For his bio. BTW, I contacted Tom for
permission to use this article here and can forward you that e-mail if you'd
like. Thanks:
Lost his life during the sinking of the Edmund
Fitzgerald.
Article published in the Toledo Blade, 11/2/2015.
Written by his
nephew Thomas Walton and used with permission.
40 years later, the legend of
the Edmund Fitzgerald lives on
Every man knew, as the captain did
too,
Twas the witch of November come stealin
Gordon Lightfoot, The
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
A few minutes past 7 p.m. on Nov. 10, 1975,
on a bitter and brutal night on Lake Superior, Capt. Ernie McSorley and his
shipmates on the Edmund Fitzgerald were in a fight for their lives in a storm
more violent than anything they had ever encountered.
Story continues
below
The great ship was in peril, and when the end came, it came with such
suddenness and ferocity there was no time for an SOS, no time for anything but a
few seconds of desperation and terror as the fastest, grandest freighter on the
Great Lakes slipped into the depths and into history.
Forty years later,
those of us who lost a loved one that night still dont know for sure how the
Great Lakes most legendary tragedy occurred. We know what sank the Titanic. But
exactly what caused the Big Fitz to disappear remains a mystery that may never
be solved.
More than 1,500 souls perished when the Titanic sank. Just 29 were
lost when the Fitz went down.
Just 29. As if a number so small lessens the
tragedy and heartbreak for those whose father or brother or son or in my case,
uncle died that night.
Ralph Grant Walton was born outside of Sycamore,
Ohio, in Wyandot County, in 1917. His remains lie at the bottom of Lake Superior
along with those of his 28 shipmates, just 17 miles from the safe harbor they
sought that night, Whitefish Bay, Mich.
Today, with the 40th anniversary of
the sinking approaching, visitors to Pleasant Ridge Cemetery near Sycamore can
see a stone marker that bears my uncles name, the dates of his birth and death,
and these three words of remembrance: Lost at sea.
Uncle Grant was an oiler
on the Fitzgerald. His job was to keep the mighty engines running smoothly. He
was good at it.
Thats the thing about the men who were lost. They were all
good at what they did. To be assigned to the Fitzgerald, the flagship of the
fleet and the Queen of the Great Lakes, was an honor for the officers and
seamen of Columbia Transportation, a division of the old Oglebay-Norton
Co.
The Fitz was held in awe everywhere she went. She was a tourist
attraction, especially when she sailed through the Soo Locks connecting Lakes
Huron and Superior in Michigans Upper Peninsula. At 729 feet long, she was the
equivalent of a 70-story skyscraper on its side.
Even though the ships stern
bore the name of Milwaukee, the home of her owners, the Fitz was Toledos ship.
Her customary itinerary was to ferry more than 25,000 tons of taconite iron ore
from the Mesabi Range in Minnesota to Toledo, and do it quickly.
Veteran
lakers often called her the Toledo Express because of her speed and the tonnage
records she routinely set. Several crew members who died when she sank were from
here.
I still feel the loss of my uncle, but I have an emotional attachment
to the Fitzgerald for another reason. I was a crew member in 1963. My job as a
porter was to help feed the crew, care for the officers quarters, and tend to
the needs of our guests.
Passengers aboard the Fitzgerald traveled free.
Usually they were executives of firms that did business with the shipping
company.
I have many memories of the Fitz, most of them good. For several
weeks during my season aboard, my father, Wade, a chief engineer for Columbia,
was transferred from another ship to become chief on the Fitz.
So my dad and
I got to be shipmates. I kidded him that in length of service, I was the senior
member of the Walton family aboard the Fitz, not him.
It was only through
good fortune and the grace of God that my dad was not on the Fitzgerald the
night she sank. He was out in the storm, but on another vessel. He could have
taken accrued vacation time to get off the lakes in November when the weather is
at its worst, but he didnt. He was a laker. He needed to be out there.
After
the tragedy, which took his brother and took his love for what he was doing, my
dad retired.
This years milestone anniversary, a week from tomorrow, will
have special relevance. Locally, the National Museum of the Great Lakes will
host a remembrance ceremony downtown at Fifth Third Center at One Seagate and
premiere a documentary: A Good Ship and Crew Well Seasoned: The Fitzgerald and
Her Legacy.
Forty years. And as Gordon Lightfoot wrote, the legend lives on,
from the Chippewa on down.
Thomas Walton is the retired editor and vice
president of The Blade. His column appears every other Monday. His commentary,
Life As We Know It, can be heard each Monday at 5:44 p.m. on WGTE-FM 91.
