The Gales of November...

                                                      

"I prithee,
Remember I have done thee worthy service,
Told thee no lies, made no mistakes, served
Without grudge or grumblings...."
~William Shakespeare, The Tempest,

"According to a legend of the Chippewa tribe, the lake they once called Gitche Gumee 'never gives up her dead.'"

http://youtu.be/hgI8bta-7aw [The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald/Gordon Lightfoot/footage]

About 75 miles from Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, [pronounced Soo*Saint*Marie] is a town called Whitefish Point. It is the point that forms the entrance to Lake Superior’s Whitefish Bay, which serves as the funnel at Sault Ste. Marie, via the St. Mary’s River, for shipping vessels to enter or leave that greatest of lakes. Beyond the vast and open expanse of water to the north of the bay lies the stretch of water known as "The graveyard of the Great Lakes". The Ojibwa or Chippewa refer to the lake as Gichigami [Gitche Gumee], meaning "big water". Having seen it, I can tell you that "big" is a great understatement for how monolithic an expanse that lake truly is.
The waters there, at times, bear gale force winds from both the north and the west that have been known to take many a lake-faring vessel to its watery, final rest in the bowels of Superior’s icy mansion, as it has been come to be known.
Such was the fate 36 years ago, when a convergence of sorts collided with the gale winds from the west, coupled with the cold winds from the north to create, if not a perfect storm, certainly something boding and ominous that resembled it. On that ill-fated night, November 10, 1975, The Edmund Fitzgerald blipped off the radar and disappeared beneath the angry, churning waters of Lake Superior. She [USSEF] was just 17 miles from safety – off the shores of Whitefish Point, when the lighthouse malfunctioned, and its guiding light went out, as the waves rose, in some places, to mammoth heights - of close to 30 feet. The final, catastrophic blow from water and wind and darkness, took her down with no time, it’s been reported, to make an emergency SOS call.
I was 12 years old when the Mighty Fitz went down. My older brother was 10 months old when she took her maiden voyage on September 24, 1958. I’ll never forget hearing the news story break on the 11^th of November in 1975. It seemed surreal that something so grand a vessel as the SS Edmund Fitzgerald could snap in half like a twig and sink in a matter of 18 minutes to depths of  approximately 530 feet. Perhaps the reason I remember it so well is because it was the day after Veteran’s Day and the day before my brother’s 18^th birthday, when the news came that Lake Gichigami had claimed another ship to join its fleet of downed, broken, and rusty crafts. In any event, that moment in history is etched in my mind, and it’s always given me pause like tragic events tend to do. Or, perhaps it’s Gordon Lightfoot’s haunting ode that came out the following year that made the event even more real in the place I’ve kept it in my mind. Needless to say, that Maritime disaster is one that has stayed with me all these years. Don’t ask me why.
Some things just do that: stay with me.
I remember the year I got married [1995], The Fitzgerald was in the news again, when her bell was recovered from the depths of Lake Superior on July 4^th. It was reported that the bell would be housed at The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum in Whitefish Point, Michigan. I remember when I heard that news, I thought how much I wanted to see that bell – a piece of actual history.  I wanted to see a piece of that ship - something from an event that, for whatever reason, had struck a chord within me and stayed in the back of my mind. I had also always wanted to see Mackinaw Island and 10 years into our marriage, we went to Michigan to see both.
It was one of our most favorite vacations because, not only was it relaxing, it's a beautiful setting [Michigan is one of the most beautiful states I’ve ever visited], but it was educational as well. We learned so much about the native American culture of that area, in addition to seeing feel-good pieces of history [the Grand Hotel] and tragic pieces of history [The Whitefish Point, Shipwreck Museum]. I highly recommend that trip to anyone who’s never ventured there. We hope to go back some day. It’s well worth the trip.
My reflection of  The Shipwreck Museum at Whitefish Point is a sobered one.  That's how I felt walking in. Inside the museum, it’s not brightly lit. It sets a mood. The first thing I noticed was that Gordon Lightfoot’s song was playing in the background.  It gave me chill - a shiver ran down my back and my hair stood on end as I took it all in, before we began to walk down the rows of differentiated areas that housed the artifacts and information recovered for a number of the 240 ships that Gichigami’s mighty waters had claimed dating back more than a hundred years.
I can’t describe the feeling of sadness that fills a soul when you stand at a booth and see remnants of a once-great ship and its crew reduced to nothing more than remains such as a rusty lantern, an old ore, an old photograph, a faded life jacket, dented canned goods or a bell....a bell that, amazingly, still shines in golden splendor, refusing to be tarnished by the waters that derailed its purpose and further operation. Yet, there is also a feeling of utmost respect for the men who braved those waters and fought those currents for their livelihoods and that of their families.
It is a special breed of human being who challenges the sea. It takes a special kind of fortitude.  I remember after stopping at each individual memorial for the lost ships, looking at the items that had been recovered - reading about them; the ship's last voyage; the conditions concerning its demise and the crew members on each one.  After we'd seen all that was to see inside, Tom and I walked out of the museum and looked up at the lighthouse that helped navigate these ships. Then, we walked down to the beach, which was a straight shot from the museum and lighthouse and stood facing forward, staring out as far as our eyes could see, and knowing that roughly 17 miles out from where we stood, rested the Edmund Fitzgerald.
