Little Bay de Noc churned and splashed not far from our house.

It is 1975 and Escanaba’s north shore stockpiles tons of iron ore pellets. Ore boats visit port Escanaba, and a conveyer belt loader has fed pelletized taconite into huge ships like the Mesabi Miner and the Wilford Sykes all season long.

Everybody in Escanaba knew somebody who worked on the ore boats. In the late afternoon on Nov. 9, 1975, everybody was praying for safe harbors for all the “Ladies on the lake” (ore boats).

Farther north on Lake Superior the winds were almost at hurricane force.

Waves on Lake Superior near Whitefish Point. (Karen Wils photo)

But I was in the basement of my family’s home. A teenager in bib overalls and long braids, I paid the weather no mind.

I was focused on Brandy, my beagle. She was about to deliver pups. The much-anticipated litter would be my first very own AKC-registered pups to own and train.

I remember the sound of my dad’s recliner folding as he got up from reading his newspaper. I could hear his footsteps above me as he peered out the front door and said, “nasty north wind.”

But there was a woodstove in the basement, Brandy was in her whelping box and we were warm, dry and safe.

As my noisy brothers went to their bedrooms upstairs, a little, wet, wiggling beagle puppy slipped into the world.

Karen Rose Wils

I looked out the basement window a few times and noted the swaying jack pines and could almost feel the cold wind, but all was well in the basement. It amazed me how suddenly the seasons collided and how unforgiving Upper Michigan weather can be.

As the SS Edmund Fitzgerald was being swallowed up by Lake Superior, a litter of puppies were being born in our basement.

In the morning Brandy was tired, but seven healthy pups were suckling. I was exhausted, too. It was Monday morning, and I had to think about school.

When I got home from school in the late afternoon my parents and my uncles were having coffee and talking about the “tragedy.”

The newspaper headlines read “tragedy.” The TV and radio all talked about the “tragedy.”

So, I went into the basement and named the blackest beagle pup Tragedy.

The sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald sadden north Escanaba, with so many people living near or working for the iron ore shipping and railroad businesses.

Canadian singer/song writer Gordon Lightfoot wrote “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum by Whitefish Point preserves the memories.

Northtown Tragedy, the little black beagle, was a fine hound. We often called him Dee for short and he chased quite a few snowshoe hares at camp and died at the old age of 14.

No, I’ll never forget the night the “Fitz” went down. And yes, I often throw prayers out into the wind for anyone who is out on the water!