It's nearly Passover and it reminds me that it's been just over a year, in Jan 2015, that Ed passed away. I'm not religious and know little about Passover. But I feel an affinity for it -- it's suggestive of hope and resilience and safety. And it fits Ed's life.
Some may remember him. He was a sturdy bear of a guy who lived here on Sunset Blvd for almost ten years. After I moved here, I often saw him walking rapidly up the street, always with a hat, and with what seemed like a strong determination to be somewhere or find something. I wondered who he was...
I finally met him in the park one summer. Almost eighty then but certainly not looking frail, he had a backpack and asked if I knew where Beckett Point was.
I pointed down the beach. Inwardly I shuddered. It's about a five mile round trip hike and looked like an obstacle course of fallen trees due to bluff erosion.
He must have sensed my concern and suddenly we started to talk about other things. In a stream of consciousness kind of a way, he mentioned being Dutch. After hearing my Dutch surname, he spoke a little Dutch which I tried to echo to his amusement.
The Dutch it turns out are very sensitive about the pronunciation of their words. Ed explained they caught many German paratroopers dressed in stolen Dutch uniforms during the invasion because of the difficult hard "k" sound that Germans would mangle. They just couldn't get "Scheveningen" right.
I tried to pronounce it. Nope! Ed, with a slight smile , promised not to "turn me in".
He related he and his mother had been in hiding during the war. Not immediately after the invasion though. Most couldn't believe the horror to come. It came slowly at first then accelerated quickly. They endured horrific prejudice and a relentless set of decrees as the noose tightened.
Signs forbidding Jews appeared overnight. Dismissals from jobs, confiscation of homes, cars, and eventually bicycles were next. Obligatory stars had to be worn on clothing. Then came arrests and call-ups for "relocation". Two years after the invasion, it was time to disappear. Ed was nine years old.
An Uncle in the Dutch resistance helped them go underground in the nick of time. Mass deportations had begun. For three years until Canadian tanks rolled into Utrecht, they stayed hidden passing through a dozen or so safe houses in the process.
After the war, they emigrated to Philadelphia. Ed went on to graduate Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Pennsylvania. He won a full scholarship to West Virginia University medical school.
Ed had planned to become a psychiatrist. But he never attended West Virginia. He had lost confidence that he could do well enough. Maybe post-traumatic stress, common to Holocaust survivors, had set in and robbed him of what he wanted so badly.
He went to the West Coast, got an MSW from Berkeley. But, he never became a social worker either. Instead he was a longshoreman in San Francisco and later L.A. for over thirty years. One who read the New York Times on his lunch hour.
After retirement, he fled California, found Port Townsend, and relocated here. He read, walked, worked out at the gym, and gave to others. A top contributor to Habitat For Humanity, he found their efforts inspirational. "It restores my faith in humanity", he told a news reporter.
Then just a few short years ago Ed was diagnosed with Alzheimers. It crept in slowly. He forgot little things. Then one day in a panic, he couldn't remember where he parked his car. Details of his life in hiding and buried pain were now locked away.
But, he continued reading avidly, including the daily New York Times. He continued to walk and work out. A trainer at Evergreen Fitness was impressed with his strength and tough regimen even as his condition worsened. He still loved music. He smiled at jokes.
In a time where so much seems to be going wrong in the world, Ed's story still resonates. It's hard to imagine the constant fear, the enforced stillness, and isolation of his childhood. Yet he didn't emerge embittered or reclusive.
He didn't give in to the disease either. Even as he battled, he remained the cultured, erudite European gentleman who looked for the best in everyone .
I will always remember him as a fighter, a strong "tough guy" with a heart of gold. He was my friend. I miss him.
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