Ohioans Lost on the Edmund Fitzgerald

The wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald is a maritime tragedy known to many.  The sinking of this mighty Great Lakes freighter in November, 1975, remains fresh in our memories.  The reason, however, is more personal than some Ohioans know.  For many of our friends and neighbors, this disaster wasn’t just about a legendary ship lost at sea.  This calamity meant the loss of fellow Ohioans -- fathers, brothers, friends and husbands.  

Half of the Fitz’s crew called Ohio home.

Come hear the little-known life stories of some of these Ohioans, who lost their lives beneath Superior’s waves.  Come hear the tales of loss and grief which remain.  

But, most of all, come learn why this legend still calls us to ride the waves fate brings.

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And as always, keep wondering… 

Transcript

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Hello and welcome to Ohio folklore. I'm your host Melissa Davies. Today we're exploring one Midwestern folk legend with a reputation so big, it's entered American pop culture. That's thanks to one folk music artist Gordon Lightfoot and his 1976 hit single that immortalize the tale. Normally, when we think of shipwrecks, we tend to conjure an image of swashbuckling one eyed pirates during the open seas, pillaging unsuspecting merchant ships on their journeys home. Such tales from centuries ago are easy to find in the history books. These stories are prime material for feature length movies, think of Jack Sparrow and the Pirates of the Caribbean fame. There's a kind of romance attached to tales of the sea. There's something compelling in the primal conflict of man against nature at its barest. It takes a certain kind of courage for we humans, creatures evolved to live on land, to throw caution to the wind, quite literally, and shove off into the waves. I'm talking about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. It was one glorious sunfilled Day on November 17 1975. This kind of pleasant weather was unusual for this late in the fall. It was though God Himself had blessed the crowd of more than 400 mourners, who gathered at the Bayview naval Armory in Toledo. They came together at this place situated at the mouth of the Maumee river, to feel close to those souls who'd been lost just yards away from where they stood ran waters that would soon empty into Erie. There, the rain that had fallen on Ohio's fields and forests would eventually commingle with water flowing from lakes Huron, Michigan, and superior. No doubt some of those waters had fallen from the angry clouds that had gathered over Lake Superior a week earlier. Bringing near hurricane force winds and waves as high as 35 feet. This Tempest turned to season crew and their behemoths or freighter into a child's bathtub toy. As the crowd stared out across the sea, alone, bugler pointed his horn to the sky, playing taps, a kind of musical prayer of honor and grief. The names of 29 loss crewmen read aloud, weighed heavy in the hearts of those gathered there. The Reverend Robert Armstrong chaplain of the Toledo port, proclaimed that the crew men were quote, lost at sea, but found by God. Those who mourned weren't mourning a group of strangers know these mourners were sons and daughters, siblings, parents and friends of the 14 Ohioans who comprised half of the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald, with tear stained faces. They watched as a ceremonial wreath was loaded onto a Coast Guard vessel as it sailed down the mommy, a docked freighter. The USS Toledo told her rebel 29 times, her crew and full dress uniforms, stood at attention. The vessel sailed on into mommy Bay, and then further into open waters, before surrendering the race to this wells beneath her. The Edmund Fitzgerald nicknamed the Toledo Express for her frequent stops in the port city, was the largest freighter on the lakes when she launched in 1958. Today, she holds claim as the largest Great Lakes shipwreck, resting and dark still waters at the bottom of Lake Superior. Many of you, I'm sure have heard of this maritime tragedy. Like I mentioned, it's inspired songs, documentaries, an entire museums for that matter. However, not many of us know of the deep connections this ship and her crew had to Ohio. Like most topics on Ohio folklore episodes, I've learned new and surprising details during the course of my research details that offer special insight into our history, our hopes and our vulnerabilities as Ohioans. So sit back in the captain's chair of your imagination take a voyage with me. We'll be sailing back through a handful of decades, to a not so distant time in place when we confronted nature's fury and our limitations and overcoming it. By early morning of November 9 1975, the Edmund Fitzgerald was moored at a railroad dock in Wisconsin, and loaded with 26,000 tons of taconite pellets. She'd been contracted to haul the iron ore to zag Island and industrial complex just a little ways down the Detroit River. It was a voyage she'd taken hundreds of times, having frequented shipping lanes all throughout the Great Lakes and her then 17 year lifespan. By mid afternoon, she'd been cleared to set sail. This