Gordon, Tom, Coreen and Sharilyn: I have many fond memories of my time at the family home on Harper Drive in Prince George. From Norma's homemade bread to Ed's Canuck games on the radio, it was all good.
Ed was kind and patient to the teenagers running around and I enjoyed rides to Sunday night basketball practice in the old Ford Fairlane with the "three on the tree" stickshift. Like Ed, they just don't make them like that anymore.
Expressing my deepest sympathy to Ed’s family.
Ed was a special friend to myself and my late husband Leo, he was best man at our wedding and our son Ed was named after him
Ed and I worked together for many years at the Canfor Mills in Prince George. He was a great engineer and an excellent leader. Many of the engineers and technicians that he hired excelled in various positions in Canfor and throughout the pulp and paper industry. My condolences to the family. He was a special person, and I am honoured to have known him.
I went to school with Sharilyn in PG and I too remember Ed from my days of working at Canfor. My heartfelt condolences to the family. What a beautiful tribute from his granddaughter.
Pam Sinclair (Madden)
Message granddaughter Jessica Liew wrote for her son:
What I will tell Zayden about the great grandfather he met only once and will never get to know.
I will tell Zayden that as a little girl growing up, I did just fine without my father because my grandpa was even better. That from the earliest moment I can remember, I was grandpa’s girl.
I will tell him that his great grandfather had the biggest hands. That my first real memory of my grandfather is of my little fingers wrapped around just one of his, the baby finger where he wore his Engineer’s ring. I remember that ring as clearly as I remember how safe and secure I felt holding my grandpa’s hand because he was the biggest, smartest, bravest person I knew and I believed he could protect me from anything.
I will tell him how much my grandpa loved hockey and that he was probably happiest when there was a Canucks game on—even if it didn’t seem like it because he was usually mad at the ref for making a bad call. I will tell him how I learned about hockey sitting in my grandpa’s lap in the La-Z-Boy in the basement of our house in Prince George. That I learned even more sitting next to him in the stands at the Pacific Coliseum where he always sat with a headphone in one ear listening to the radio commentary while he watched. I will also tell him that I am pretty sure the people sitting nearby also learned a lot about his views on the game because he had a tendency to talk a little too loud, forgetting that I could hear him just fine because I wasn’t listening to the radio in one ear like he was. That the only thing he may have regretted on the day he died was that he didn’t live long enough to see the Canucks win a Stanley Cup.
I will tell him that his great grandpa loved to golf. That when he wasn’t playing golf, he was probably watching it on TV. That I am sure the best game of his life was the one he golfed in Penticton with his grandsons. That he had a special system for marking his balls. That most of his shirts were golf shirts. That he would have been the first person to teach Zayden how to swing a club if he’d had the chance.
I will tell him that my grandmother used to shout “Oh Edward!” whenever she was exasperated with him, that she regularly threatened to trade him in for a new model and that they had the kind of marriage that most people cross their fingers and pray for. That fifty years, four children, six grandchildren and one very spoiled dog later, they still held hands and looked at each other with complete love right up until the day she died. And that he was never the same without her.
And I will tell him all the silly little things that I remember. I will tell him that his great grandfather was an excellent driver even if he tended to overdo it on the air conditioning. That he loved cashews, jelly beans and pecan pie. That it took him 25 minutes to make a ham and cheese sandwich. That his sneezes were louder than almost anything I’ve ever heard. That my favourite brown sweater, the one that I still wear despite the holes in it, was one I stole from his closet. That if I hadn’t stolen it, it would probably still be in there because he never got rid of anything—except under duress. That he could fix anything with some Scotch tape and paper clips—or so we all liked to joke. That he really could fix almost anything. That all his nails, screws, nuts and bolts were sorted into baby food jars on his work bench. That all his business trips and vacations with my grandmother had taken him to every continent on Earth except Antarctica. That he taught me how to use chopsticks and how to barbecue. That if he was teasing you and pretending to forget your name, he always called you George.
But mostly I will tell him about all the years that I took golf lessons. My grandfather would pick me up and drive me to Marine Drive Golf Club, and we would listen to the same Johnny Cash tape over and over. I will tell Zayden that I hardly remember the lessons, that what I really remember is eating BLTs in the clubhouse and getting Mars bars from the Pro Shop for dessert. I will tell him I took golf lessons for years, not because I loved golf, but because I loved spending the day with him, just the two of us. Because I loved him.