2001 was monumental and my research saw a change in course. The burning questions no longer revolved around the vessel’s history, but instead a particular crewman. The young quartermaster, Murphy Potestivo, became the banner I would now charge under. From the initial moments of seeing that black and white officer photo in Escanaba, Michigan, one element remained steady. Throughout all of this, that tall officer with hands in pockets and determined stare remained at my side. He wasn’t Murphy, I knew it plain as day…although have no clue how I knew it. I’ve yet to see a photo with those officers named. Just as mysteriously obvious was the officer’s name. He was Louis DeVrendt. I tried different names on him, convinced that I must’ve had a screw loose to know 100% who this guy was. Every name failed to click. Every time the calmly persistent voice in my head said, “no, it’s Louie.”
 
2001 was also the time when my research broke free of the computer and entered the physical. I trekked 535 mi / 861 km to visit Murphy’s niece. Along the way I interviewed the Marigold’s last employer and owner of the scrap yard that cut her up. While it was terribly sad to hear about how such an historic vessel ended, a shining moment came out of it. The lady and her husband joined me at the scrap yard, in Saginaw, Michigan. The owner took us to the spot where the Marigold last stood. I asked him if there was any possible way to get a piece of her. Smiling he said, “look down”. The ground was littered with pieces of ship. Scrubby grass wove between them, hiding most from the average passer-by. The lady, her husband and I took the open invitation to take home whatever we wanted. Although the 100+-year-old hull was now a memory, through us, she’ll never be completely lost to history.
 
A few months later I was standing beneath a lighthouse, north of Duluth, Minnesota and 408 mi / 657 km north of home.  It had been turned into a museum, although could still operate. Cargo ships today still use it to pinpoint their location.
 
The Marigold was a regular visitor to the light. She reliably delivered supplies and keepers. My motive for traveling that distance was to work with the light’s archives. They graciously let me go through all of the relevant paperwork, including delivery invoices, and copy ship’s blueprints. At last I “saw” her interior. It was exciting to be doing in the field research work that I’d only heard of. In spite of the great finds I made no headway in learning about Murphy.
 
While my knowledge of the ship was still making tremendous gains, I was growing increasingly frustrated at the utter lack of information on the officers. The calmly persistent voice in my head reminded me to stay determined. Any clue at all can reveal a new path, as I’d learned time after time with this ship. My logical self began to worry. Murphy wasn’t famous. Books weren’t written about him; his living family didn’t know him very well because he went to see at a young age. I’d been through countless hours of research only to see his name listed twice. Perhaps the trail was fading away, all avenues were being exhausted. I didn’t like to consider that, as there was still an incredibly strong need to learn what happened to him.