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| THE 750 FOOT LONG SHIP, THE EDMUND FITZGERALD |
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| A "THOUSAND FOOTER" |
Tuesday, 9:30 AM. 24 degrees F at the ferry dock, 23 on the back porch. Wind NNW, very gusty. The sky is cloudy and overcast, with snow flurries, the humidity 62%. The barometer is rising sharply, now at 29.89". High today will be in the mid-20's; mixed skies and cold midweek until warming and rain showers on Friday.
It is hard for me to believe that November Tenth was the forty-second anniversary of the sinking of the 750 foot laker, the Edmund Fitzgerald. It was the largest ship on the Great Lakes when it was built, in 1957. It went down on at the east end of Lake Superior November 10, 1975, while carrying twenty-six thousand tons of iron ore. It sank in a monumental gale with 90 mile per hour winds and 35 foot waves. It lies broken apart 525 feet beneath the surface of Lake Superior, a watery grave for 29 brave souls. Exactly what happened is and shall remain a mystery, but all who live on the big lake know of its rapidly changing moods and violent storms. Gitche Gume, Longfellow's Big Sea Shining Water, remains as dangerous as it is beautiful.
The gales blow strong again this November, while the huge lake ships still ply the tempestuous waters of Lake Superior. If one listens closely to the Nor'easter as it roars outside the window a distant ship's bell may be heard, clanging faintly through the roaring of the wind. Perhaps it is the ghost of the Edmond Fitzgerald, summoning "All hands on deck."
1975 is near enough in history that old lake sailors still can be found sheltered in nooks and crannies on a windy November day in Bayfield who will recount their good fortune in not being aboard that ill-fated voyage (one a young deckhand who stayed in port with the flu, another an engineer who was on his honeymoon, another...) and who counted friends lost to that vicious storm, like comrades dead in battle.
They will tell horrific tales of the deadly Third Sister, the last wave in a classic trilogy that mounts higher and higher 'till nothing that floats can resist her; "Aye, that's what sunk her."
"No, she was overloaded with ore, there wasn't sufficient freeboard when she left Duluth."
"Then it was Greed that took her down."
"And being lengthened to haul more ore. The welds didn't hold in the storm."
"In any case there's 29 of my shipmates that are buried at sea. The Big Lake never gives up her dead... the water's too cold and their bodies will never rise to the surface."
They will tell horrific tales of the deadly Third Sister, the last wave in a classic trilogy that mounts higher and higher 'till nothing that floats can resist her; "Aye, that's what sunk her."
"No, she was overloaded with ore, there wasn't sufficient freeboard when she left Duluth."
"Then it was Greed that took her down."
"And being lengthened to haul more ore. The welds didn't hold in the storm."
"In any case there's 29 of my shipmates that are buried at sea. The Big Lake never gives up her dead... the water's too cold and their bodies will never rise to the surface."
THE TALE OF THE EDMUND FITZGERALD
as written and sung by
Gordon Lightfoot
Gordon Lightfoot
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early
The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
Then later that night when the ship's bell rang
Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
Then later that night when the ship's bell rang
Could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
When the wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too
'Twas the witch of November come stealin'
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashin'
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind
When the wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too
'Twas the witch of November come stealin'
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashin'
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind
When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck
Sayin' "Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya"
At seven PM a main hatchway caved in
He said, "Fellas, it's been good to know ya"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Sayin' "Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya"
At seven PM a main hatchway caved in
He said, "Fellas, it's been good to know ya"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put fifteen more miles behind her
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd put fifteen more miles behind her
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams
The islands and bays are for sportsmen
And farther below, Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams
The islands and bays are for sportsmen
And farther below, Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early
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