The main deck was starting to tear. You could see sparks, you could hear it ripping. Real slow like
a piece of paper. The noise, the noise was just unbelievable. And when you're in a situation
like that, you don't really care if you live or die. You just want the whole thing over with.
Imagine jumping overboard in the middle of the night as giant waves break your ship in half.
When you resurface, you see the remaining half of your ship sail off and disappear into the night,
as you and your crewmates fall victim to the frigid water.
This bizarre and tragic situation is precisely what the crew of the Daniel J. Morrell found
themselves in when their ship broke in half and sank on Lake Huron on November 29, 1966.
Out of the 29 crewmen on board, all but 1 died.
Today, we explore the life of the Daniel J. Morrell, a freighter whose career spanned some
60 years on North America’s Great Lakes — and whose fate was identical to that
of another Great Lakes shipwreck nearly a decade later: the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Unlike the Fitzgerald disaster, however, which killed all 29 crewmen — one man
DID manage to survive the Morrell, and his story reveals just how terrifying it is
when a giant ship suddenly breaks apart in the middle of the night on the Great Lakes.
The five Great Lakes of North America live up to their name in every aspect — they are massive,
covering more than 94,000 square miles (or 244,000 square kilometres).
This makes them the largest surface area of freshwater on the planet.
Countless ships and crewmen have been lost to the Great Lakes,
which are notorious for their gale-force winds and monster waves during the fall storm season.
It’s during this time when the Great Lakes become the meeting point for cool air from
the north and warm air from the south — where they converge to produce strong storm systems.
November in particular is a harsh month. The storms during this time have earned a
slew of nicknames, including the “The Witch of November" and the "Freshwater Furies."
It's also the month that holds claim to the sinking of notable ships,
including the Edmund Fitzgerald, the Carl D. Bradley, and the Daniel J. Morrell.
Built in West Bay City, Michigan,
the Daniel J. Morrell was quite the modern marvel when she was launched in 1906.
She and her sister ship, the Edward Y. Townsend, were the largest freighters
on the Great Lakes at the time, measuring just over 600 feet long (or 183 meters).
Their enormous size meant they were soon breaking records in cargo transport,
regularly carrying thousands of tons of iron ore.
Over the years, the Morrell continued getting updates in navigational equipment,
safety devices, and a new engine in 1956 that would increase her speed and power.
None of these improvements, however, could address the issues with her structural integrity,
which stemmed from the brittle steel used in her hull.
It was the same kind of steel, in fact, that had contributed to the Titanic’s demise in 1912.
The high sulfur content meant the steel would become brittle in cold temperatures.
Between the ship’s age and the freezing waters of the lake,
the hull of the Morrell was a ticking time bomb.
In November 1966, the Morrell and her sister ship, the Edward Y. Townsend, were docked near Buffalo,
New York, being relieved of what was supposed to be their last loads of the season.
As fate would have it, though, the two ships were ordered to make one
last trip as the result of another freighter having engine trouble.
On November 28, the Morrell and Townsend set out for Taconite Harbor, Minnesota, where they
were to pick up one last load of iron ore for the ships’ owner, the Bethlehem Steel Company.
Both ships left port with just their crews and water ballast,
which helped to lower them in the water and provide more stability.
Still, with no cargo to weigh them down,
the ships would not be as stable or as easy to maneuver in the rough waters.
Anxious to get this final trip over with,
Captain Arthur Crawley aboard the Morrell headed into Lake Huron.
As he did so, the weather quickly worsened. The ship plowed through
huge swells up to 25 feet high, or 8 meters — and gale-force winds
came from all directions at 60 miles per hour, or 97 kilometers per hour.
The Morrell’s sister ship, the Townsend,
radioed in that she was turning around to take cover in the Saint Clair River.
The Morrell, however, continued on as her bow and stern suspended above the waves,
causing rivets to pop from her strained hull.
As part of his duties that evening, watchman Dennis Hale went to check
for leaks in the ballast tanks. There he discovered that the second and third
cargo holds had standing water of about 18 inches, or 46 centimeters.
This was typical for the Morrell. She was always leaking, ever since Hale joined her crew.
“There has never been a time since I have been sailing that there’s never
been any holes in it,” he said during the investigation after the sinking.
Indeed, he had asked Captain Crawley the year before when they were going to
get the holes fixed. To which the Captain said, “We’re never in port long enough.”
So for Hale,
seeing a foot and a half of water sloshing around was just another day on the Morrell.
He informed the captain, retired to his cabin to read, and fell asleep around 10 o’clock.
Around 2 am, Hale woke up to the sound of a tremendous bang.
At first, he thought it was just the anchor hitting the side of the ship.
But then there was another bang.
This time, books toppled from the shelf hanging above his bed — this
never happened even in the worst of storms. Hale figured he’d better go investigate.
As he pulled back the curtain to get out of bed, the ship’s alarm system went off.
The lights in his cabin, he realized, weren’t coming on. Something was terribly wrong.
He ran out on deck, where he was met with his worst fear:
The deck of the Morrell was humped in the middle.
As the waves threw the ship, the stern would disappear, as if moving on a hinge.
The Morrell, he quickly realized, was splitting in two.
Hale raced down to his cabin with just enough time to grab his life jacket and wool coat.
With no time to dress or find shoes, he ran for the life raft wearing nothing else
besides the boxer shorts he’d been sleeping in.
It took 8 minutes from the time the general alarm sounded until I wound up in the water.
