Lake Erie Lives
Fog rolled in and Neil Barton pulled the pillow tighter over his head.
He knew what was coming. Soon the whole lighthouse would shake and moan. That’s why the Coast Guard issued you two pillows.
The foghorn set out a quick, one-second burp, quieted for a second, then bellowed for four long seconds. In 55 seconds, it would start its routine again. This would go on until the fog rolled off the lake in Ashtabula, Ohio. That could be two or three days.
The foghorn could be heard even in Canada, so there was no question that Barton, a few feet underneath the monstrous horns, would be hearing it for the duration of the storm. In fact, when he woke up for his turn taking weather reports, logging ships and maintaining the light, he’d have to tend to the air compressor being overburdened by all the horn blowing.
“All day and all night,” Barton says. “You never stop hearing it.”
Barton was one of the last lightkeepers on Lake Erie. Lightkeeper was his official title in the Coast Guard when his time serving his country was complete in 1959.
The Ashtabula Lighthouse is now run by a historic preservation society, which last summer reopened the lighthouse as a museum. The society schedules tours each summer, bringing in speakers like Barton to bring the lighthouse back to life.
There are no more manned lighthouses on Lake Erie, and there haven’t been in decades. An era ended soon after Barton’s service did.
Lightkeepers were assigned to lighthouses in pairs, each taking six-hour shifts while the other got some rest or tried to enjoy downtime, which wasn’t easy when isolated on a lake.
Most folks lasted a few months. Barton lasted two years.
“Living was crude. There was no drinking water. No showers, hot or cold,” he says. “But there were perks. You filled out a grocery list, and they would bring whatever you ask. If you wanted porterhouse steak for breakfast, lunch and dinner, you could order it.”
Water was delivered in 10-gallon steel cans. They always had two on hand, and they’d send one out for refill each time it emptied.
That worked most of the time.
Because the Ashtabula Car Ferry ran so late into the season taking cars from Ashtabula to Canada and back, Barton’s lighthouse stayed open later than most others on the lake. There were a few times when, because of heavy snowfall, supplies couldn’t be brought to the lighthouse for more than a week. “One time, we were down to our last jar of peanut butter,” Barton says. “It was a little concerning.”
Most times you were on two days and then had one day off.
While most people dreaded being posted at the lighthouse, Barton loved it. At one point, he started giving away his liberty, skipping his one day back on shore. “I was out there for three months. It got to the point where the commanding officer started coming out and asking funny questions,” he says. “He thought I was going loopy.”
Not that going loopy was completely unheard of. Barton witnessed it a few times.
In fact, one man only lasted 15 minutes.
After seeing the sparse, 7-by-6-foot bedroom with three beds squeezed in, he threatened to swim back. “I called on the radio and said it’s time to get a new guy out here,” Barton recalls.
But beyond the cramped quarters and the noise of the foghorn, it was the quiet that sent most men over the edge. You start to change, Barton says, when your mind is no longer distracted by daily life.
“Things happen to you when you’re isolated. You turn inward. You begin to remember things because you’re not distracted by the normal daily routines,” he says. “The mind is an incredible thing. It never quits. I have experienced every feeling you can experience on the lighthouse. Your memory starts to clear up. My thinking could go back almost to my birth.”
All what’s left is, well, you.
“Most people don’t really want to live with themselves,” he says. “They want to forget things. This makes you look at life head on.”
What it told Barton was he needed to find more in life. After he finished the service, he went to college and found a career and a wife.
He can’t remember exactly what thoughts he fought on that lighthouse, but he remembers the battle. When he heads back to Ashtabula to visit the old lighthouse, he’s reminded to look deep inside himself again.
Go to ashtabulalighthouse.com to arrange for a guided lighthouse tour.