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11/09/13 Weekend Grif.Net – Memories of November 10, 1975

11/09/13 Weekend Grif.Net – Memories of November 10, 1975

In the summer of 1960, my father took our family on a camping trip in the
Upper Peninsula of Michigan. He wanted to see the rugged beauty of that
region with special focus on 3 places he had wanted to share with us: (1)
The newly-opened Mackinac Bridge that rivaled the Golden Gate; (2) Mackinac
Island, and (3) the Soo Locks. Driving the bridge and taking the ferry to
spend a day immersed in history in the horses-only island were a thrill.
Looking at a long concrete “lock” was anti-climactic at best.

But as we climbed the observation platform, it was announced that a huge
(largest of the inland fleet) taconite iron-ore carrier was coming into
Whitefish Bay and would be traversing the canal on her way to the steel
mills supplying Detroit’s auto plants. I remember mom making baloney and
cheese sandwiches for us kids as we romped and played and waited.

But oh, the wait was worthwhile. The magnificent Edmund Fitzgerald slowly
came gliding almost effortlessly down the canal into the lock. It was HUGE.
Being from Minnesota, I had seen ships like this in Duluth Harbor, but only
from a great distance. Here we could almost reach out and touch this
powerful creation.

Since I was now in 7th grade (and almost grown up), I laid my plans to
“enlist” and head off into mythical adventure around the world on some giant
ship. But it was getting late and we had miles to go, so my reverie was
interrupted and the locks of the Soo were soon forgotten in the rear view
mirror.

Fast forward 15 years and during a hurricane-force November storm on Lake
Superior, the SS Edmund Fitzgerald’s name again crossed the nation’s radar.
To say I was stunned and shocked at the mysterious sinking of this Great
Lakes Freighter (and loss of all 29 crew members) is understatement.
November 10 is always a day of sad loss, dredging up something from the icy
depths of my youth.

Later that month, Gordon Lightfoot of Toronto, Canada, inspired by this
tragedy, summed up the story in lyric and melody that still haunts me.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on 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., it grew dark, it was then he said,
“Fellas, it’s bin good t’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 ‘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!”

~~
Dr Bob Griffin
[email protected] www.grif.net
“Jesus Knows Me, This I Love!”