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[SEAGULLS SQUAWKING] SPEAKER 1: She was the queen of the Lake Carriers. She held the cargo records. She had excellent speed. She was under veteran captain Ernest M. McSorley, a 44-year seaman with Oglebay Norton. And here was our finest ship.

The story begins on a beautiful Indian summer day here at Duluth Superior, when the Fitzgerald lay over at the Allary's docks loading taconite pellets. She took on less than her full capacity, about 26,616 tons, pulled out of Superior Harbor in beautiful weather at 1:15 PM and sailed on what presumably would be a normal voyage.

However, the Weather Bureau had been charting a major storm moving diagonally across the center portion of the country, originating in the Oklahoma panhandle. And six hours after the fits sailed, the Weather Bureau raised gale warnings, meaning winds up to 48 miles an hour, and there could be some sleet or there could be some snow.

The storm began to hit the Lakehead about 6:00 PM. Initially, a little drizzle, then the wind came up. By 8:00 PM, some slushy snow, but the storm didn't amount to anything at Duluth Superior really. However, at 1:00 AM, the Fitzgerald radioed her home office when she was northwest of Keweenaw Point, reporting that she was encountering winds of 52 miles an hour and 10 foot waves, but she was doing fine.

At 7:00 AM the next morning, when she was due north of Copper Harbor, Michigan, in Keweenaw Point, she again reported. This time, the winds had dropped to 35 miles an hour, but the waves were still 10 feet high. In the mean time, the Weather Bureau had some serious misconceptions.

They first thought the storm might miss Lake Superior, but by 7:00 AM the following morning, it was evident that the Storm Center would pass over Marquette, Michigan, heading Northeast to Ontario. And as the stations reported on the Michigan Wisconsin border, a very serious low barometric reading noted 29.24. That indicates a storm of very serious intensity.

The captains of five vessels, the Fitzgerald and the lead, were ordered to proceed to the extreme northern segment of Lake Superior, off the Slate Islands, and then very slowly, to move the rest of that morning and early afternoon down toward Whitefish. Well, these captains did, as did.

The Fitzgerald was in the lead, followed by 12 miles by the 767 foot steel corporation's Anderson. Things seemed to be going well until about 3:30 PM, just as the Fitzgerald was North of Caribou Island, then the dire information flashed back to the Anderson.

From Captain McSorley, "something heavy has swept my decks. I have lost deck rail. I have lost two vent tops. I'm taking water, and the ship has a list."

Well, Captain Cooper, skipper of the Anderson, immediately flashed back, "well, are your pumps on?" The answer came back, "both of them." Now, that indicates pumping capacity of 14,000 gallons a minute was in full operation, indicating a sizable breach of some kind in the Fitz's hull.

30 minutes later, some more bad news. "My radars have been carried away. Can you navigate for me?" And Captain Cooper of the Anderson said, "yes." For the last three hours plus of the Fitz life, therefore, she would be navigated from the Anderson, positioned about 12 miles astern or behind.

The sea was getting progressively rougher, the weather darkening, but he could not see Whitefish Point light. McSorley was asking, "where is Whitefish Point light? Any ship in the vicinity of Whitefish Point? Is that light on?"

Then he called Coast Guard at Grand Marais. Grand Marais flashed the Sioux and the answer came back, "sorry, lighthouse is out. This allegedly foolproof lighthouse and direction finder had failed right at the heart of the storm, probably because of the terrible pounding of the waves."

Half an hour later, the light comes on. But then Captain McSorley makes a rather dire comment. "I'm in a terrible sea, the worst I've ever seen." And he had sailed for 44 years.

Nothing much beyond that, except the Anderson had received no progress report on the Fitz. So he flashes the Fitz, "McSorley, how are you doing?" "We're going along like an old shoe, or we're holding our own." This approximately 7:10 PM on the night of November 10th.

At that point, a gigantic snow squall intervened, and you had a whiteout over the Eastern lake. This remained for approximately six to eight minutes. When the snow lifted, the forward crew of the Anderson could see no lights of the Fitz.

There was no image on the radar, no answer to the radio hail. The Fitzgerald had gone down. Not a single survivor.

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

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[SEAGULLS SQUAWKING]