despite Gale Warnings for the region that she was scheduled to sail straight into. Reaching out into open seas to Fitz was spotted by another freighter, the Arthur M Anderson. These two vessels had charted the same course on that day. The Andersons Captain Jesse Cooper, radial de fits on seeing her. He offered to follow behind about 15 miles in tow. As the two freighters ventured into graying skies and foaming waves. They'd keep in frequent radio contact as a measure of safety and support. The going was slow as the vessels sailed onward, each Captain kept close measure of the wind and the waves and made reports to the other on what they were facing. By 330. The next morning, November 10, Captain McSorley of the Fitzgerald, radio the Anderson noting he'd sustained topside damage, including a fence rail down and vents last to the waves. Worst of all, the Fitz had started to list a clear sign the hall was taking on water. The good news was that the pumps were in working order, and the captain was sure the list would soon be corrected. Yet half an hour later, Captain McSorley would radio again to inform the Anderson that they'd lost both radars and we're sailing blindly into angry waves. Captain Cooper promised to keep the Fitzgerald advised of her position. Around 530 That night, the Fitz made radio contact but the avva force a Swedish ocean freighter, as her captain asked for an update on the weather conditions, the fittest Captain McSorley was heard screaming for his crew to stay off the deck. After a quick apology for his lack of composure. He explained to the AVID force that their list had worsened considerably that they'd lost both radars and that they'd been taking on heavy water. It was one of the worst sees the captain had ever seen in his 44 year career. By 7pm, the Anderson was still following the FITS and had closed the distance to about 10 miles. She'd been struck by two monster waves that had damaged a lifeboat beyond repair. Checking in once more, Captain Cooper asked how the fits his crew was holding up. We're holding our own came Captain McSorley's reply. It was the last word anyone would hear from the ill fated ship now lost in Legend. Within 30 minutes of her last radio transmission, the Edmund Fitzgerald disappeared both visually and on radar. Although the Anderson was only 10 miles behind her, the catastrophic event that led to her sinking must have happened with such a speed and force that it wasn't even possible for the crew of the Anderson to observe it. It's assumed the Fitz had entered a squall, which shielded it from radar detection as she sank. It was dark, and a storm was raging. No doubt the Anderson's crew was preoccupied with battling the storm for themselves. Within moments of recognizing that the Fitz had disappeared, the Anderson radioed the Coast Guard. They responded that they had no ships available to send, as countless requests for emergency assistance had been made by other vessels. They advise the crew of the Anderson to begin searching for survivors as best they could. Exhausted and battered from the storm. The Anderson crew agreed to make a rescue attempt sailing on toward the last spot where they'd seen the fits, they'd find to empty damaged lifeboats, amongst superiors lashing waves and torrential skies. In the days that followed the fifth sudden disappearance in Canadian waters near Sioux Sainte Marie, Ontario, a frenzied search for her remains ensued. Coast Guard officials openly acknowledged that hopes were slim. Lake Superior has long had a reputation of laying claim to victims for good. Without a lie fest. Those who drowned beneath the frigid surface sank like a rock. With temperatures nearing freezing at the bottom. Bodies rarely rise to the surface on their own. In all likelihood, the remains of her crew rested on the lake bed, along with 26,000 tons of iron ore. Six months after her sinking in May 1976, the remains of the Edmund Fitzgerald would finally be found under 530 feet of Canadian waters. Her final resting place was discovered by an unmanned naval recovery vehicle 253 feet of her bow is very deep into the lake bed. A 27 foot draft mark shows the force of carried on finally hitting the bottom. The stern now a separate 276 foot segment lies upside down nearly two football fields away 200 feet of the ship's midsection is missing, presumed broken to pieces in the violence of the sinking and washed away. thick sheets of steel that once line the ships out or haul are torn and crumpled like paper. The exact cause of the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald is still debated and remains a mystery. But the legend is known the world over. Few Ohioans are aware however, that half the crew called our state home these men now names included on the list of 29 sailors had lives that were rich and complex. Their stories have been swept up in the monumental events of their deaths. For a good number of them, I discovered details of their lives that proved poignant and at points heartbreaking. It's for that reason that I'll devote the next segment to the lives of these Ohioans come hear their stories. Born in Leeds, Ontario in 1912, Captain Ernest McSorely would emigrate to Ogdensburg New York with his family when he was