The most famous shipwreck in Great Lakes history is the loss of the Edmund Fitzgerald in 1975. Seventeen years before, another November storm also claimed a heralded freighter, with an even greater casualty total.
This week marks the anniversary of the wreck of the Carl D. Bradley, a 639-foot steamer that broke up in northern Lake Michigan amid brutal weather conditions on Nov. 18, 1958.
Only two of the ship’s 35 men survived the sinking, which is one of the last great shipwrecks on the Lakes and the largest up to that time. Like so many other major wrecks on the Lakes, the Bradley went down on its last run of the season amid the infamous gales of November.
Launched in April 1927, the Carl D. Bradley was owned by U.S. Steel and hauled limestone for the Michigan Limestone & Chemical Co., based in Rogers City, Michigan. Named for the late president of Michigan Limestone, the self-unloading freighter was the largest ship on the Lakes until 1949.
The Bradley drew a depth of 33 feet with a capacity of 14,000 tons of crushed stone. In 1929, the ship delivered a record cargo for the Lakes at the time, when it carried 18,114 tons of limestone – enough for 300 rail cars – for deposit at Gary, Indiana.
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Though the ship was the pride of the company and was one of the busiest on the Lakes, 1958 had proved a down year, as a labor dispute forced the Bradley out of commission for several weeks earlier in the season.
In addition, the ship had grounded twice in the previous year, incidents that both went unreported. The Bradley was scheduled to receive a new hull in the offseason in 1958 and apparently, it was overdue. Rumors abounded that the ship was full of rust and had to keep the pumps on full volume.
Even the captain, Roland Bryan, had concerns. In a letter to a lady friend, he wrote “This boat is getting too ripe for much weather,” while in another letter, he penned “The hull is not good … have to nurse her along.”
In mid-November, the Bradley made its final run of the season – or so the crew thought. The ship dropped a load of limestone at Gary and was sailing for dry dock and the scheduled repairs. The Bradley was mere hours from docking when Bryan received a call from the company, ordering one more run from Rogers City.
This last-minute directive annoyed the crewmen, who were worried that they might not make it home in time for Thanksgiving. But the Bradley carried out its mission, dropping off its cargo at Buffington, Indiana, on Nov. 17. At 9:30 that evening, the Bradley cleared the Buffington harbor on the way back to Rogers City.
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By then, the weather had severely deteriorated. A massive cold front was sweeping over the Upper Midwest, dropping temperatures in Chicago more than 20 degrees on the 17th. At 4 p.m. Nov. 18, winds on Lake Michigan were gusting at 65 mph, with waves topping 40 feet.
Though the November 1958 storm was one of the worst on the Lakes in recent memory, the men of the Bradley were not concerned, as many had seen that kind of weather – or worse –before. Now empty against raging seas, the ship loaded its ballast tanks with 9,000 tons of water, hugged the Wisconsin shoreline for most of the trip north, and eventually turned deeper into Lake Michigan, nearing Gull Island in the archipelago on the north turn of the lake.
At 5:30 p.m. with the Bradley 12 miles southwest of Gull, First Mate Elmer Flemming radioed Rogers City, saying they expected to arrive around 2 a.m. He had barely uttered those words at 5:31 p.m. when a “loud thud” was heard, and the stern began to sag.
It was clear that the Bradley had suffered a major fracture, and was breaking up. Contact with the ship was lost at 5:45 p.m., only 14 minutes later. Several cries of “Mayday” went out, and a voice, possibly that of Bryan, was heard in the background screaming for men to “run, grab life jackets.”
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Nearby, the 250-foot German freighter Christian Sartori tried to make it to the site, but the vicious seas forced a 4-mile trip of 90 minutes. The captain of the Sartori later reported that he saw an explosion coming from the Bradley, likely the result of boilers that blew up when mixed with the cold lake water pouring into the dying ship.
The famed Coast Guard cutters Sundew and Hollyhock were also ordered out but to little avail in the horrid conditions. The captain of the Hollyhock later compared the seven-hour run from Sturgeon Bay to “a visit to hell.”
Four men from the Bradley managed to make it onto one life raft, and two of them perished before the tiny craft was found by the Sundew at 8:37 a.m. the next day. The two survivors, Flemming and 26-year-old deckhand Frank Mayes, reportedly had icicles in their hair.
Eighteen bodies were eventually recovered, and Rogers City, a small town of 3,873, was rocked by the tragedy. Mass funerals were held as the community tried to come to grips with the disaster.
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Like many high-profile shipwrecks, the inquiry was controversial and convoluted. Though Mayes fervently repeated his story that the Bradley had ruptured, U.S. Steel denied his testimony and eventually fired him.
Adding to the discord was a finding by a California firm hired by U.S. Steel to survey the wreck, an effort that claimed the ship was in 375 feet of water in one piece. As a result, the inquiry, and succeeding media reports, claimed the ship was lost to “an act of God.”
Some modern observers believe that had the inquiry concluded that the Bradley was in two pieces, U.S. Steel would have been accused of improper maintenance, with a much higher liability. The company settled with the victims’ families for much less than they were asking.
In 1997, a dive confirmed Frank Mayes’ version that the Carl D. Bradley had, in fact, broken in half.
• Tom Emery is a freelance writer and historical researcher from Carlinville, Illinois. He may be reached at 217-710-8392 or ilcivilwar@yahoo.com.