Happy Tuesday, My Friend!
Do you happen to remember what you were doing, where you were 50 years ago today? That is, assuming you were around then! We can all recall where we were when the events of September 11, 2001, occurred. And maybe some of us can remember where we were on November 22, 1963, when President John F. Kennedy was shot and killed. (I was around, but only three years old.) But how about this date? November 10, 1975. Do you recall where you were when you heard about the sinking of the ship named the Edmund Fitzgerald?
I had just turned 15 and was a sophomore in high school in my small hometown, which sits beside Lake Superior. Probably what I was thinking about the most at that time were the following life and death matters: 1) Were my bangs feathered enough? 2) What pertinent advice did Seventeen magazine have for me this month? 3) Would my winter jacket keep me warm enough for the upcoming winter, while still looking “cool”? and 4) Would Roger Daltrey from The Who come find me and ask me to marry him?
The crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald was made up of 29 men, many of whom were from the area where I grew up. One of them was the father of a classmate of mine. I’m going to call her Janice. (I’m not going to use her real name here to protect her privacy.)
I wasn’t really aware of the ship when it set out from Superior, Wisconsin. I wasn’t aware of Janice’s connection to it, either. But on the night of November 10, 1975, I got a phone call from a family that needed a babysitter for the evening. I didn’t know this family and was a bit puzzled as to how they got my name. They didn’t live far from me, and a little extra cash always sounded good, so I took the job.
As was the way things typically went back then, the dad came to pick me up and drive me to their house. His wife greeted me upon my arrival and provided a brief list of instructions for their two young children. The weather was getting rough that evening, but she said they really couldn’t miss this ‘whatever-it-was’ they were going to. And then she said, “I hated to disturb Janice tonight, with—you know—her dad . . . .” She looked sympathetically at me, but I didn’t quite know what she meant. I nodded my head in feigned understanding. I knew that Janice was their regular babysitter, but I wasn’t sure exactly what the “dad” comment was about.
It was an uneventful babysitting job, and the parents were home early. The mom came into the house alone and told me her husband was waiting in the car to drive me home. “Be sure to bundle up,” she warned me, “the wind is awful out there tonight.”
Bundle up, I scoffed to myself, what’s that going to do to my hair? I’ve lived here all my life, lady. A little wind isn’t going to bother me. I didn’t dare say these things out loud to an adult, though. I smiled and told her good-bye. But as I stepped outside, I felt exactly what she warned me about. Every now and then, when dealing with a winter near Lake Superior, the winds would be so strong that it literally took your breath away. That night was one of those times. You try to breathe in, and you can’t. I was grateful to get home to my warm house that night.
When I got home, I told my mom what I’d heard—what the other mom had said about Janice’s dad —and wondered if she’d know what it meant.
She sure did. Janice’s dad was one of the men on board the Edmund Fitzgerald, and the news of its sinking, or at least of the trouble it was in, must have already been reported at that time. (Our news stations were all out of Duluth, Minnesota.)
I was stunned. Wait—Lake Superior? We all LOVED Lake Superior! We swam in it, boated on it, walked beside it, fished on it, and collected rocks from its shore. Many ice-fished on it. We even drove across part of it in the dead of winter from Bayfield to Madeline Island! Canoed, kayaked . . . all but worshiped this huge lake that gave us so much joy. How could it be so—mean?
The days that followed are less clear to me. I’m sure Janice and her siblings weren’t back at school, but I don’t recall when they returned. What I do remember is that I didn’t say anything to her when she did come back. What does a 15-year-old girl know what to say in such a circumstance? I couldn’t even come up with “I’m sorry.” It was like if I didn’t say anything at all, then I could pretend it never happened. Janice did not have that luxury of pretending. She was living the reality of it.
Oh, if I could go back and do better. I’d tell her how sorry I was that she and her family had lost their father, how sad I was that her mom had lost her husband. How mad I was at the lake for being so cruel. How unfair it felt that I had a dad, and now she did not. I didn’t know how to put those words together 50 years ago.
I can’t go back and change anything I did then. But I can try to do better now. A person learns a lot in 50 years, but it’s still my proclivity to “look away” from hard stuff. If I look away, maybe I can pretend it’s not there. But that won’t help anyone.
In a world where there is too much “looking away from,” I’m going to try to be better at looking at and seeing people. Many people face enormous struggles that, from all outward appearances, are sometimes impossible to detect. When I think back to my remaining days in high school, I can picture Janice there—quietly smiling. But, oh, what must have been happening inside.
To “Janice”—if you are reading this—How sorry I am for your terrible loss all those years ago. And how sorry I am that I pretended like it never happened.
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO
HOME
They call you Gitche Gumee
Big Water
Lake Superior
I call you—
Home
You can be kind
Refreshing the weary in summer
Feeding the hungry year-round
You can be cruel
Hundreds of ships
Lie on your icy floor
But still
There is an invisible cord
That pulls me back to you
Each time I get that first glimpse of you
When driving back
Up north
Brings the familiar peace
Only an old friend can give
The ocean is too big
A river moves too fast
But you, my friend, are my
Home
by Patti Thomas