only 11 years old. Being so close to the St. Lawrence Seaway, he became enamored with the nautical lifestyle. He would take his first job at sea as a deckhand at the ripe old age of 18 years. Through years of hard labor, and a willingness to work his way up through the ranks. He eventually became the youngest captain of the freighters on the lake. By 1972. He'd been given the company's flagship, the Fitzgerald. Since the ship frequented Toledo Harbor, he decided to make the city his land based home around 1943. He and his wife would purchase the house that still stands at 4302 West Bancroft Street. He didn't spend that much time there. However, he loved the sea so much that he was known to stay on board, even during periods of sickness, staying out to sea as much as 10 months of the year. When the Fitz went down in 1975 63 year old McSorley's career had spanned 44 years, he had planned to retire at the end of the season. One of McSorley's closest friends and neighbors, a Mr. Henry Merce Jr. was quoted in the press describing the captain as quote, always in control. He was never in trouble because he could always take care of himself. Merced knew McSorley as a serious and responsible leader. He didn't drink. He didn't gamble. He'd been one of the finest people murse ever knew. 50 year old Eugene O'Brien served as the fitness wheelman those who knew him well called him the Great Lakes gambler, on account of his skills as a card shark, passing his leisure time on board by scoring wins against his shipmates. This sailor called Toledo home. His nautical career had saved him from a life of working in the city's famous glass factories. All told, he had navigated ships up and down the Great Lakes for about 30 years. He'd survived at least three hellacious storms before that fateful night in November 1975. A close friend of his was quoted in the press is saying that he quote, never expressed any fear on the lakes, and that he always looked at the happy side of things. O'Brien was scheduled to work the evening shift that fateful night and was likely inside the pilot house. When she sank. He was set to begin a week's vacation, following what turned out to be the Fritz's final voyage. 59 year old William Spangler also up to Leto served as one of the ships watchmans. It was his duty to keep surveillance of the seas, staying vigilant as to the risks posed by smaller vessels and other dangers. He also had to ensure the navigational instruments ran with accuracy, to maintain safety and security of all onboard. By 1975, Spangler had enjoyed a 25 year career on the lakes, but that wasn't the most remarkable chapter in his life. Before working on freighters, Spangler had served 15 years in the US Navy. He enlisted directly after graduating high school, and the small Northwestern Ohio village of Archibold. On December 7 1941, he'd been stationed on the USS Maryland as a boatswain and Hawaii's Pearl Harbor. She'd been anchored next to the USS Arizona, the ship whose remains no lie and monument to the devastating Japanese attack. Spangler miraculously survived the bombs and the fire, he managed to extract himself from the wreckage. When so many of his shipmates did not. He'd spent some time in a wheelchair, nursing himself back to health, before setting sail once more on the open sea. Spangler survived the worst men can thrust upon other men, only to succumb to the fates, doled by mother nature. Two of the youngest man last word from Ashtabula, Carl Pakal, and Paul Reba in their early 20s. They each held great promise. Peko was a gifted musician, placing first chair in his high school band as a clarinetist, but don't let that fool you. And true 1970s style. He was also in a rock band with friends. As much passion as he had for music. He just couldn't fake the brash rock'n'roll persona people expected of him. He was quick to blush with the slightest bit of attention turned toward Him. Those who knew him and loved him, noted his gentle manner and quiet ways. faculty position on board was that of a watchman. He taken the job solely as a means to save up for college. The work was steady, and it paid well. Unlike so many of the veteran sailors, he wasn't enamored of the sea. It was a means to an end for him. Sadly, an end he never got the chance to explore. PECOLA and his fellow ash tubulin Paul Ripa visited their families when the Fitz docked in their Lakeside hometown. 22 year old Rebecca was a deckhand. He'd recently transferred to the Fitz from the Ashland. He had completed his freshman year at Wilmington College, and played half back on the football team. He had planned on a career in nursing that he had heard the sea calling him he'd left college to sign up for the Merchant Marines. He was a serious man of strict face. While off duty, his crewmates would often spot him with Bible in hand, reading the word with great intention. Perhaps his faith was a comfort to him on that final day, as the waves overcame them. 22 year old Bruce Hudson was a deckhand from North Olmsted near Cleveland. He was a student at The Ohio State University in Columbus and had taken the job to help pay tuition. He dreamed of becoming a journalist. He was looking forward to the close of the shipping season, so he could return