Contact him at: [email protected].
permission to use this article here and can forward you that e-mail if you'd
like. Thanks:
Lost his life during the sinking of the Edmund
Fitzgerald.
Article published in the Toledo Blade, 11/2/2015.
Written by his
nephew Thomas Walton and used with permission.
40 years later, the legend of
the Edmund Fitzgerald lives on
Every man knew, as the captain did
too,
Twas the witch of November come stealin
Gordon Lightfoot, The
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
A few minutes past 7 p.m. on Nov. 10, 1975,
on a bitter and brutal night on Lake Superior, Capt. Ernie McSorley and his
shipmates on the Edmund Fitzgerald were in a fight for their lives in a storm
more violent than anything they had ever encountered.
Story continues
below
The great ship was in peril, and when the end came, it came with such
suddenness and ferocity there was no time for an SOS, no time for anything but a
few seconds of desperation and terror as the fastest, grandest freighter on the
Great Lakes slipped into the depths and into history.
Forty years later,
those of us who lost a loved one that night still dont know for sure how the
Great Lakes most legendary tragedy occurred. We know what sank the Titanic. But
exactly what caused the Big Fitz to disappear remains a mystery that may never
be solved.
More than 1,500 souls perished when the Titanic sank. Just 29 were
lost when the Fitz went down.
Just 29. As if a number so small lessens the
tragedy and heartbreak for those whose father or brother or son or in my case,
uncle died that night.
Ralph Grant Walton was born outside of Sycamore,
Ohio, in Wyandot County, in 1917. His remains lie at the bottom of Lake Superior
along with those of his 28 shipmates, just 17 miles from the safe harbor they
sought that night, Whitefish Bay, Mich.
Today, with the 40th anniversary of
the sinking approaching, visitors to Pleasant Ridge Cemetery near Sycamore can
see a stone marker that bears my uncles name, the dates of his birth and death,
and these three words of remembrance: Lost at sea.
Uncle Grant was an oiler
on the Fitzgerald. His job was to keep the mighty engines running smoothly. He
was good at it.
Thats the thing about the men who were lost. They were all
good at what they did. To be assigned to the Fitzgerald, the flagship of the
fleet and the Queen of the Great Lakes, was an honor for the officers and
seamen of Columbia Transportation, a division of the old Oglebay-Norton
Co.
The Fitz was held in awe everywhere she went. She was a tourist
attraction, especially when she sailed through the Soo Locks connecting Lakes
Huron and Superior in Michigans Upper Peninsula. At 729 feet long, she was the
equivalent of a 70-story skyscraper on its side.
Even though the ships stern
bore the name of Milwaukee, the home of her owners, the Fitz was Toledos ship.
Her customary itinerary was to ferry more than 25,000 tons of taconite iron ore
from the Mesabi Range in Minnesota to Toledo, and do it quickly.
Veteran
lakers often called her the Toledo Express because of her speed and the tonnage
records she routinely set. Several crew members who died when she sank were from
here.
I still feel the loss of my uncle, but I have an emotional attachment
to the Fitzgerald for another reason. I was a crew member in 1963. My job as a
porter was to help feed the crew, care for the officers quarters, and tend to
the needs of our guests.
Passengers aboard the Fitzgerald traveled free.
Usually they were executives of firms that did business with the shipping
company.
I have many memories of the Fitz, most of them good. For several
weeks during my season aboard, my father, Wade, a chief engineer for Columbia,
was transferred from another ship to become chief on the Fitz.
So my dad and
I got to be shipmates. I kidded him that in length of service, I was the senior
member of the Walton family aboard the Fitz, not him.
It was only through
good fortune and the grace of God that my dad was not on the Fitzgerald the
night she sank. He was out in the storm, but on another vessel. He could have
taken accrued vacation time to get off the lakes in November when the weather is
at its worst, but he didnt. He was a laker. He needed to be out there.
After
the tragedy, which took his brother and took his love for what he was doing, my
dad retired.
This years milestone anniversary, a week from tomorrow, will
have special relevance. Locally, the National Museum of the Great Lakes will
host a remembrance ceremony downtown at Fifth Third Center at One Seagate and
premiere a documentary: A Good Ship and Crew Well Seasoned: The Fitzgerald and
Her Legacy.
Forty years. And as Gordon Lightfoot wrote, the legend lives on,
from the Chippewa on down.
Thomas Walton is the retired editor and vice
president of The Blade. His column appears every other Monday. His commentary,
Life As We Know It, can be heard each Monday at 5:44 p.m. on WGTE-FM 91.
Contact him at: [email protected].
