The Steinbrenner
Rescue Mission
The lifestyle on a Coast Guard Lifeboat Station isn't all rescues and heroism. It's mostly daily routines of station maintenance, watch standing, drills and lots of boredom. It's when that call comes in by radio, phone, or whatever, the watch-stander sounds the alarm bell and the crew on duty goes into action. Coast Guard Lifeboat Stations have port and starboard crews ... one on duty, one off. Each has a qualified crew ready to go. When the alarm sounds, the duty crew prepares the rescue boat while the coxswain gets all information he can get about the incident and mission that is taking place. In those good ol' days, that rescue boat was the reliable 36 in the boathouse, fully fueled and ready for action. The boathouse doors open, the 36 rolls into the water with crew aboard, and off they go. All you former Coasties know this.
During a storm when the sea is wild, they know that this could be a wild ride. But no matter, they must go and every minute counts if lives are to be saved. This is why lifeboat stations exist. A competent crew and boat can make the difference in success or failure. Not all rescues missions are successful. The rescue crew are well aware of this, but that doesn't matter, they will give it their best, many times beyond the call of duty.
The following story is of one that took place on Lake Superior in 1953 during one of these wild Lake storms. The Portage Lifeboat Station crew were called upon to perform a mission they knew had a bleak outcome. No matter. They had to go. Two 36's, one from Portage and one from the North Superior Station at Grand Marais, Minnesota departed on a wild ride in 20 to 30 foot waves that had a questionable ending.
 Portage Lifeboat Station, Keweenaw Peninsula, Michigan |
 North Superior Lifeboat Station, Grand Marais, Minnesota |
In 1901 a 427-foot Lake Freighter Henry Steinbrenner was launched in Port Huron, Michigan. She was a typical Laker, hardly distinguishable from most others. Her typical cargo when up-bound was coal, down-bound was iron ore, and she was powered by a coal-fired triple-expansion steam engine. Owned by the Kinsman Transportation Company, she plied her trade for 52 years and met her fate on a stormy day in May, 1953 on Lake Superior. End of story.
Well, not quite. Each vessel that travels the Lakes has its own unique story. The Lake bottoms are strewn with vessels that never made it to the scrap heap after a short or long career. Many others did, some just by luck alone. The Lakes and Mother Nature are very unforgiving.
The Steinbrenner's bad luck began the day it was launched ahead of schedule due to a fire at the shipyard. During her career, crewmen complained about many things not working correctly for strange reasons.
On December 5, 1909 she collided with the Laker Harry A. Berwind in the St. Mary River sending her to the bottom loaded with coal. She spent the winter there with only the deck superstructure above water. In the spring she was raised, repaired and put back in service.
In 1923 she collided with the Laker John McCartney in Whitefish Bay resulting in some $15,000 in damage, but she didn't sink. Back to the yards again for repair.
In 1941 she rammed the wall in the Soo Locks resulting in $25,000 damage that took her out of service for that season. Bad luck? Maybe. She still had grumbling crews complaining about this and that, but she behaved herself for the next 12 years until 1953.
On May 10, 1953 she departed the Superior, Wisconsin docks at 5:00 a.m. with 6,800 tons of iron ore for a routine trip down-bound to a Lake Erie steel mill. The weather was calm, the Lake was flat, with a weather report of southeasterly winds to about 35 mph forecast. This was nothing she couldn't handle with ease. By 4:00 p.m. that day the wind increased to some 40 mph and was still increasing. By 8:00 p.m. the wind swung northeast, and by 11:00 p.m. they were in a full Lake storm of 80 mph gusts and seas growing to some 30 feet. This was not predicted, but who can really predict the weather with any accuracy?
The Captain had been taking precautions all along by having the crew periodically checking the cargo hatches, etc. Two big mistakes were made. Many of the hatch cover hold-down bolts were not tightened securely, and the canvas hatch covering had not been applied. The Captain determined from weather reports that the trip would be routine and uneventful. But Mother Nature and Lake Superior don't follow weather reports.
