The Shipping News:
The gales of November came early:
It was one of those nights when something had us all stumped.
Pastor Bob, Matt the Heating and Air Guy and the irrepressible and unsinkable Mrs. John Q. Public (she had her monthly meeting with her probation officer, needless to say mama’ was in the mood to party down, post-haste) were out having a few beverages of which the key ingredient was fermented hops.
Discussion turned has it often does these days to my boat. Pastor Bob, an accomplished sailor on the inland lakes of northwest Ohio, has quite a few ideas on what I should do with my boat. Most of which involve a Viking funeral. If nothing else, Pastor Bob is a man with ideas.
As some of you know, I am the proud owner of a rather large cabin cruiser, circa 1950’s (hey, retro is in, daddy-o). Now, to say the boat needs some work would be an understatement of the first order. Largely the only thing it has going for it is that it floats.
Currently, I am searching for an engine, and most recently I have focused my search on a diesel engine (I already have the CAT Diesel hat and everything). Enter Pastor Bob, It seems Pastor Bob thinks that having a diesel engine on the boat is about the stupidest thing he has ever heard of, and went on for over an hour has to why (don’t worry I will not bore you the reader with his musings).
However after about the first 40 minutes of his diatribe, I lost both interest and patience. I proceeded to tell Pastor Bob that with his knowledge of shipping and Great Lakes navigation a person would have thought he captained a freighter, more particularly the Edmond Fitzgerald, which of course started the great debate.
Now, everyone knows the song “Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald”, by that icon of the 70’s Mr. Gordon Lightfoot. But dear reader do you know how it goes?
Yes, I know your sitting there humming a few bars of this tribute to the men of the lakes and that great ship. (Da Da Da, Du Du Du Da, Duh Duh Duh Duh). We could not remember the opening lines to the song. So, we asked our cheerful bar staff, who have an encyclopedic knowledge of both the profane and obscure, and dear readers they were stumped, they in turn asked patrons who moments earlier were minding their own business enjoying the company of friends, they in trun were stumped as well. Dear reader, this song is like a virus, like a rash, like a person with TB riding with you in an elevator. Within ten minutes the entire bar was humming the song “Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald”, much like you are now.
People were actively calling friends both near and far (myself included, thanks J. Thom, but you were no help) in the hopes that someone would know the opening lines. At this point the Intrepid and Action Oriented Mrs. John Q. Public took matters into her own hands, she left…yes, dear reader she went home and consulted http://paperclippings.com/ her resource for such things and within 10 minutes was calling us back singing the song in it entirety (she does have a very beautiful singing voice, more so when she smokes those French cigarettes she is so fond of).
Now, I know that I have already graced you the reader with a poet-sage for the week (AC-DC) but given the very nature of our evening I will now include this song in its entirety.
“The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald”
(Gordon Lightfoot)
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 twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund 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 tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too,
T'was 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 Seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in, he said
Fellas, it's been good t'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 his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does any one know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searches 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;
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 farther 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 till it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call 'Gitche Gumee'.
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early
I love that last verse. Haunting is it not, you just can’t get lyrics like that at a techno-club.
Today’s Bill:
"How now? A rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!"
--From Hamlet (III, iv, 23)
Thought for the Day:
What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives, acts, and experiences otherwise than we do…?
Friedrich Nietzsche, German philosopher (1844 - 1900)
I remain, looking and feeling my best:
JQP esq.
It was one of those nights when something had us all stumped.
Pastor Bob, Matt the Heating and Air Guy and the irrepressible and unsinkable Mrs. John Q. Public (she had her monthly meeting with her probation officer, needless to say mama’ was in the mood to party down, post-haste) were out having a few beverages of which the key ingredient was fermented hops.
Discussion turned has it often does these days to my boat. Pastor Bob, an accomplished sailor on the inland lakes of northwest Ohio, has quite a few ideas on what I should do with my boat. Most of which involve a Viking funeral. If nothing else, Pastor Bob is a man with ideas.
As some of you know, I am the proud owner of a rather large cabin cruiser, circa 1950’s (hey, retro is in, daddy-o). Now, to say the boat needs some work would be an understatement of the first order. Largely the only thing it has going for it is that it floats.
Currently, I am searching for an engine, and most recently I have focused my search on a diesel engine (I already have the CAT Diesel hat and everything). Enter Pastor Bob, It seems Pastor Bob thinks that having a diesel engine on the boat is about the stupidest thing he has ever heard of, and went on for over an hour has to why (don’t worry I will not bore you the reader with his musings).
However after about the first 40 minutes of his diatribe, I lost both interest and patience. I proceeded to tell Pastor Bob that with his knowledge of shipping and Great Lakes navigation a person would have thought he captained a freighter, more particularly the Edmond Fitzgerald, which of course started the great debate.
Now, everyone knows the song “Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald”, by that icon of the 70’s Mr. Gordon Lightfoot. But dear reader do you know how it goes?
Yes, I know your sitting there humming a few bars of this tribute to the men of the lakes and that great ship. (Da Da Da, Du Du Du Da, Duh Duh Duh Duh). We could not remember the opening lines to the song. So, we asked our cheerful bar staff, who have an encyclopedic knowledge of both the profane and obscure, and dear readers they were stumped, they in turn asked patrons who moments earlier were minding their own business enjoying the company of friends, they in trun were stumped as well. Dear reader, this song is like a virus, like a rash, like a person with TB riding with you in an elevator. Within ten minutes the entire bar was humming the song “Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald”, much like you are now.
People were actively calling friends both near and far (myself included, thanks J. Thom, but you were no help) in the hopes that someone would know the opening lines. At this point the Intrepid and Action Oriented Mrs. John Q. Public took matters into her own hands, she left…yes, dear reader she went home and consulted http://paperclippings.com/ her resource for such things and within 10 minutes was calling us back singing the song in it entirety (she does have a very beautiful singing voice, more so when she smokes those French cigarettes she is so fond of).
Now, I know that I have already graced you the reader with a poet-sage for the week (AC-DC) but given the very nature of our evening I will now include this song in its entirety.
“The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald”
(Gordon Lightfoot)
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 twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund 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 tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too,
T'was 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 Seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in, he said
Fellas, it's been good t'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 his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does any one know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searches 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;
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 farther 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 till it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call 'Gitche Gumee'.
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early
I love that last verse. Haunting is it not, you just can’t get lyrics like that at a techno-club.
Today’s Bill:
"How now? A rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!"
--From Hamlet (III, iv, 23)
Thought for the Day:
What else is love but understanding and rejoicing in the fact that another person lives, acts, and experiences otherwise than we do…?
Friedrich Nietzsche, German philosopher (1844 - 1900)
I remain, looking and feeling my best:
JQP esq.
posted by John Q. Public esq. at 6:00 AM
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