11/12/2025
I was 4 years old on November 10, 1975. Too young to have memories of that day itself, but my parents never forgot how enthralled I was by any and all footage broadcast on television. I had an unexplainable, tugging passion for the Edmund Fitzgerald at such a young age. They told that story the rest of their lives.
My elementary self would run to the television if I heard her name. All newspaper issues from over the years were kept if they contained any story about her. And any documentaries from 12 years old forward were recorded on VHS after my grandparents bought the first VCR owned by anyone in our family.
In high school and college my book collection grew. Some for me, and others for my future students, as I worked on my teaching degree. They would be used in my classroom whenever I could incorporate a lesson into English or science.
Adulthood came and the first home I called my own had an entire hallway and living room dedicated to all of the artwork I had acquired. From photography of Superior’s wave action that day, to black & whites of her launch, paintings from local artists, Budweiser bar mirrors featuring her in their freighter series, a photo of the father of our dear family friend who was fishing on the St Mary’s River with the Fitz passing in the background, and my most coveted pairing of paintings signed by their artist, David Conklin, and Gordon Lightfoot himself. I was blessed to see Gordon in concert three times and talk with him after two of them. When my mother was getting rid of her extensive 8 track collection, Gordon Lightfoot’s were the only ones we kept. They now have his autographs on them. In more recent years, when Great Lakes Brewing Company bottled a Porter Ale in her honor, I put my husband on a mission to find a couple 6 packs in his travels but I found very quickly that because I am not a beer drinker, I could not stomach the contents, so carefully removing the caps to put them back in place after emptying the bottles in the drain was not painful at all because it was the box and bottles that were most important to me. One set was for home, and the other for the family cottage on northern Lake Huron.
At 24, I cried while watching her bell surface, as well as seeing some of the family members place that wreath of remembrance upon the water above her. And when I was finally able to see her bell in person, I stood before it and wept. The photo I took of the bell that day through the glass wasn’t spectacular but nonetheless, it hung in my classroom and was used to help tell the story of who I am when my students and I spent intentional time getting to know each other at the beginning of every school year. This prompted one student to gift me a model of the Fitz he had made in wood shop class, complete with a smoke stack made from a used cigarette butt. I was grateful for both of us that I did not notice that small detail until he had left my classroom, as my laughter may have come across the wrong way. As rough as she is, I still own that model.
Spending summers in the EUP on Lake Huron, it should not have taken me so long to visit the Valley Camp Museum Ship but when I finally did, that experience shook me more than I could have ever imagined. I’m grateful that I was given time alone. I walked the perimeter of the room and read every story about every one of the men and I wept like the day I saw her bell surface. My scalp tingled the majority of my time there as if all of their spirits were present with me. I have never been able to explain the strong connection I have felt for all of the souls of these men but I cannot deny that something connects me spiritually.
Over the course of my entire teaching career, which is half of these 50 years, I was never able, but I made a promise to myself that someday I would attend one of the memorials at Whitefish Point to pay my respects. This year, when finding out last minute that there was to be a public event, I scurried to get things in place so that I could go. Thanks to my husband for being able to hold things down at home, I made the drive north with the intent on staying at our own place the night before, which is 90 miles shy of Whitefish Point. But something was bothering me, knowing that limited parking would force some to walk up to 2+ miles just to get to the ceremony, and seeing comments all over social media of how far folks were planning on coming from, I decided that continuing on for the last 90 miles and sleeping in my car would be the only way to ensure I was able to secure a spot close to the museum. Away I went with a small mattress, pillows, and blankets, which helped, but with temps in the teens to low 20’s that night, I did have to run my vehicle on and off throughout the night. I had secured the closest spot to the beach out in front of the lighthouse and by morning learned that the only other vehicles in the parking lot were not others with the same idea as I, but rather, family members of the Fitzgerald’s crew who were staying on the grounds for the day’s events. News crews woke me up shortly before 6:00am as they were scurrying to set up on the beach before the sun crested above Lake Superior’s horizon. I fell back asleep for a bit until other people started to arrive and walk the grounds.
After bundling up in 4 layers of warmth, I headed to the beach with my camera. My first beautiful sight was seeing the sun illuminate the east side of the lighthouse, but watching the sun rise over Lake Superior on this morning, 50 years to the day that the Fitzgerald sank was quite profound. I sat at the shore’s edge while the waves crashed into the newly washed up piles of vibrant colored rocks and reflected about the 29 men and their families that were forever changed 50 years ago. For a short while I was the only person on the beach and it felt so powerful. I met a new friend who had also taken the trip by herself and we conquered the rest of the day together with some rock hounding, photography, visit to the beach memorial, and time in the gift shop. While in the gift shop, I recognized the daughter of one of the crew members and approached her with reluctance, as I didn’t want to take up her time, but I had brought a small gift for each family with a letter explaining why. Instead of having the museum director hand these out, she was happy to do so. But for the next half hour or so, we received a gift far greater than I could ever give any of these families. We were introduced, one by one to other family members. Daughters, nieces, sisters, nephews, of the crew that had been lost 50 years ago. They gave us their time, telling us their stories, while we cried and hugged each other. This experience has forever changed me and how I look at the items of memorabilia in my home that were already special to me. They are now priceless and more meaningful than ever.
As the morning passed into afternoon, people began filling the grounds and gathering around at the focal point of the ceremony; the replica bell that was wheeled out onto the grounds earlier in the morning. By the time the ceremony began there were approximately 3,000 people who had gathered, with some walking close to 2 miles to get onto the grounds. I even had the incredible coincidence of placing myself right next to acquaintances from my hometown who had been looking out for me as their son thought I might be there. I had no idea when we chose that location to sit, that it would be next to someone who would know me and recognize me after nearly 40 years. What great conversations we had while waiting for the program to begin.
It was cold, cloudy, and on occasion, a few flurries fell from the sky. But toward the end of the singing of the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald the clouds parted, creating an opening right where the sun was located and it shined through like a lighthouse beacon. We were all looking at each other in disbelief. It was so prophetic.
As the day ended for us, we walked out to the beach for one last look at Lake Superior, and as we crested the sand dune, we were greeted by the sight of a freighter. It was the only one we saw that day and it felt like it was passing by to pay its respects to the Fitzgerald. It was the perfect closing to a day which felt like the chapter out of a book that was 50 years in the making like so many other things that day.
I leave you with one of my favorite quotes spoken a couple times that day...
“Gordon did make it to the Pearly Gates and when he got there St. Peter was waiting at the podium and he said, ‘Come on in Gordon, bring your guitar. We’ve got 29 men up here from a ship. They’re pretty anxious to meet you.’ ” Mike Fornes, from the Gordon Lightfoot Tribute Band.