I covered my mouth as a sigh came and tears formed. I felt Tom’s arm go around my shoulders as he pulled me closer to him, and I wondered what must have been on the minds of those men as waves and winds crashed against them and that ship, as they realized their fate? I wondered what it felt like to see a 30-ft wall of water coming at you? Your first inclination would be to run. But, where do you run to when there’s no place to go? I could feel my heart-beat quicken. I could only imagine what theirs must have done. I think it’s a safe bet, I’d have been looking for a bottle of ANYTHING to take the pressure off, chase the fear away and get me.....well....drunk....At that point, drunk would be welcome relief from what was to come!
My lips trembled as the song played out in my mind, and we stood there looking out at a lake that looked more like a sea. The waters were calm on the day when we met Lake Superior. Can you meet water? I don’t know? We’d never seen it before. It was a lot prettier than I imagined. And, I tried to envision, as I stood there taking it all in, what I’d read of the NOAA’s findings about how conditions on the lake that night rapidly deteriorated. I tried to picture 70-80 mile an hour winds – hurricane-force gusts suddenly bearing down as 25-30 foot waves rose out of nowhere and you knew, being in the middle of all that chaos, that the outcome wasn’t going to be good for anyone on board.
One lyric from Gordon Lightfoot’s song stood out in my mind as I looked at the point of safety that The Edmund Fitzgerald was so close yet so far away from reaching: "Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?" Mercy. I remember standing there and praying that God had shown swift mercy that their ordeal was quickly over. Somehow, thinking about it and taking it all in, I had unsettled moments when I wasn’t sure, but I prayed that it was so, nonetheless. If anything, those 29 men deserved God’s grace and mercy as they dealt with their horrible-horrific fate on that tragic night.
"What do you think happened?" I asked Tom.
We’d both heard theories over the years as to what exactly had brought on the Edmund Fitzgerald’s demise. However, when there’s never a definitive answer with regard to a tragedy, speculation abounds.
He shook his head. "I don’t know," he said. "I’m not sure we’ll ever really know."
I nodded. Yes. That seemed more likely the truth than not.
Still, I thought of the theories that seemed most plausible to me:
One of the most viable theories, in my opinion, is that The Three Sisters came calling that night on the Edmund Fitzgerald. "The Three Sisters" are known as a group of rogue waves.  Those type waves were reported in the vicinity of the Fitzgerald at the time she went down. The phenomenon consists of a sequence of three unpredictable waves which are said to be about a third larger than average waves. The first one would have hit the ship’s deck with a ferocity that didn’t give the ship time to recover fully from its force before the second one struck. The backwash of the third wave then overloads the deck with tons of additional water that made recovery from such a one-two-three punch, improbable.
Captain Cooper of the Anderson, a ship that reached safety that night and was just ahead of the Fitzgerald, is on record stating that his ship was "hit by two 30 to 35 foot seas about 6:30 p.m., one burying the after cabins and damaging a lifeboat by pushing it right down onto the saddle. The second wave of this size, perhaps 35 foot, came over the bridge deck." The Captain went on to surmise that the two waves that hit his vessel continued onward in the direction of the Edmund Fitzgerald and was possibly followed by a third, which would have struck about the time she sank.
His theory suggests that the "three sisters" compounded the dual problems that the Fitzgerald already faced: her known list [leaning over to one’s side] and her slower movement in heavy waters, which allowed water to remain on deck for longer than usual, not taking into account the residual water from the rogue waves.
Then, there exits the theory that the Fitzgerald unknowingly shoaled [grounded] in the shallower water at Six Fathom Shoal, which is just northwest of Caribou Island. At the time, when it was alleged to have occurred, the Whitefish Point Lighthouse and radio beacons were not operable as navigation aids, thus hindering the Fitzgerald from seeing the shallow reef that existed there before the ship possibly raked it.
In 1976, that theory was supported by a Canadian hydrographic survey, which revealed that an unknown shoal ran a mile further east of Six Fathom Shoal than what was shown on its navigational charts. Likewise, Officers from the Anderson observed that the Fitzgerald sailed through this exact area.
However, divers searched the Six Fathom Shoal after the wreck and found no evidence of any "recent collision or grounding anywhere." The shoaling theory was subsequently challenged in 1994, when photographs of the downed Fitzgerald clearly showed a higher detail of the area in question and did not show any evidence on the propeller, rudder or bottom of the stern that indicated the Fitzgerald had, indeed, hit a shoal.
Regardless of the reason or inaccuracy of the theories, the fact remains that on November 10, 1975, 29 men lost their lives as the 729 foot ore carrier they were working on was claimed by Lake Superior, leaving behind ITS own legend filled with questions and mysteries that abound as to how the ship could founder then disappear so suddenly as it did on that fateful night? All anyone knows for certain is that 17 miles north-northwest of Whitefish Point, buried 530 feet beneath the water’s surface rests the once-great Fitzgerald. Just as with the Chippewa tale of the great Gichigami, so too lives on the legend of the November gales and The Edmund Fitzgerald...
　
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Lyrics by Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa down
of the big lake they called "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.
And 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
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry 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 freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.
When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At 7 p.m. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
(*2010 lyric change: At 7 p.m., it grew dark, it was then he said,)
"Fellas, it's been good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew were in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does any one 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 'er.
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 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!"

