired ship. But it was not to be, and in 1975 Savannah’s reactor was decommissioned and de-fuelled, bringing her unique career to an end.

Over her brief service life, N.S. Savannah travelled 830,000 kilometres – equivalent to 20 times the circumference of the earth – carried 848 passengers, visited 45 domestic and 32 foreign ports, and was visited by 1.4 million people worldwide – all without a single major safety incident. At the same time, however, she cost $47 million to build – nearly $500 million in today’s money – was constantly beset by technical problems and labour disputes, and never turned a profit for its operators. Nor did she usher in a new age of nuclear merchant shipping, with only three more nuclear-powered civilian vessels ever being constructed: the experimental West German freighter Otto Hahn, launched in 1968 but converted to diesel power in 1979; the Japanese oceanographic research vessel Mutsu, launched in 1970 but converted to the conventionally-propelled RV Mirai in 1996; and the Soviet lighter aboard ship carrier Sevmorput, launched in 1988 and still in service today. The Soviet Union and later Russia have also launched 12 nuclear-powered icebreakers including the Lenin, but these are largely operated by the government and are not considered commercial vessels.

Yet despite all this, N.S. Savannah cannot really be deemed a failure. After all, her designers never intended for her to be commercially competitive. From the outset, her mission was to demonstrate the feasibility and safety of commercial marine nuclear propulsion and serve as a global ambassador for the Atoms for Peace initiative – roles she performed with admirable success. In this sense she was very much like her namesake, the SS Savannah, which despite the technological advancement she represented never succeeded in turning a profit; her primitive steam engine consumed so much wood that there was barely any space left aboard for cargo. That N.S. Savannah failed to turn a profit or launch a new industry has more to do with external economic factors and administrative errors than any flaw in the Savannah’s technical design. As former MARAD inspection officer Robert J. Bosnak stated:

“The Savannah performed well from an operational point of view, but in my opinion her designers condemned her to a short life by her hybrid design as a passenger-cargo vessel. Neither function of the ship proved to be economically viable, and MARAD (Maritime Administration) chose not to spend additional monies to convert her to an all cargo, or an all passenger vessel, but instead removed her from service. I regret that this happened.”

Indeed, Savannah was arguably among the most successful aspects of the entire Atoms for Peace program, whose overall results were largely mixed. For while the program succeeded in creating a commercial nuclear industry, failure to invest long-term in reactor design, improvement, and maintenance led to industry stagnation and public disillusionment with nuclear power, especially following high-profile accidents like Three Mile Island, Chernobyl, and Fukushima. And while dozens of countries benefited greatly from American assistance with research reactors and nuclear medicine, in a few cases the program encouraged the very nuclear proliferation it was designed to curtail. For example, the nuclear weapons programs of India and Pakistan, which achieved their first successful detonations in 1974 and 1998, respectively, were greatly accelerated by technical and material assistance provided through Atoms for Peace.

Following her decommissioning, Savannah was acquired by her namesake city and home port with plans to convert her into a floating hotel, though investors never materialized. After briefly being stored in Galveston, in 1981 the ship was acquired by the Patriots Point Naval and Maritime Museum in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, who opened her up for public tours. She was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1982, declared a Mechanical Engineering Landmark in 1983, and named both a Nuclear Engineering Landmark and a National Historic Landmark in 1991, with the customary 50-year age requirement for the latter designation being specially waived due to her historic significance.

Sadly, Savannah proved far less of a draw than Patriot Point’s other ships – especially the aircraft carrier USS Yorktown – and in 1994 the museum chose to terminate the ship’s charter. Over the following decade Savannah was shuttled between Baltimore, Maryland; Newport News, Virginia; and Norfolk Virginia for various repair and preservation work. Finally, on May 8, 2008, she was towed to Baltimore and docked at the Canton Marine Terminal’s Pier 13 beside the WWII Liberty Ship SS John W. Brown, where she remains to this day.

Since its retirement and defuelling in the 1970s, Savannah has been licensed by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission – the successor to the AEC – who regularly monitor radiation levels and fund the ship’s maintenance to the tune of $3 million per year. However, in 2008, following Savannah’s arrival in Baltimore, the NRC announced its intention to fully decommission the ship’s nuclear power systems and terminate its license, allowing the ship to be preserved, scrapped, or otherwise disposed of. Pre-decommissioning work took place at the Philadelphia Naval Yard between September 2019 and February 2020, while in November 2022 the main reactor vessel was removed and shipped to a nuclear repository in Utah for disposal. Remaining areas of radioactive contamination are gradually being cleaned up, with full decommissioning to be completed no later than 2031. Once that happens, the ship’s ultimate fate will be up in the air. While the hope is to convert the ship into a museum or other public attraction, no investors have yet materialized. If no funds can be secured, there is a real possibility that N.S. Savannah may wind up in the shipbreaker’s yard. In the meantime, the ship remains in a state of limbo, diligently maintained by a dedicated group of volunteers and occasionally opened up for tour groups and special events. Time will tell what fate awaits this retro-futuristic gem – a gleaming relic of a more wide-eyed, optimistic age.

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