I just learned from Ed Menard’s sister that he passed away on February 21, 2023, from a heart attack. I’d like to share a few reflections about him.
Ed was different—definitely unlike anyone else. The last time I saw him was around 1976, so my memories are of the Ed I knew before then. I don’t know much about his life afterward.
I first noticed Ed in the co-op kitchen, drinking straight from a milk carton—he didn’t bother with the usual social protocols. That was Ed.
In the summer of 1971, during my first year at the co-op, my roommate Ginger Purcell and I were looking for work. Ed told us about his job—going door to door in the San Fernando Valley selling pre-paid healthcare plans. Desperate for work, we joined him. Two 19-year-old girls trudging through neighborhoods like Pacoima, Reseda, and Canoga Park. Ed kept a protective eye on us, but he was pretty chagrined when Ginger managed to get people to sign up—something neither he nor I could do. That job only lasted about two weeks, but it was my first real experience getting to know Ed.
A year or so later, we worked together again, this time at the UCLA Medical Center in the “dead” files department, sorting and filing inactive medical records. It was dull work, but it gave us lots of time to talk. I learned that Ed was incredibly smart and had strong opinions on just about everything. We both grew up in working-class families in the San Gabriel Valley, which gave us an instant bond. “You know what it was like growing up in the Valley,” he’d say, and we’d reminisce about things like watching boys drag race down Valley Blvd. He also loved the phrase “bleeding heart liberal,” often using it to describe various political stances, usually with a bit of humor.
Ed was a walking encyclopedia of co-op history. (See his article in the 1974/1975 Chatterbox for a vivid example.) He once told me the story of Bill Divale,* an FBI informant who had roomed with and spied on Walter Crowe. (Walter attracted the interest of the FBI due to his involvement with the Communist Party and his past association with Sirhan Sirhan, who had been a childhood friend.) While presenting himself as a Marxist and a leader within SDS, Divale was secretly working as an undercover agent for the FBI. According to Ed, Walter was heartbroken when he found out the friend he had trusted was actually a spy.
Ed was deeply connected to the co-op. Before one Thanksgiving, I asked Ed if he was going home. He replied, “The co-op is my home.” That sentiment is echoed in his Chatterbox article, where he wrote about several legendary co-opers: “The co-op wasn’t a dorm to these people. It was their home.”
Ed was also generous with his time and knowledge. When I had to write a paper for an economics class—a subject about which I knew next to nothing—he stepped in to help. He gave me several “pearls” to include and said enthusiastically, “Your professor is going to love this!” He was right. I got an A+ on that paper, entirely thanks to Ed’s help.
The last time I saw Ed was shortly before I left for graduate school in social psychology at the University of Michigan. He was genuinely happy for me and proud, knowing I was the first in my family to go to college, let alone graduate school. Around that time, he was planning to start law school at UCLA. From what I’ve heard, he didn’t enjoy it and dropped out. I don’t know what happened to him after that.
While planning our co-op reunion, I had hoped to reconnect with him and learn more about the life he led. I hoped he had found happiness, even if he never quite fit into the conventional mold.
Ed was complex, sharp, unconventional, and fiercely loyal to the people and places he cared about. I’m grateful to have known him. His memory will stay with those of us who shared that time and place.
--Paula Pietromonaco
*Divale’s book “I Lived Inside the Campus Revolution” states that he and Walt lived together in an apartment on South Barrington St. in West LA. Later they both moved to the co-op but did not room together.
Comments from the UCHA Alumni Website:
How could I forget Ed Menard? Thinking I was a wrestler I decided to have a go at Ed, who outweighed me by fifty pounds. It was over in ten seconds with me pinned to the floor. Then there was the hitchhiking. Left school two consecutive spring quarters to go from the coop to Chicago and back and from the coop to Washington DC and back. That delayed my graduation a bit. Lucky I got back and lucky I graduated. That was Ed Menard stuff. And my last memory of Ed heckling a speaker at Ackerman Union. Ed was a real contrarian and it rubbed off on me. Like a big brother. --Mike Jordan
*******
Thanks for remembering Ed so fondly. He was unforgettable. My memory of him was one night in the old kitchen when he taught me how to defend myself. "Now you don't want to hit him in the nose too hard, because then you'll kill him" as he demonstrated some moves. And then the time he and 2 or 3 other guys decided to ride boxcars for an adventure. They got kicked off the train at the Oregon border because the guy who found them said they'd freeze to death in the boxcar if they kept going north. I'm certain he will make it to the reunion. –Melinda Goffstein Wells
**********
So sad to learn of Ed's passing. He was a very special, very unique, soul, that I was privileged to know, and will never forget. Ed was extremely intelligent. Whatever the subject, Ed had something interesting and unique to say. The true Ed contradicted one's first, superficial impressions of him. One of the co-op girls nicknamed him Neanderthal, understandably, due to his giant hulking size, the way he lurched and stumbled around, swinging his arms, and his loud imposing voice and manner. Beneath that intimidating exterior, however, lay a kind, gentle soul. My nickname for him: Gentle Ed. --Jim Simon