The Man Who Saved the World (And the Night I Remember Too Well)

 May 7, 2025

The Man Who Saved the World (And the Night I Remember Too Well)

by Janis at Simple Raw and Natural

In October 1962, I was 14 years old, living in Châteauroux, France, on a U.S. Air Force base with my family. It was the height of the Cold War, but until then, it had mostly been a distant backdrop to our lives—talk of “the Russians” sometimes floated in and out of conversation.

But that week? That week was different.

The Cuban Missile Crisis had reached a boiling point. The Soviets had installed nuclear missiles in Cuba, just 90 miles from the coast of Florida, and President Kennedy had drawn a clear red line. The U.S. Navy formed a blockade around Cuba. Soviet ships were approaching. And nobody knew what would happen next.

I remember the night the base went on high alert. My dad was suddenly called in. I don’t remember if he even said goodbye as he walked out the door, but I do remember the look on his face—tight, serious, worried. My mother lay on the living room floor listening to the radio, crying and praying. That image is still etched into my mind: a woman with so much faith and no control over what was unfolding.

We knew something terrible might happen. We just didn’t know how close we truly were to the edge.

It wasn’t until decades later that I learned just how close.

Far below the surface of the ocean that night, on October 27, 1962, a Soviet submarine named B-59 was being hunted by the U.S. Navy. The Americans didn’t know the sub was carrying a nuclear torpedo. They were dropping depth charges—warning shots meant to signal the sub to surface. But to the Soviet crew, cut off from communication with Moscow, it felt like an attack. They believed nuclear war might have already begun.

The captain of the sub was ready to strike back. He wanted to launch the nuclear torpedo.

Under Soviet protocol, the launch required the agreement of three men: the captain, the political officer, and the second-in-command.

Two said yes.

The third—Vasily Alexandrovich Arkhipov—said no.

His “no” wasn’t shouted or dramatic. It was resolute. He calmly insisted they surface, wait for orders, and avoid escalation. He convinced the others to stand down.

In doing so, Vasily Arkhipov likely saved hundreds of millions of lives, including mine.

Historians now believe that had the submarine launched its torpedo, the U.S. would have responded with nuclear force—not just against the sub, but against Soviet installations and cities. The Soviets would have retaliated in turn. We would not be sitting here talking about it.

But for many years, Arkhipov’s heroism was hidden from the world. His actions were classified. He was just one name among many in Cold War files.

It wasn’t until the late 1990s and early 2000s that the full story emerged, thanks to declassified documents and the testimony of fellow officers. Arkhipov, who had already survived another terrifying nuclear incident aboard the Soviet submarine K-19, was a quiet man. He didn’t seek praise. But those who know the story now call him “the man who saved the world.”

As a teenager on a U.S. base in France, I had no idea who Arkhipov was. I only knew the world felt like it might end.

Now, as an adult, I find myself remembering that night more often—especially in times when the world feels shaky again. It reminds me that history can hinge on a single person’s clarity. That calm can triumph over chaos. That sometimes, the greatest acts of courage are the ones no one sees.

So today, I say thank you, Vasily Arkhipov. And I remember my mother’s prayers. Maybe they were answered in the most unexpected way—by a man in a submarine, who refused to push a button.

Here is a photo of my mother that day. The radio she listened to is behind her. The same radio that carried news of a world on the brink. She didn’t know Arkhipov’s name. None of us did. But her prayers were heard in ways she never imagined.

Still curious. Still growing. Still grateful.

Janis