For his bio. BTW, I contacted Tom for
permission to use this article here and can forward you that e-mail if you'd
like. Thanks:
Lost his life during the sinking of the Edmund
Fitzgerald.
Article published in the Toledo Blade, 11/2/2015.
Written by his
nephew Thomas Walton and used with permission.
40 years later, the legend of
the Edmund Fitzgerald lives on
Every man knew, as the captain did
too,
Twas the witch of November come stealin
Gordon Lightfoot, The
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
A few minutes past 7 p.m. on Nov. 10, 1975,
on a bitter and brutal night on Lake Superior, Capt. Ernie McSorley and his
shipmates on the Edmund Fitzgerald were in a fight for their lives in a storm
more violent than anything they had ever encountered.
Story continues
below
The great ship was in peril, and when the end came, it came with such
suddenness and ferocity there was no time for an SOS, no time for anything but a
few seconds of desperation and terror as the fastest, grandest freighter on the
Great Lakes slipped into the depths and into history.
Forty years later,
those of us who lost a loved one that night still dont know for sure how the
Great Lakes most legendary tragedy occurred. We know what sank the Titanic. But
exactly what caused the Big Fitz to disappear remains a mystery that may never
be solved.
More than 1,500 souls perished when the Titanic sank. Just 29 were
lost when the Fitz went down.
Just 29. As if a number so small lessens the
tragedy and heartbreak for those whose father or brother or son or in my case,
uncle died that night.
Ralph Grant Walton was born outside of Sycamore,
Ohio, in Wyandot County, in 1917. His remains lie at the bottom of Lake Superior
along with those of his 28 shipmates, just 17 miles from the safe harbor they
sought that night, Whitefish Bay, Mich.
Today, with the 40th anniversary of
the sinking approaching, visitors to Pleasant Ridge Cemetery near Sycamore can
see a stone marker that bears my uncles name, the dates of his birth and death,
and these three words of remembrance: Lost at sea.
Uncle Grant was an oiler
on the Fitzgerald. His job was to keep the mighty engines running smoothly. He
was good at it.
Thats the thing about the men who were lost. They were all
good at what they did. To be assigned to the Fitzgerald, the flagship of the
fleet and the Queen of the Great Lakes, was an honor for the officers and
seamen of Columbia Transportation, a division of the old Oglebay-Norton
Co.
The Fitz was held in awe everywhere she went. She was a tourist
attraction, especially when she sailed through the Soo Locks connecting Lakes
Huron and Superior in Michigans Upper Peninsula. At 729 feet long, she was the
equivalent of a 70-story skyscraper on its side.
Even though the ships stern
bore the name of Milwaukee, the home of her owners, the Fitz was Toledos ship.
Her customary itinerary was to ferry more than 25,000 tons of taconite iron ore
from the Mesabi Range in Minnesota to Toledo, and do it quickly.
Veteran
lakers often called her the Toledo Express because of her speed and the tonnage
records she routinely set. Several crew members who died when she sank were from
here.
I still feel the loss of my uncle, but I have an emotional attachment
to the Fitzgerald for another reason. I was a crew member in 1963. My job as a
porter was to help feed the crew, care for the officers quarters, and tend to
the needs of our guests.
Passengers aboard the Fitzgerald traveled free.
Usually they were executives of firms that did business with the shipping
company.
I have many memories of the Fitz, most of them good. For several
weeks during my season aboard, my father, Wade, a chief engineer for Columbia,
was transferred from another ship to become chief on the Fitz.
So my dad and
I got to be shipmates. I kidded him that in length of service, I was the senior
member of the Walton family aboard the Fitz, not him.
It was only through
good fortune and the grace of God that my dad was not on the Fitzgerald the
night she sank. He was out in the storm, but on another vessel. He could have
taken accrued vacation time to get off the lakes in November when the weather is
at its worst, but he didnt. He was a laker. He needed to be out there.
After
the tragedy, which took his brother and took his love for what he was doing, my
dad retired.
This years milestone anniversary, a week from tomorrow, will
have special relevance. Locally, the National Museum of the Great Lakes will
host a remembrance ceremony downtown at Fifth Third Center at One Seagate and
premiere a documentary: A Good Ship and Crew Well Seasoned: The Fitzgerald and
Her Legacy.
Forty years. And as Gordon Lightfoot wrote, the legend lives on,
from the Chippewa on down.
Thomas Walton is the retired editor and vice
president of The Blade. His column appears every other Monday. His commentary,
Life As We Know It, can be heard each Monday at 5:44 p.m. on WGTE-FM 91.