to the books. Although he was a serious student, he still knew how to have fun. He loved anything on wheels. The income provided by his work on the fits made him the envy of his peers. They pined for his 19 Seven For cherry red Dodge Challenger, he'd had the car packed and ready to go on disembarking from this final voyage. He and a crew mate were set for a road trip to California. As a prized souvenir, Bruce Hudson would take home an old chart that plotted the fits his previous route through the legs. His mother recalled seeing it lying on the dining room table. On the night, she'd gotten word that the ship had found trouble. She was later quoted saying that the morning that I heard the news on my way to work, I thought that it couldn't be the Fitzgerald is just too big. But unfortunately, they said it was the Edmund Fitzgerald, and there were no survivors. On describing one of their last conversations, she would later tell a reporter somehow, we ended up talking about the danger of his motorcycle riding. I remember he said he would never die on the motorcycle. He said when he died, it would be in a way that the whole world would know it. The ship's 62 year old Cook was to lead when Robert Rafferty, like all good cooks. He was jolly, kind and a bit rotund. He wore a fedora on his bald head, and was just as at ease cooking for his small family. As for a crew of nearly 30 strapping men. He'd learned the trade from his own father, who'd also been a cook for the ships on the Great Lakes. The fits was not Rafferty ship, but by an awful twist of fate, the fits his regular Cook had to stay ashore on account of bleeding stomach ulcers. Three weeks before the disaster struck. The shipping company had called up Rafferty and offered extra compensation. If he agreed to transfer to the feds. He wasn't too keen on the idea, but eventually accepted it. He'd be home for a good stretch after finishing this last voyage, and could spend some quality time with family. The last correspondence he'd sent home to his wife was a postcard that read should be home by the eighth or ninth, however, nothing is certain. 40 year old Rasul Haskell served as the ship's second assistant engineer, he held for Millbury, a small village southeast of Toledo, sailing ran and the Haskell family veins. His brother Eugene had recently retired from a position aboard the Fitz and had actually gotten Russel the job. This poor man was wracked with guilt on learning the awful news. In truth, he had no need for the guilt, as both sons had been following in their father's footsteps. He had also retired from a career on the lakes. 58 year old Fremont man, Ralph Walton, served as the ship's oiler, meaning he operated and maintained the ship's propulsion systems. Many members of his extended family had made their livings staffing freighters on the lakes. Ralph or grant, as he preferred, had been telling his wife for the previous two years of his planned retirement. Sadly, the 20 year veteran of Great Lakes shipping fame, he would never get to experience it. Shortly before the disaster, he'd received a transfer from another freighter, the Ashland. In a newspaper article published two days after the tragedy, his wife acknowledged that she had lost hope for his safe return. This was his life. He loved that boat. It was his second home. The painful grief over the sudden loss of the Edmund Fitzgerald and her crew was keenly felt in the days and weeks following the tragedy. That's of course to be expected. What's truly unique about this disaster, however, is the way in which such grief endures. Yet today, when reminders of the wreck surface, a collective sadness dalda washes over us. memorial services are still held on the anniversary of the wreck. Mourners gather yet again to remember the sailors, each man with hopes, dreams and loving family members. Many were Ohioans, some young, some experienced veteran sailors in the twilight of their careers. They were our fathers, husbands, brothers and friends and will forever remain So what is it about this unique piece of maritime history that has elevated the story to legendary status? How has the tale taken root and our collective unconscious, as part and parcel of who we are. There's something deeply meaningful about the narrative that speaks to the way in which we view ourselves. Every good piece of folklore inspires this kind of introspection. There's something elemental about our daring nature as humans, about our willingness to test the fates. It's this kind of courage in the face of uncertainty that resonates with us all. It grabs hold of our imaginations, and our own desire to test the limits of our endurance. We admire those with the fortitude to push onward into the unknown. None of us know when life's next storm will envelop us. The most we can do is sail onward. Our dreams propelling us forward. We must wrestle with whatever the fates provide. May we do it with brave hearts and passion for the task? This concludes today's episode on the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. I hope you've enjoyed it. If so, please consider writing a review on your chosen podcast platform. You can find Ohio folklore at Ohio folklore.com And on Facebook. And as always, keep wondering