Mystery. Unknown. Secret. Hidden.
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The SS Edmund Fitzgerald, which sank in Lake Superior during a monstrous storm on November 10, 1975, was among the largest of an unknown number of ships lost to the Great Lakes. The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum estimates 6,000 ships and 30,000 lives lost have been lost since the 17th century, while Mark Thompson, author of Graveyard of the Lakes, estimates the number exceeds 25,000. The causes of many of the shipwreck disasters are unknown, though severe weather is blamed for many of them. Weather almost certainly contributed to the loss of the Edmund Fitzgerald and its crew of 29. The fiftieth anniversary of the Edmund Fitzgerald’s disappearance will be marked—but not celebrated—ten days from now. John U. Bacon, author of The Gales of November, has said the Edmund Fitzgerald’s global fame is eclipsed only by wrecks of the Titanic and the Lusitania. The deadliest shipwreck on the Great Lakes claimed almost 400 people aboard the Lady Elgin in Lake Michigan in 1860. Gordon Lightfoot’s 1976 ballad, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, is credited with widespread knowledge of the catastrophe.
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Yesterday’s cancer treatment again (finally) included two chemo drugs, after an extended period in which only one of the two was administered. My oncologist had been hesitant to administer both at the same time because the two together, according to the doctor, had caused me to experience more intense side effects than she thought were appropriate. I suppose I will know fairly soon whether yesterday’s combination causes the same results. Last night, I was surprised to feel quite fatigued early on. Then, during the night, much of my body felt achy and uncomfortable. I can tolerate those effects, but the doctor apparently is not convinced I SHOULD. I do not want her to weaken my treatment just to reduce the likelihood that I might experience some moderately unpleasant side-effects. But I probably should rely more on her expertise than on my gut feel.
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For some reason, I always remember that Maggie’s birthday is today, November 1. Maggie was my first real date—the first of a very small number—when I was in junior high school. My father drove Maggie and me to a theater in downtown Corpus Christi, where we watched Fantastic Voyage. Somehow, I mustered the courage to invite her on that date, but I did not have the nerve to ask her out again. The fact that, shortly thereafter, she transferred to a Catholic school may have contributed to the fact that we did not have additional dates. But I did have occasion to run into her on occasion after our one date. It was on one of those occasions that I learned she preferred to be called Maggie; until then, I had called her Margaret, the name which was introduced to me. Many years later, I came across her again, when I learned that she had become a lawyer, was married (and divorced, I think), had a daughter, was an Assistant U.S. Attorney General, and identified as politically conservative. Perhaps I remember her birthday because my late sister’s birthday is tomorrow, November 2.
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