The Edmund Fitzgerald

The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald
©1976 by Gordon Lightfoot and Moose Music, Ltd.

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 seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; 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!"

I've always been fascinated by this song. I can remember listening to it as a child and feeling so sorry for the crew and their families. How terrible it must have been for them. As an adult I've studied the events and watched many documentaries on the wreck. As with most, the tragedy didn't have to occur. Human error played a huge role in the fate of the crew. Regardless, it's still fascinating to learn about it.

How amazing just how quickly things can "go south" so to speak. The crew knew they were in trouble, however, even up until a short time before they disappeared it doesn't seem they realized just how bad the situation truly was. They were in communication with ships in the area... no one got to them in time. I'm not certain it would have mattered even if they had.

A silent, watery grave.

Twenty-nine men lost their lives on November 10, 1975. The youngest was 20; the oldest was 63 years old.

The Memorial Site... twenty nine lanterns surround an anchor. Perhaps someday I'll get there to see it with my own eyes.