http://www.shipwreckmuseum.com Link to the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum

Crew Names [Listed Alphabetially] of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Michael E. Armagost 37 Third Mate Iron River, Wisconsin
Frederick J. Beetcher 56 Porter Superior, Wisconsin
Thomas D. Bentsen 23 Oiler St. Joseph, Michigan
Edward F. Bindon 47 First Assistant Engineer Fairport Harbor, Ohio
Thomas D. Borgeson 41 Maintenance Man Duluth, Minnesota
Oliver J. Champeau 41 Third Assistant Engineer Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin
Nolan S. Church 55 Porter Silver Bay, Minnesota
Ransom E. Cundy 53 Watchman Superior, Wisconsin
Thomas E. Edwards 50 Second Assistant Engineer Oregon,
Ohio Russell G. Haskell 40 Second Assistant Engineer Millbury, Ohio
George J. Holl 60 Chief Engineer Cabot, Pennsylvania
Bruce L. Hudson 22 Deck Hand North Olmsted Ohio
Allen G. Kalmon 43 Second Cook Washburn, Wisconsin
Gordon F. MacLellan 30 Wiper Clearwater, Florida
Joseph W. Mazes 59 Special Maintenance Man Ashland, Wisconsin
John H. McCarthy 62 First Mate Bay Village, Ohio
Ernest M. McSorley 63 Captain Toledo, Ohio
Eugene W. O’Brien 50 Wheelsman Toledo, Ohio
Karl A. Peckol 20 Watchman Ashtabula, Ohio
John J. Poviach 59 Wheelsman Bradenton, Florida
James A. Pratt 44 Second Mate Lakewood, Ohio
Robert C. Rafferty 62 Steward Toledo, Ohio
Paul M. Rippa 22 Deck Hand Ashtabula, Ohio
John D. Simmons 63 Wheelsman Ashland, Wisconsin
William J. Spengler 59 Watchman Toledo, Ohio
Mark A. Thomas 21 Deck Hand Richmond Heights, Ohio
Ralph G. Walton 58 Oiler Fremont, Ohio
David E. Weiss 22 Cadet Agoura, California
Blaine H. Wilhelm 52 Oiler Moquah, Wisconsin

U.S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald

September 24, 1958-November 10, 1975