Through the night crewmen attempted to secure hatch covers that were loosening from the waves roaring across the deck. One hatch cover had worked open and pumps were started to remove water in the hold. No longer could crewmen go on the deck to secure them, even by the Captain's maneuvering to do so. By 6:00 a.m. after a wild night, the Captain and crew realized they were in real trouble. There was no panic, but he advised everyone to put on life jackets and he broadcast by radio that they urgently needed help.
At 7:30 a.m. he notified the engine room, by the Chadburn telegraph, to stop the engines. He also sent another radio S.O.S. alert of the situation. He then sounded the loud "Abandon Ship" whistle. No sailor aboard ship wants to hear that. The Steinbrenner was now low in the water and it was only a matter of time before she would go to the bottom. The two 20-man lifeboats were readied for launching at the stern. The forward crew had a large steel air-tanked 15-man life raft.
Meanwhile the Captain's 6:00 a.m. radio alert was heard all over Lake Superior. The Steinbrenner was about 15 miles due south of the Menagerie Island Lighthouse on Isle Royale. At Duluth, the 180-foot Coast Guard buoy tender Woodrush departed, heading into the storm. It would take at least nine or ten hours for her to get there. There were also six Lake freighters in the general area that changed course to head to the stricken Steinbrenner, the nearest freighters being the D.M. Clemson and the Joseph H. Thompson, both several hours away.
At the Coast Guard Lifeboat Station in Grand Marais, Minnesota the crew went into action, lowered the 36-foot motor lifeboat (MLB) CG-36493 for a wild ride in cross winds and sea to the site. At the Portage Station, BMCL John Mixon was called at home in Calumet at 6:00 a.m. He told BM2 William Reynard to ready their 36-foot MLB (CG36456) and be ready to go when he gets there in 20 minutes.
They departed at 6:30 a.m. with Mixon, Reynard, EN1 Robert Coppens and Seaman Jack Reddy. They would also have a wild ride as the wind and sea was hitting them on the starboard front quarter. Thirty miles and four hours of running time would bring them to the site as the first of the Coast Guard rescue boats. Any hope for survivors relied heavily on nearby Lake freighters. The Grand Marais lifeboat had some protection for a while from the high seas by Canada and Isle Royale, but the Portage lifeboat took the full brunt of the storm, as did the Woodrush.
As a side note … We at the Lower Entry Light Station were notified before 7:00 a.m. of what was taking place, along with Manitou Island Light Station. Both stations had 25-foot boats that functioned well in reasonable seas. We were told to stay on-station at the ready for any local occurrence that may arise while the Portage rescue boat was out on mission. This was a normal procedure and would remain intact until the event was over. Portage had one boat left, and along with the two other boats that made three available for emergency around the Keweenaw. We were updated every three or four hours and fortunately no private or commercial fishboats left their dock during this storm and it remained uneventful.
Back at the Steinbrenner things were not going well, but there wasn't too much panic. The crew had to get into the boats and raft. You wouldn't last long in the cold water and you had to get away from the sinking vessel suction and the big explosion when the cold water hits the hot boilers. Then with the rough seas you had to remain in the lifeboats and raft which was not to be. For the next four-and-a-half hours they experienced the worst that Lake Superior could throw at them, overturning, climbing back wet and cold. Each time one of them overturned, fewer got back aboard. One survivor was quoted as saying, "This was pure hell. More religion was gained here than 20 years in a seminary."
By 11:00 a.m. the three closest Lake freighters arrived: the Joseph H. Thompson, the Wilfred Sykes, followed by the D.M. Clemson. Unbeknown by them at the time, they would be the only ones to rescue any survivors. When a vessel goes down in a storm, the sooner rescue ships get on-scene, the better chance at saving lives. The Steinbrenner had a crew of 31, fourteen of which were rescued by the three Lake freighters. The Thompson rescued five from the forward raft, the Clemson rescued seven from the port lifeboat, and Sykes rescued two from the starboard lifeboat.
This doesn't really tell the whole story. A large Lake freighter is not designed for rescue, nor does it have the ability to maneuver, stop or go, or change directions easily, especially in heavy seas with other freighters nearby. Witnesses aboard the other three freighters laying well away from the scene said that what they saw through binoculars was unbelievable seamanship as the Sykes and the Thompson maneuvered and changed course constantly to jockey into position to make the rescue. At times they were in the trough of the waves as they turned around, risking a roll-over. Camaraderie among brother sailors in trouble goes deep. What if it was them out there? Sailors with 30 or more years of sailing had never seen large ships do anything like that before, and probably never will again.
