Ed Mannon recently died, riding a bike without a helmet. He was a rebel to the end.
Ed is best known for his activism on behalf of the homeless in the 1970s and ’80s. He was cantankerous, argumentative and combative. He was also very smart, a natural-born rebel, with a keen sense of injustice.
Ed did not suffer fools lightly, or the inflated egos of those who crossed his path. Some did not like him. Some of us loved him.
In many ways, my friendship with Ed was impossible, yet seemingly destined by fate. He was deeply conservative, as I was progressive. He intensely disliked most who served the homeless, finding a great deal of ego and self-indulgence among them.
On windswept streets, we would have our debates on many issues, including the establishment of Casa Esperanza. He saw the establishment of the homeless shelter, tucked away on Santa Barbara’s Lower Eastside, as an attempt by State Street merchants to move the down and out out of sight of tourists.
In this, he was correct. But so was I, along with the other original founders. We were put in a hard place when the National Guard told us we could no longer use its facility as emergency shelter during the killing season of the cold and wet, winter months.
If we didn’t move fast, the homeless would die at increasing rates, and be further brutalized with the onset of winter without shelter. We were both right, and had many discussions over it.
Unfortunately, Ed was also right when he told me — and anyone else who cared to listen — that by moving the shelter so close to the railroad tracks, the homeless would be put into further jeopardy.
The homeless would, in fact, be killed at an increased rate — sadly and cruelly some by their own desires.
I remember only too well walking down those tracks, and seeing a client, sitting forlornly next to them staring into a tunnel of no return. The conversations of trying to implant hope where despair and depression ate corrosively at the will to live stays with me to this day.
Ed also became a bitter critique when Casa Esperanza succumbed to egocentric management. I spent numerous hours listening to him, and other homeless individuals speak bitter complaints.
When Jim, another homeless intellectual, also in possession of a keen mind along with a deeper insight into the hypocrisy of society, stated, “There are two shelters; one when you are here, and another when you leave,” I knew then that my days working for Santa Barbara County were limited.
For those who think the homeless are mentally weak, without creativity and intellect, Jim, Ed and so many others defy their reasoning. I had some of the most challenging discourses with both gentlemen.
Ed was passionate in his beliefs, as I was in mine. Over time it was a passion that we came to respect in one another. Of course, we solved the world’s problems on those street corners.
Eventually, we would part. I would watch him leave, his body slouching and walking away from the shelter, chuckling to the wind from his sharp sense of humor that caught even him off guard at times. I, walking the opposite way, bracing myself for yet another battle with the discrimination toward the homeless, remembering some tidbit of knowledge and truth he spoke of.
Ed was blessed with an absence of ego. A true rarity in an age defined by the “selfie.” His hair was usually uncombed. His flyaway beard unkempt. His eyes could be piercing one moment and crinkle with humor the next when he realized his own witticism.
He was quick with condemnation and faint with praise. He was the court jester who told all that the king had no clothing. He was a rebel in an era of subservient individuals who dared not challenge the rich and powerful. Ed bowed to no one.
Ed was best appreciated when one listened to the melody of the music that he was, and not necessarily the lyrics. He had warts, as we all do. But he was unique, and loving and kind in his own way. He will be missed by some and loved by others: Chuck and Alyson. Peter, Jan, Bob. Myself included.
I will continue to listen for your melody. We will deeply miss your music.
— Ken Williams has been a social worker for the homeless for the past 30 years, and is the author of China White, Shattered Dreams: A Story of the Streets and his first nonfiction book, There Must Be Honor. Click here to read previous columns. The opinions expressed are his own.