211: MY LEGEND LIVED ON AT THE BIG LAKE THEY CALLED GITCHIE GUMEE

It had been two months and five days since I underwent successful Spring Replacement Surgery and I was almost as good as new when Tom’s alarm rang at 4:30am on Friday July 29, 2022. While I was excited to once again hit the road to visit more sites, there were two substantial reasons for my lack of total enthusiasm at the start of this trip. First, when I heard Tom discuss his agenda with his wife, I realized there were not many Presidential sites penciled-in to the itinerary. And second, Bob Moldenhauer had been replaced on this trip by my photographer’s wife Vicki, which meant Tom and I wouldn’t be able to “stretch the boundaries of legality” if and when we needed to.

I was stunned when I saw Tom and Vicki’s dog Abigail seated in our Jeep when we left home at 6:08am. In my mind, that’s just what we needed – a yappin’, panting, and drooling pooch who needs to whizz every half hour. As it turned out, my companions had arranged to drop Abigail off in Bay City, Michigan where their son and his family volunteered to dog-sit during our ten-day adventure.

Two days before our departure, Tom told his son we would arrive at his house with the dog on Friday at 8:02am. I nearly fell out of my camera case with laughter when we rolled into their driveway after a two-hour drive at precisely 8:02am. It wasn’t because I was surprised by Tom’s punctuality. I was in hysterics because my photographer had the Jeep nearly tipped on two wheels as he rounded the final corner before their son’s house because he had been slowed down by an elderly driver – also called a “grey bush” by my photographer’s wife.

With Abigail safely left behind, the three of us continued our journey northward through the center of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula with Vicki behind the wheel; I don’t think she was as impressed as I was by my photographer’s driving tactics in Bay City. The first site of the day was the Mackinac Bridge; the five-mile-long suspension bridge that connected Michigan’s upper and lower peninsulas. I had a good look at the “Mighty Mac’s” 552-foot-tall towers through the Jeep’s moon roof, then my photographer and his wife decided to stop at Bridge View Park after we had crossed the Straights of Mackinac and arrived in the U.P. There was one interesting fact that I didn’t realize until we were in the Upper Penninsula – the Mackinac Bridge was actually a Presidential site. That’s right, on September 7, 1992, President George H.W. Bush became the first and only sitting President to walk the five-mile span during the Annual Labor Day Mackinac Bridge Walk. The event was attended by an impressive 85,000 people, which was nearly three times the usual participation.

I had an amazing view of the Mackinac Bridge as we approached the north span. As much as I was impressed by the Golden Gate Bridge, the “Mighty Mac” was nearly three times longer.
President George H.W. Bush left the Upper Peninsula behind as he walked over the Mackinac Bridge on September 7, 1992 during his Presidential campaign stop on Labor Day. Bush was the only sitting President in history to walk the Mackinac Bridge.
I was awestruck when we passed beneath the 552-foot-tall north tower of the bridge. However, the towers of the Golden Gate were nearly two hundred feet taller and were painted in a brighter vermilion hue.
The Mackinac Bridge looked majestic from Bridge View Park in St. Ignace, Michigan. The northernmost point of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula could be seen along the horizon nearly five miles away. The Straights of Mackinac is behind me; the Straights are where the Great Lakes Huron and Michigan meet. In 2018, I never saw the entire Golden Gate Bridge over the span of five days due to the fog.

The first time I saw the Mackinac Bridge was near the tail-end of my companion’s two-week summer vacation in 2015. As a matter of fact, the seven-year anniversary of my first “Big Mac” experience was the previous day – July 28th. When we left Bridge View Park at 12 noon, no one realized I would make bobble head history at Whitefish Point 90 minutes later. That’s right – the moment Tom carried me out onto the stony, drift-wood cluttered shoreline at Whitefish Point, I became the first bobble head in history to see three of the five Great Lakes within a two-hour span.

