Remembering Ed Hauser

Although I'd read his name in the paper countless times, I first encountered the man behind the name -- Ed Hauser -- when he inquired about a class I was teaching in the fall of 2007. He was nearing the end of the first ten years of being a strong (make that STRONG!) civic activist here in Cleveland, and wanted to write a book about his adventures. It wasn't meant to be a tribute to himself, quite the contrary. He'd learned how to use the system to fight itself, and wanted to share his knowledge with the rest of the world.

Ed proved, beyond a doubt, that one person can indeed be a means of change. He’s forever changed the face of our lakefront, as well as several other areas of Cleveland. He will be sorely missed.

The first night of the class, we were treated to an example of Ed’s quiet passion for this city that he loved so well. He talked about the projects with which he’d been involved during these last ten years, and the rest of those in attendance, sat with mouths hanging open. Surely you’ll have heard of these, as well:

In his typical humble fashion, he told us about the award-winning film made the previous year about his battle to save Whiskey Island. Citizen Hauser went on to appear in several film festivals, and is available on DVD from local libraries. For more information about it, check the website http://www.blueholeproductions.org.

Ed had an outline for his book concept, and actually started a website, (called Office of Citizen) where he hoped to enlist others who shared his philosophy of civic activism. Unfortunately, neither project will now be fulfilled as he’d hoped. Others may and should pick up the burden, but it was Ed’s outlook and persistence that mattered most.

Last April, I did an interview with Ed about his activism and we spent several afternoons at Whiskey Island and Wendy Park, plus other locations where he had an interest: the Broadway Mills Building, the Port Authority’s empty spaces around the Stadium, and Dike 14, among others. The end of March in Cleveland is no time to go traipsing around a waterfront area, especially in the rain, but Ed was undaunted, and refused to let me be, either.

Fortunately, as happens here, the following week, the weather changed, and the charm of Whiskey Island and Wendy Park became more obvious. We could see amazing progress being made on the new bridge from Edgewater Park to the Whiskey Island Marina, and some remark that he made (which I cannot now remember) produced a brainstorm. I turned to Ed and said, ‘we need to go sit someplace where we can talk and I can make notes. (Hard to do while your walking in the wind, etc.) Can we go to Edgewater and look at the lake?’ He was entirely amenable to this idea, and we drove over to park facing the large expanse of blue water.

“Ed,” I said, sweeping one hand out to encompass the landscape as far as one could see in either direction, “Imagine that it’s twenty years from now, and you’ve been the Lakefront Commissioner for these past years. Okay?” I glanced over at him, to see his implacable expression, brow slightly furrowed, a faint smile on his face.

“If we presume that Edgewater here is fine as it is, and next door is Whiskey Island and all, what else would you like to see along this lakefront, from here east to oh, Dike 14? Take me along on an imaginary trip. Tell me what you’d like to see.”

He sat quietly for some moments, before turning to me and saying, “But Kelly, we don’t have a Lakefront Commissioner.”

I groaned. Scratched my head, then said, “I know that. But what if...? Imagine, Ed. Imagine.”

Again he was quiet, this time for a longer period of time. Finally, he turned to me again, this time with a sort of deprecating grin on his face and said, “But, Kelly. I’m an engineer. I don’t have an imagination.”

I laughed until I cried. He was totally confused by my reaction, but once I had myself in control again, I persisted, just as he’d been doing for the past ten years. My mission only took ten minutes, and resulted in this piece.

On May 17, local dignitaries gathered at Whiskey Island for River Day, which included the dedication and formal opening of the bridge from Edgewater to the Whiskey Island Marina. [Ed Hauser is on the right in the photo.] Ed was loudly applauded and singled out for recognition by each speaker. He was on a first-name basis with all of them: Newsletter/Replife (scroll to near the end).

Sadly, some of Ed’s dreams may not all be able to come true, now, that he’s no longer with us to fight for them. We definitely need a 'new' Ed Hauser to keep after these folks at the Port, and elsewhere. Unfortunately, it can't be me. I'm old enough to have been Ed's mother, with a few years left over. But somewhere out there, a new someone must be waiting... we must go forward, we dare not go back.

Cleveland is much the richer place for having known Ed Hauser. We must not allow him or his efforts to be forgotten.

To read the daily paper article about his passing, click here.

The local site RealNEO offers a pair of tributes here and here as well.

From Cool Cleveland contributor Kelly Ferjutz artswriterATroadrunner.com
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