The main deck was starting to tear. You could see sparks, you could hear
it ripping. Real slow like a piece of paper. The noise, the noise was just unbelievable.
I didn't have any clothes on. I had a life jacket, a pair of under shorts, and a pea coat on.
As the final few plates ripped apart like paper, the Morrell split into two roughly equal sections:
the stern section … and the sinking bow,
where Dennis and his crewmates were struggling to get into the raft.
With the engines still running in the stern section, the propeller continued at full speed.
The stern section essentially became its
own autonomous runaway ship — and it kept grinding into the sinking bow.
Meanwhile, Dennis Hale and and his shipmates — including
Captain Crawley — clung to the life raft on deck.
As the bow sank, Dennis braced for death, expecting to be crushed by the oncoming stern.
Suddenly, a wave swept the men and the raft overboard.
And we went through this big wave. First thing you hear when you come
out the back side is everybody gasping for air,
and then the 65 mph wind would hit you, and it just felt like your skin was being pulled off.
Hale and three other sailors managed to surface and pull themselves into the raft,
just in time to watch the stern of the Morrell sail off into the night—its lights still glowing.
The stern, it was later discovered, would not sink for another 5 miles, or 8 kilometers.
Since no distress signal had been sent from the ship,
their only means for rescue was a flare gun found on the raft.
After shooting each flare, the men took turns holding the muzzle of the gun for warmth.
For the next 38 hours, Hale would continue to float in the raft
as the three other crewmen around him froze to death.
By dawn, I looked at the kid in front of me and there was some white foam coming out of his mouth,
and I jabbed him and I said, "You alright man?" And he didn't respond. Behind me was
another fellow. There was no response from him either.
And so I kicked the third guy, and I said, "Are you OK?"He says, "I'm hangin' in there."
We talked about being home for Christmas with our families.
But he said it felt like his lungs were filling up or something.
Well he started coughing, and he passed away, and he fell with his arm around me.
I guess my biggest fear right then and there was, I didn't want to be out there alone.
And when you're in a situation like that, you don't really care
if you live or die. You just want the whole thing over with.
And that night, I had my hands in my mouth to keep them warm.
I thought, maybe there's some way I can shove them down there far enough, I could block off my air.
But all I managed to do was gag myself. And before long, I saw daylight again.
Meanwhile, back on land, the Morrell was reported missing around noon when she didn’t
arrive in Taconite Harbor. The Coast Guard was dispatched and discovered Hale’s raft,
which had washed a few hundred yards offshore near Harbor Beach, Michigan.
Hale was on the brink of death, suffering severe hypothermia,
vascular damage to his legs, broken ribs, and severe frostbite.
Unsure if he would recover, Dennis Hale was given last rites once he arrived at the hospital.
Amazingly, after just 2 weeks, he was well enough to return home,
but it would take months more of recovery.
And the psychological toll of surviving the disaster was even greater.
Every day I'd ask the nurse if there's any survivors. I figured I survived, why couldn't
somebody else? Finally one day she came in, she says, "You should stop asking. It's been too long.
If there's anybody else out there, they're dead."
Being the sole survivor of the Morrell was a heavy burden for Hale,
and what he saw that night would haunt him for the rest of his life — but his testimony was
crucial in helping officials and family members of the victims understand the ship’s final moments.
His vivid descriptions of the ship breaking up—not
to mention the numerous times he had reported leaks prior to the incident—helped
to speed up the investigation into the official cause of the sinking.
In January of 1967, divers recovered samples of her hull plates. It was this dive that helped
the Coast Guard confirm what Hale already knew: The steel on the Morrell was no good.
Once this was discovered, the Morrell’s sister ship, the Edward Y. Townsend, was inspected.
Not surprisingly, the Townsend had multiple stress fractures in her hull
caused by the same brittle steel. She was deemed unfit to sail
and decommissioned for two years before being towed to a scrapyard.
While being towed, however, the Townsend sank in a storm about 400
miles off the coast of Newfoundland — reportedly after breaking in half.
This was a far more poetic ending than being scrapped, and fortunately, no lives were lost.
Beyond the investigation, it would be decades before Dennis Hale spoke
publicly about his experience on the Morrell.
The memories and images of his lost crewmates were too painful—
and he felt ashamed by the hallucinations and near-death visions he had while in the raft.
I just felt shame, embarrassment. I didn't want to be the sole survivor; I just wanted my old
life back. There were 28 people aboard. It was quite a loss, my whole family.
In 2010, though, he broke his silence with a book entitled “Shipwrecked: Reflections of the
Sole Survivor.” He was also featured in the documentary "Graveyard of the Great Lakes.”
He would continue talking about his experience
on the Morrell up until his death from cancer in 2015.
Two years before his death, his wife Barbara asked him what he’d like to say to his shipmates:
If you had a chance to talk to your shipmates, what would you tell them?
That I miss them, that I love them, and I'm glad for the time we had together.
Today, both sections of the Morrell stand upright in about 200 feet of water.
Five miles divide the two sections of the ship, and both are popular with experienced divers.
In 1979, when divers explored the stern,
they noticed the clocks had stopped some 3 hours after the clocks on the bow,
suggesting the stern managed to stay afloat that much longer after the bow.
It is a bizarre and eerie thing to imagine
the torn half of this giant ship floating in the water for hours.
The whole story of the Morrell is chaotic and terrifying and fascinating — and thanks to
Dennis Hale’s vivid account, it’s a clear reminder of the power of the Great Lakes.
But it’s also a reminder of the power and the resilience of the human spirit
when we’re faced with the unimaginable.