My joyous moment was short-lived when I saw my photographer point out to the vastness of Lake Superior and say: “Seventeen miles out there lies the Fitz and her crew; the ship is in two large pieces at a depth of about 530 feet.” At 7:10pm on November 10, 1975, the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a 729-foot Great Lakes freighter, sank during a gale-force storm after departing Superior, Wisconsin with 26,500 tons of taconite ore pellets in its cargo hold. The “Fitz” was the largest ship to ever sink on the Great Lakes and the disaster was immortalized in the 1976 song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot. The ship’s entire crew of 29 men, including 63-year-old Captain Ernest M. McSorley, were lost that night and their bodies remain to this day inside, or near, the well-preserved wreckage.

As I gazed out onto the white-capped expanse of the largest freshwater lake on the face of the earth, I couldn’t help but think of Lightfoot’s solemn words: “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.”

Just 17 miles past the driftwood lined shore of Lake Superior’s Whitefish Point was where the SS Edmund Fitzgerald sank on November 10, 1975.
As I stood on this monstrous and haunting piece of driftwood, I wondered what tales it could tell.
Tom gave me the chance to dip my toes in the magic waters of Lake Gitchee Gumee where I paid my respects to the 29 crew members of the Edmund Fitzgerald. I envisioned the freighter resting in 530 feet of water somewhere near the horizon behind me.
“The searchers all say they’d have made Whitefish Bay
If they’d put fifteen more miles behind her.
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.”
I thought the shoreline was beautiful with the colored rocks, occasional black sand, and hundreds of enormous pieces of driftwood.
The waves of Superior crashed ashore at Whitefish Point, littered with the bones of nature’s discarded skeletons.
Constructed in 1849, the Whitefish Point Light is the oldest operating lighthouse in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. This section of the Lake Superior coastline has been known as “The Graveyard of the Great Lakes” since 1816.
On November 10, 1975, Edmund Fitzgerald Captain Ernest McSorley searched hard to spot the Whitefish Point Light behind me. The captain likely never saw the beacon during the relentless storm.
It was a true honor for me to stand above the Edmund Fitzgerald’s bell, which was recovered from the wreck site on July 4, 1995 – nearly twenty years after the ship’s demise.
The 200-pound bronze bell was photographed on the roof of the Fitzgerald’s pilothouse before it was brought to the surface on July 4, 1995.
Behind me was a life ring that was recovered after the Fitzgerald sank.
This incredible painting portrayed the final moments of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
I’m standing alongside a display in the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum that featured lifeboat artifacts that once sailed on the Edmund Fitzgerald. Those priceless artifacts were recovered by James MacDonald, a commercial fisherman from Mamainse Harbour, Ontario.
This photo of the Edmund Fitzgerald was taken on the St. Mary’s River near Lake Superior not too long before it sank.
The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum had a very nice collection of artifacts collected from local shipwrecks, but the focal point of my visit was “The Mighty Fitz”.
I did, however, think this large display was cool. The life-like display depicted divers as they approached the 1853 shipwreck of the SS Independence; it also featured actual hull components recovered from the sunken ship.
This ship’s bell was recovered from the wreck of the Schooner ‘Niagara’ which was built in 1872 and sunk in 1897.

It was an incredible visit to Whitefish Point where I not only had the chance to stand as close as I possibly could to the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, but I also posed alongside artifacts that were once on that historic ship when it floundered and sank on November 10, 1975. Some have compared the sinking of the Fitz to that of the Titanic, even calling the Fitzgerald “The Titanic of the Great Lakes”. But that comparison has always bothered me; perhaps more so because my photographer’s moronic stepfather had likened Titanic with the Edmund Fitzgerald in the past. Oh, it’s true both ships sank; however, the number of people who died on the two vessels aren’t comparable. A total of 1,517 passengers and crew members perished after Titanic struck an iceberg and sank a little over two hours later in 1912. That’s a heck of a lot more victims than the 29 crewmen who died on the Fitzgerald in 1975. In my opinion, as well as that of my photographer, the only similarity between the two tragedies lies with the captains of both ships. Captain Edward J. Smith of Titanic and Captain Ernest M. McSorley of the Fitzgerald were both veteran seamen who routinely threw caution to the wind when it came to operating their ships. Both men were arrogant, overconfident, and took chances with safety to get the job done the fastest and most productive way possible. And on their final voyages, the two captains were both warned of impending danger, and each of them scoffed at the warnings – two decisions that went down in history along with their infamous ships. The blood on both captain’s hands has never been washed away.

