Joined: 13 Jul 2000
Location: McMinnville,OR USA
|Posted: Wed Jul 19, 2000 12:47 pm Post subject: The Wreck of the Edmond Fiztgerald
|I hope I don't get in BIG TROUBLE for this but..... Annie M emailed this to ME and I thought this would be awesome for everyone to read. I just couldn't beleave the simularities. Here goes......
While I was watching "The Perfect Storm", several lines from the following song kept running through my mind, during the scenes at sea.
I first heard this song about 23 years ago, when I was in college, and I still have the album.
THE WRECK OF THE EDMOND FITZGERALD
by Gordon Lightfoot
(An account of the giant ore carrier Edmond Ftzgerald, which sank in Lake Superior in November 1975)
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, 26,000 tons more than the Edmond 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 tattletale sound, and a wave broke over the railing,
And every 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 to feed ya."
At 7 p.m., the main hatchway caved in. He said, "Fellas, it's been good to 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 it's lights went out of sight, came the wreck of the Edmond 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 15 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 further 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 Edmond Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on, from the Chippewa on down, of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee;
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead when the gales of November come early.
(from the Summertime Dream album,
Gordon Lightfoot, 1976.)