Every other year, when the humpies were running, you would find Ed at the beach in front of his house, in his signature rocking lawn chair, two buckets in tow. One bucket was for salmon, and the other was turned upside down to serve as a table for his drink and radio, in case the Mariners were playing. He’d bring along his home-made PVC pole holder and sunshade, fishing rod, and a red bike flag, setting up his little kingdom by the shore. There, he’d sit patiently, rod in the holder, waiting until he spotted a salmon close enough to cast. He’d reel it in slowly, savoring the moment, and when his glass was empty, he’d stick the red bike flag in the sand. With the red flag waving in the breeze, his beloved wife Cheryl knew it was time to come to the beach to see how he was doing and to replenish his drink. They were a good team.

Born into one of Oak Harbor’s earliest Dutch settler families, Ed was fiercely proud of his heritage and being a frugal Dutchman.Raised in a close-knit community, Ed was surrounded by a large extended family, something he deeply appreciated throughout his life. A sign in his workshop summed it up: “If you ain’t Dutch, you ain’t much.” His Dutch pride ran as deep as his stubbornness, and his dry sense of humor was as sharp as his fishing skills. Ed was famous for his “Ed-isms”—those bits of deadpan wisdom that only he could deliver. Classics included, “You catch more fish when your hooks in the water,” which could be followed by “You catch even more fish when you’re fishing where the fish are.” But his daughter’s obvious favorite was, “If your kid needs punishment, hit the kid next to him. You get the point across without damaging the relationship.” Whether dealing with fish or life, Ed had a way of making the hardest problems sound simple.

Ed’s journey to becoming a lawyer was anything but ordinary. When Ed was offered a scholarship to the University of Washington to study ceramic engineering, he immediately recognized that his lifelong dream was to become… a ceramic engineer. But after an internship that asked him to design a woman’s stand-up urinal, he felt a bit disenchanted and went home for the summer to rethink things. After looking around town, Ed noticed a lawyer named Ted Zylstra had a good thing going on: He had a fancy car, a charming wife, and a receptionist who could stop traffic. He felt confident he had found 3 good reasons to go into law. So, without a second thought (or finishing his degree for that matter), Ed transferred to the UW law school. And as he liked to quip, “I didn’t know you were supposed to graduate from college first.” But after “three very long years of law school,” Ed returned home and opened his own practice with the same can-do attitude he brought to everything. His first office? Still under construction when he hung up his shingle. And the cherry on top? He ended up opening a law firm with none other than Ted Zylstra.

Over the next 38 years, Ed left an indelible mark as both a trusted lawyer and dedicated public servant. One of Ed’s proudest achievements was keeping NAS Whidbey off the closure list. But if you asked him about it, he’d just smile humbly and say, “That was a good project.” Those who knew him, however, understood it was much more than that. Ed didn’t just save the base—he helped save the community. Whether it was building the local swimming pool, planting hundreds of trees around town, or even persuading the mayor to design a storage building in the shape of a windmill—which became the iconic Windmill at City Beach Park—Ed’s vision helped define his beloved hometown.In addition to his many successes, however, Ed did have a few memorable missteps. He briefly earned the nickname “10 Bed Ed” after a short stint running a tanning salon, and there was the ill-fated wine shop venture with some lawyer friends. The shop went broke, they drank the inventory— no one was quite sure which happened first.

Ed was a man who deeply valued traditions, whether it was salmon fishing or hunting trips, men’s days on the golf course, or gatherings with the “Dutch Bunch.” He even hosted legendary “howling at the moon”parties at his winter home in Arizona. But his greatest tradition was transforming Tukwila, WA, into an actual destination. For 17 years, Ed and Cheryl made the DoubleTree hotel at Southcenter Mall the heart of their family reunions. These gatherings, filled with laughter and shared memories, became an integral part of his grandchildren’s lives—a testament to Ed’s unique ability to build community and turn any place into a cherished tradition.

If you ever spotted Ed around town—or on the golf course—you couldn’t miss him in his signature “uniform”: a crisp white shirt, black coat, black shorts, and his infamous hat with builtin “AC” (customized, of course, by cutting off the top). Ed believed in function over fashion, but somehow, he always made it work. His creativity extended far beyond his wardrobe—he was a masterful problem solver, tackling challenges with calm precision and an inventive spirit. Ed had an extraordinary ability to listen deeply, offering guidance with care and patience. He took immense pride in caring for his family, ensuring everything was in order, from maintaining a meticulously organized extended family calendar to providing unwavering support and confidence to his children and grandchildren. His generosity knew no bounds—he made sure all his children and grandchildren were set up to pursue college or whatever path they chose. His steady, calm, thoughtful presence left a lasting impact on everyone who had the privilege of knowing him.

Ed’s wit and wisdom were undeniable, but the true heart of his life was his wife, Cheryl. She was his soulmate, best friend, and constant companion. Together, they were truly inseparable. When Cheryl faced her battle with Alzheimer’s, Ed’s devotion to her never wavered. He cared for her with the same dedication and determination that defined his entire life, spending countless hours learning everything he could about the disease, desperately seeking ways to help her. He kept her at home for as long as possible, refusing to let her go. Just three months after Cheryl was moved into a memory care facility, Ed passed away. While his departure felt sudden, his family understood that he simply couldn’t bear living without her by his side. Now, as Ed’s rocking chair sits empty by the water, we can almost hear the gentle clink of his glass, the hum of the Mariners game, and the soft flutter of that red bike flag. And we know he’s smiling—having solved all of life’s problems with his sharp mind, dry wit, and generous heart. Rest easy, Ed, knowing you’ve left your part of the world better for having been in it.