It was roughly 2:45pm when the three of us left Whitefish Point and headed towards the Upper Tahquamenon Falls, which was located 22 miles away. I didn’t know what to expect at those falls, but I figured they would pale in comparison to Niagara Falls that I visited in 2017. Unfortunately, I never found out. When Vicki drove the Jeep into the entrance of the parking lot closest to Tahquamenon Falls, my companions saw the large lot was completely full and the entry fee was $17 – two major factors that played into their decision to bypass the site. Okay, one played a major factor in my cheap photographer’s decision to move on.

One detail that Tom had underestimated when he planned for us to visit Michigan’s Upper Peninsula on the last weekend in July was hotel costs and availability. When we arrived in Newberry around 4pm, my photographer figured motels in that small town would be plentiful and cheap; primarily because we weren’t close to either of the two Great Lakes. But that wasn’t the case. As a matter of fact, at Timber Charlie’s in Newberry where Tom and Vic had fish dinners, the two of them were hit over the head with a huge dose of reality when it came to life in the U.P. Hotels were expensive in July and internet service was nearly nonexistent most of the time. I laughed to myself when I head Tom complain about his phone service: “I haven’t had an internet connection for hours and it sucks. Zero bars on my phone and we’re in America. Aren’t there any satellites flying over the Upper Peninsula? I thought we were still in Michigan, but it seems like we’ve ended up in the South. And the longer I’m here, the more I think the U.P. is filled with nothing but hillbillies – not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

When my photographer and his wife finished their meals, the pair discovered they had two bars of service on their phones. Not wanting to waste their brief encounter with modern technology, my companions quickly went to work to find a place to stay for the night; they became worried they’d end up sharing a refrigerator box with some of the locals. The closest hotel that was under $180 for that Friday night was located in Ishpeming, which was nearly 120 miles to the west. Tom said to his wife: “Book it! By looking at the photos, it doesn’t appear to be a ‘Cockroach Inn’. Plus, it’s better than sleeping alongside Jed and Jethro and the rest of their kin folk!”

From an opening in the camera case, I saw the dashboard’s digital clock read 6:15 just as we rolled into Marquette, Michigan, which was our first taste of any type of civilization since we crossed the Mackinac Bridge. There was a plethora of stores, restaurants, hotels, and we had internet service. It also appeared the people in downtown Marquette hadn’t just finished making a batch of moonshine. At that moment, a brilliant idea popped into Tom’s head – he suggested we stop and pay a surprise visit to their friends, Paul and Sue Rau, who had moved to Marquette from St. Clair shortly after Paul retired in 2016.

At the house, Tom and Paul talked for 45 minutes about baseball and their memorabilia collections, while Vicki and Sue chit-chatted about their home renovation projects. It had been nearly four years since my travel mates last visited the Rau’s in 2018, but it was late and time for us to head for the hotel. As Vicki backed out of the Rau’s driveway, I could easily tell that my companions were happy they stopped on our way through Marquette.

We arrived at the Magnuson Hotel in Ishpeming at 8:15pm; ten minutes later, Tom and Vic had the Jeep unpacked and they were ready for bed. I was placed alongside the room’s TV set where I spent the night wondering what my photographer had in store for us the following day. One thing was for certain – we likely wouldn’t be seeing any Presidential sites on the Keweenaw Peninsula. Not even Jimmy Carter, our only “Hillbilly” President, ever took the time to venture into that neck of the woods. And why would he? After all, Sasquatch wasn’t a registered voter!

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Thomas Watson

My name is Thomas Watson and I've been a U.S. history fanatic since I was 9 years old. In 2013, I decided to take my passion to the next level when I purchased a Thomas Jefferson bobble head with the sole intention of photographing that bobble head at Presidential sites. From that first day on July 10, 2013 at Spiegel Grove in Fremont, Ohio, this journey has taken on a life of its own. Now, nearly 40,000 miles later, I thought it was time to share the experiences, stories, and photos of Jefferson's travels. Keep in mind, this entire venture has been done with the deepest respect for the men who held the office as our President; no matter what their political affiliations, personal ambitions, or public scandals may have been. This blog is intended to be a true tribute to the Presidents of the United States and this story will be told Through the Eyes of Jefferson. I hope you enjoy the ride!

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