The Edmund Fitzgerald
This may end up being a rare deep dive into my personal psyche that doesn’t go public too often, as today marks the anniversary of the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald… and oddly, that means something to me.
You probably know the name more for the haunting Gordon Lightfoot song, aptly named “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”. This nautical tune tells the tale of a freighter crossing Lake Superior in November, a month known for its unpredictable early winter storms.
The ship, one of the largest freighters on the lake, leaves port fully loaded with a crew of 29 – including the captain who is to retire after this last voyage (sounds like I’m setting up for a movie). Half way across the lake, the storm intensified with wind gusts up to 70 knots and swells up to 30 feet. The Fitzgerald was in constant contact with other vessels weathering the same storm until it just vanished within minutes. No mayday, no radio for help. It went that fast. All 29 on board perished, and nobody knows exactly what happened.
I can’t say that I’m terrified of water. I enjoy swimming, boating, and playing in ocean waves. But I can say that I have a deep respect for water. When I feel the tide pulling on my legs, or a strong current in the river, or watch winter storm waves on the Oregon coast, I’m acutely aware of the powerful forces present, and I have no desire to mess with them.
But for me, the true fear I have is when there is a man-made element thrown into the mix… propellers, concrete, turbines, or even just a submerged vehicle or the bottom of a pier or boat. Don’t even get me started on submarines. Perhaps I feel it is man’s foolish attempt at mastering control over this element, and my respect for the power that can take that control back at any time. We don’t belong there.
For this reason, shipwrecks have always fascinated and terrified me. Mix this with an iconic nautical song by Gordon Lightfoot from my favorite era of music, and it resonates in my soul. So naturally, when the documentary appeared on tv one day, I couldn’t help but pay attention. Seeing this giant ship broken in pieces on the lake bed and the theories of how it may have broken in half before it submerged was frightening. I felt for the crew and the terror in their last moments. What an awful and powerful way to leave this world.
I tend to overthink things. For those of you that know me, there was probably a bit of a “LOL” reaction there. My brain has to work things over…and over… and over… until I have actually lived every possible outcome. And I was in the middle of this and my thoughts on this event when my parents arrived for a visit.
I love talking these kinds of things over with my dad. My father is a retired USAF Lt. Colonel. He was a bombing navigator for B-52s in the 70s and 80s, then was the Director of Navigation and instructor during the introduction of the B-1 Bombers at Ellsworth AFB in the late 80s.
After his retirement, he became my Algebra and Physics instructor at Dubois High School in Wyoming where I graduated. He has a lot of insight and world knowledge and a dry sense of humor, so our conversations are rarely boring.
So I told my dad this story of the Edmund Fitzgerald, and he listened, as he does, like he had never heard it before. This is the same way he listened when I told him, as a child, about this creepy song I found called “Hotel California” – and he had me tell him all about what I thought it was about as he sat with the smallest smirk on his face.
After I told him this haunting tale, he got that same look that I had come to recognize over the years. He sat back and he said, “The night that ship went down, we were doing training exercises over the Great Lakes. I received a transmission asking me to do a sweep of Lake Superior looking for a vessel, and I had to report there wasn’t anything there.”
Deadpan Look.
What?
My father… my own dad… was involved in the search for The Edmund Fitzgerald. That’s it. This is now a part of me.
I understand this connection I have is odd, and that very few people will understand it or appreciate it. It’s weird. But it’s there. And every year when this anniversary comes up, I take pause. And when the song comes on at The Atom, I will tell the story to anyone that hasn’t heard it…or is willing to listen again.
My husband has embraced these quirky things I glom on to, and he goes the extra mile – as his love language is gifts – and mine is receiving gifts. Last year he searched and researched and searched some more, and managed to find a print of The Edmund Fitzgerald that he bought from a Shipwreck Museum in Michigan – signed by the artist, David Conklin, and (heart skips a beat) Gordon Lightfoot.
It is one of my prized possessions – right up there with my 10th Anniversary ring – once owned by Elvis Presley – but that’s another story.
Today, I remember the Edmund Fitzgerald and the crew of 29 that perished on that terrible night in November of 1975… exactly nine months before the one-day owner of The Atom Bistro was born. That realization was made not too long ago – and for obvious reasons, I don’t let myself overthink that one.
Here’s to the crew and the ship lost that fateful night, and the powerful reminder that there are natural forces in this world that will never be fully mastered.