Contact him at: [email protected].
permission to use this article here and can forward you that e-mail if you'd
like. Thanks:
Lost his life during the sinking of the Edmund
Fitzgerald.
Article published in the Toledo Blade, 11/2/2015.
Written by his
nephew Thomas Walton and used with permission.
40 years later, the legend of
the Edmund Fitzgerald lives on
Every man knew, as the captain did
too,
Twas the witch of November come stealin
Gordon Lightfoot, The
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
A few minutes past 7 p.m. on Nov. 10, 1975,
on a bitter and brutal night on Lake Superior, Capt. Ernie McSorley and his
shipmates on the Edmund Fitzgerald were in a fight for their lives in a storm
more violent than anything they had ever encountered.
Story continues
below
The great ship was in peril, and when the end came, it came with such
suddenness and ferocity there was no time for an SOS, no time for anything but a
few seconds of desperation and terror as the fastest, grandest freighter on the
Great Lakes slipped into the depths and into history.
Forty years later,
those of us who lost a loved one that night still dont know for sure how the
Great Lakes most legendary tragedy occurred. We know what sank the Titanic. But
exactly what caused the Big Fitz to disappear remains a mystery that may never
be solved.
More than 1,500 souls perished when the Titanic sank. Just 29 were
lost when the Fitz went down.
Just 29. As if a number so small lessens the
tragedy and heartbreak for those whose father or brother or son or in my case,
uncle died that night.
Ralph Grant Walton was born outside of Sycamore,
Ohio, in Wyandot County, in 1917. His remains lie at the bottom of Lake Superior
along with those of his 28 shipmates, just 17 miles from the safe harbor they
sought that night, Whitefish Bay, Mich.
Today, with the 40th anniversary of
the sinking approaching, visitors to Pleasant Ridge Cemetery near Sycamore can
see a stone marker that bears my uncles name, the dates of his birth and death,
and these three words of remembrance: Lost at sea.
Uncle Grant was an oiler
on the Fitzgerald. His job was to keep the mighty engines running smoothly. He
was good at it.
Thats the thing about the men who were lost. They were all
good at what they did. To be assigned to the Fitzgerald, the flagship of the
fleet and the Queen of the Great Lakes, was an honor for the officers and
seamen of Columbia Transportation, a division of the old Oglebay-Norton
Co.
The Fitz was held in awe everywhere she went. She was a tourist
attraction, especially when she sailed through the Soo Locks connecting Lakes
Huron and Superior in Michigans Upper Peninsula. At 729 feet long, she was the
equivalent of a 70-story skyscraper on its side.
Even though the ships stern
bore the name of Milwaukee, the home of her owners, the Fitz was Toledos ship.
Her customary itinerary was to ferry more than 25,000 tons of taconite iron ore
from the Mesabi Range in Minnesota to Toledo, and do it quickly.
Veteran
lakers often called her the Toledo Express because of her speed and the tonnage
records she routinely set. Several crew members who died when she sank were from
here.
I still feel the loss of my uncle, but I have an emotional attachment
to the Fitzgerald for another reason. I was a crew member in 1963. My job as a
porter was to help feed the crew, care for the officers quarters, and tend to
the needs of our guests.
Passengers aboard the Fitzgerald traveled free.
Usually they were executives of firms that did business with the shipping
company.
I have many memories of the Fitz, most of them good. For several
weeks during my season aboard, my father, Wade, a chief engineer for Columbia,
was transferred from another ship to become chief on the Fitz.
So my dad and
I got to be shipmates. I kidded him that in length of service, I was the senior
member of the Walton family aboard the Fitz, not him.
It was only through
good fortune and the grace of God that my dad was not on the Fitzgerald the
night she sank. He was out in the storm, but on another vessel. He could have
taken accrued vacation time to get off the lakes in November when the weather is
at its worst, but he didnt. He was a laker. He needed to be out there.
After
the tragedy, which took his brother and took his love for what he was doing, my
dad retired.
This years milestone anniversary, a week from tomorrow, will
have special relevance. Locally, the National Museum of the Great Lakes will
host a remembrance ceremony downtown at Fifth Third Center at One Seagate and
premiere a documentary: A Good Ship and Crew Well Seasoned: The Fitzgerald and
Her Legacy.
Forty years. And as Gordon Lightfoot wrote, the legend lives on,
from the Chippewa on down.
Thomas Walton is the retired editor and vice
president of The Blade. His column appears every other Monday. His commentary,
Life As We Know It, can be heard each Monday at 5:44 p.m. on WGTE-FM 91.
Contact him at: [email protected].
Family Members
Sponsored by Ancestry
Advertisement
Advertisement
