The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
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 - 26,000 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 the 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 ships bell rang
Could it be the North Wind they’d been feeling.
The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the Captain did, too,
T’was the witch of November come stealing.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashing
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane West Wind
When supper time came the old cook came on deck
Saying fellows it’s too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main hatchway caved in
He said fellas it’s been good to know ya.
The Captain wired in he had water coming 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.
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the ruins 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 29 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 say, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early.
Gordon Lightfoot -
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q0DqPSF2fyo
Brings back memories... was one of my childhood favorites growing up in Michigan.
I just got done reading “The Night The Fitz Went Down” by Dudley Paquette.
He was an ore boat captain and was out on the lake that night. He left Superior only a few hours after the Fitzgerald did.
He had a suspicion that the approaching storm was gonna be much worse that what the Weather Service was forecasting. He stayed along the North Shore and temporarily laid up in the harbor at Thunder Bay. His ship, the Wilfred Sykes, went back on to the lake as thewind shifted from the northwest. He knew it’d be rough but he thought that with the wind at their back, that they’d have a safer trip. He was wrong.
In short, he believes that negligence on the part of Captain McSorley, led to the Fitzgerald sinking. He believes, on the basis of people he spoke to who had served on the Fitzgerald as well as supporting documentation that the ship was fatally flawed because of improper construction and that Captain McSorley disregarded the weather warnings.
All in all, it’s an interesting book. A really interesting book.
Thanks Gordon---
..For telling the story so well...
Garde la Foi, mes amis! Nous nous sommes les sauveurs de la République! Maintenant et Toujours!
(Keep the Faith, my friends! We are the saviors of the Republic! Now and Forever!)
LonePalm, le Républicain du verre cassé (The Broken Glass Republican)