The Portage Coast Guard motor life boat arrived on-scene by 11:30 a.m., followed two-and-a-half hours later by the Grand Marais, Minnesota motor life boat. Their job was to plow through wreckage, looking for survivors or bodies. They were guided by radio from the Lakers who had good vision from high above the heavy seas. A Coast Guard amphibian airplane from Traverse City also flew overhead giving directions. The motor life boats can maneuver around safely, although not comfortably, as they search the waters. Wreckage was strewn all over for miles, including interior wood, proof that there was a terrific explosion when the cold lake water got to the hot boilers.
By 1:00 p.m. it was evident but not spoken that all those alive had been rescued. Their job was now locating bodies. Several bodies were retrieved by the freighters and one body was retrieved by the Portage lifeboat crew. Retrieving bodies in 70 mph winds and 20-foot seas is no easy task.
BMCL Mixon was injured while retrieving the body as the motor life boat rocked and rolled. By 3:00 p.m. time had run out for any survivors. The Coast Guard motor life boat's fuel was reaching the point that they would have to head back. They couldn't get close to the Woodrush, which had just arrived to refuel or retrieve bodies from the freighters who wanted to off-load them. The freighters with survivors left for their destination, one to the Soo, the other two to Duluth, and the others to their destinations. The Coast Guard motor life boats departed at 3:30 p.m. just a short time after the Woodrush arrived on scene. She would remain for at least another day. The three-and-a-half hour return trip to the Portage Station was worse than the trip out for Mixon and his crew. The wind and seas were hitting them on the stern port quarter, making staying on course difficult with the boat rolling and twisting constantly. But that's what they are built to do. The crew could do nothing but hang on. The Grand Marais boat and crew fared no better.
Upon arrival at the station dock, help was waiting. The crew needed help to the station house, as after 14 hours of unsteady riding, they could not walk with any balance on firm ground. This is normal. The retrieved body was taken to the Erickson Funeral Parlor in Calumet and Mixon went to St. Joseph Medical Center to be checked over.
The mission was over for the Portage and Grand Marais lifeboats and crew. They did what they had to do with the odds against them from the beginning. When a ship goes down out in the Lake during a wild storm, getting any survivors relies on help getting there quickly. In this case it was the fellow sailors on the nearby Lake freighters who did almost the impossible to save 14 of the Steinbrenner's crew. Seventeen lost their lives to Lake Superior. At the Coast Guard Board of Investigation, it was determined the demise of the Henry Steinbrenner was caused by the hatch covers not being properly secured and that the canvas hatch coverings had not been applied in accordance to Regulations. Action was taken against the Captain's license.
The story ends here for the Henry Steinbrenner and the ill-fated crew of 31. Lake Superior took control of a ship not prepared for what she can dish out whenever she wants to. The rescue vessels and boats did everything they could possibly do. A vessel relies on the Captain and crew to take care of it. Treat me right and I'll serve you well. When one or the other fails to do so, tragedy happens. In the case of the Steinbrenner the human element failed the ship for whatever reason, and down she went. The loss: 1 ship, its cargo and 17 crewmen.
The Portage boat CG-36456 and Grand Marais boat CG-36493 were refueled, checked over and put back in their boathouse, ready to go out again when duty calls.
 CG-36456 |
 Left, Jim Reddy, SN. Right, William Reynard, BM2. Sitting, Robert Coppens, EN1, holding life jacket from body they retreived. In radio room at the Portage Station. |
 BMCL John Mixon Chief of Portage Coast Guard Station |
 On the left, CG-36493 of North Superior Coast Guard Lifeboat Station |
Any former Coastie who has a story of any rescue missions on a 36 foot MLB and would like to have it posted on this website, please email the information to me at dnelson@pasty.com. Pictures of the boat, crew, station, etc. would be great. A tribute to these crewmen and boats need not be forgotten or lost.