Pounds of Prevention

A steady snow was falling on Lake Huron as the 603-ft. freighter Daniel J. Morrell steamed toward Taconite, Minn., for a load of iron ore, but the night was otherwise tranquil. Watchman Dennis Hale, 26, ended his tour of duty, had a snack in the galley and headed for his bunk. Six hours later, he was awakened by "two loud thumps," followed by the insistent clang of the emergency bell. Clad only in underwear and peacoat (he couldn't find his trousers), Hale sped topside--and gasped at what he saw. Lashed by a sudden, severe Great Lakes storm that kicked up 60-m.p.h. winds and 20-ft. waves, the ship was breaking in two.

With ten others, Hale piled into a pontoon raft, but inrushing waves from the sinking Morrell capsized the craft, pitching its occupants into 40DEG water. In the blackness, only Hale and three others managed to climb back in. Soon after dawn, Deck Mates John Cleary and Arthur Stojek died. "They were frozen," said Hale. "They had shocked eyes. They had funny expressions." Wheelsman Charles Fosbender died late that afternoon.

Through that night and into the next afternoon, Hale bobbed about helplessly, suffering such excruciating pain from the cold that "I hoped I would die." Though he was unaware of it, nobody knew of his plight; the Morrell had not even sent off an SOS. Not until 34 hours after she sank, when another freighter came upon the floating corpse of a seaman wearing a Morrell life jacket, was a search launched. Two hours later, a Coast Guard helicopter sighted Kale's raft, and divers in rubber suits hoisted him and his three dead mates aboard. In all, a score of bodies were recovered, and it appeared that Hale, who has a wife, two children and two stepchildren in Ashtabula, Ohio, was the sole survivor of the 29-man crew. One factor that prevented the stocky, 220-pounder from succumbing to the cold, said doctors, was his own body fat, which acted as built-in insulation.

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