Ed Meyer (Photo from Facebook screen shot)
For months that turned into years, when Ed Meyer’s name popped up during endless conversations with Don Plusquellic for a book I wrote about the former Akron mayor—The Indomitable Don Plusquellic—the result never varied. Plusquellic erupted.
He ground his teeth. He sputtered. He spit fire. Mount Vesuvius was harmless smokestack in comparison. After awhile I got the idea that Plusquellic didn’t like Ed. So I didn’t bring him up when we talked.
Didn’t matter, Plusquellic did. Ed was a good punching bag. Don was like a dog and Ed the bone.
Ed Meyer struck some people this way. Usually they were people who had a story that Ed wanted and they didn’t want him to have it. Often it was someone in the Cleveland Browns hierarchy or a Browns fan angry about a story that Ed had ferreted out; they didn’t like that, either.
When Ed turned his investigative reporting skills on Plusquellic’s police chief Edward Irvine—you could look it up—Plusquellic went ballistic. In fact, Plusquellic had soured on Irvine, becoming less of a fan over time.
More than once I attempted to explain to Plusquellic that some of the tools that Ed brought to gathering information were typical of reporting. One tool in particular Plusquellic found loathsome. He accused Ed of surreptitiously taping their conversations. With my recorder—now my smartphone—on the table, I picked it up demonstrate how I put the phone beneath my thin Reporters Notebook in order to write—scrawl is more like it—notes while the recorder ran as a backup from which I could doublecheck what I wanted to use as a direct quote and not a paraphrase. Both were visible. No hiding, involved.
This was an especially useful tool in the tight spaces a sports writer such as Ed worked for much of his long career, including years of covering the Browns for the Akron Beacon Journal. Stuart Warner, then Beacon Journal, sports editor hired Ed in 1981 from Clearwater, Florida, where he had been the beat writer covering the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Ed and I joined the Beacon Journal about the same time, but I wouldn’t learn until later that Warner had been considering me for the Browns job but the news side of the operation hired me first to write a local column.
The Beacon Journal lucked out. I couldn’t have held a candle to Ed Meyer as the beat writer. I know this for a fact because for more than a half dozen years I worked closely with Ed as the newspaper’s sports columnist. It proved the best columnist-beat writer relationship I ever had. Ed made it so.
Sometimes beat writers resent the columnist popping in, seemingly out of nowhere, and “stealing” an idea they had had on their story lists. It wasn’t done intentionally but inevitably it happens. The thing is, I found I couldn’t have stolen one of Ed’s story ideas if I had wanted to do so—and I didn’t. That’s because Ed shared ideas without being asked. Columnists graze in a larger pasture that includes many sports. Beat writers live with a team constantly, drilling deep until they strike pay dirt. That was Ed.
Mostly I had an idea of what I wanted to write, and would ask Ed about it and he would provide context and details from his reporting that it would have either taken me time to dig out and that I might not have gotten in any case because players, coaches, and other sources share with beat writers things they won’t with a columnist whom they do not know as well and whose job is to write opinion or at least with a point of view.
Ed may not have made me who and what I was as a columnist but he certainly sanded away some rough edges, enhanced my knowledge of the Browns, and polished the final product with his insights. He was, simply, the best. Especially for me.
I didn’t even mind when he referred to me as P.O.S. Taken out of the locker room and cleaned up for public consumption, P.O.S. was short for Piece of S— or excrement. We had a loving, brotherly relationship.
His recent death came as a shock, because while we still referred to each other with the pejorative P.O.S. we had not kept in close touch since I left the Beacon Journal in 2001 with a buyout, a part of its first downsizing. Ed went onto cover the courts and find himself in Plusquellic’s crosshairs when his police chief was the news.
There was, however, another side to Ed Meyer that not everyone saw. It was the Ed Meyer about whom I wrote in my last book Football, Fast Friends, and Small Towns: A Memoir Straight from a Broken Oklahoma Heart. I have, like most people, experienced my share of heartbreak over the years, both professionally and personally. Fortunately, Ed was there for one of the lowest of low moments.
In 1988 we found ourselves in Montreal to cover a Browns preseason exhibition game. Back at our hotel after filing our stories and column at the game, I found a message awaiting me to call my father. This had never happened, and I knew it could not be good news. I had recently written columns about the PGA Championship which that year had been played in Edmond, Oklahoma. My editor, Tom Giffen, sent me to Edmund not only because at the time the PGA was played just prior to annual PGA tournament at Firestone Country Club but also so I could visit my mother. She was in an Oklahoma City hospital with failing kidneys after years of dialysis. (The book has more details.)
When I called my father what he had to tell me was not unexpected but nevertheless calamitous for me. Mama had died, and I had not been there. She was the person I had loved more than any other. She loved me without conditions (well, mostly) and I had no idea how I could live without knowing she was there.
I called Ed’s room. When I told him what had happened, he, without hesitation, responded (and it was late) that he would meet me in the bar. We talked for I don’t know how long, but I do know that without Ed Meyer that night would have been much, much worse than it was—and it was awful.
Now, my heart is broken again. Ed is gone, and there is no one like him to call.
As always, awed at your writing. My condolences on the death of your friend.
Thanks for your note, Juanita. A couple of weeks ago it was another Beacon Journal friend, Art Krummel, who, along with his wife, Charlene, a great reporter, who were two of the most welcoming when I first came here to displeasure with management for hiring an outsider to do a column. Art and Char have been our closest friends for more than 40 years, and we’re taking Char to dinner this week. She says she misses Art most at Happy Hour when they would have a drink or go to a neighborhood bar to have one and talk. They were a unique and great team, and I will write about Art before his memorial on June 8. I waited because it will be so difficult for me. Hope you are well. I know you are loved.
You never fail, Steve. As a writer, a thinker and, especially, as a loving, caring and down-to-earth friend. Ed’s was always a trustworthy and friendly face to meet in the newsroom.
Thanks so much, Bob, for the kind words but most for recognizing Ed’s essential qualities as a person and journalist. Hope that you and yours are well. Art Krummel’s death followed by Ed’s is a sad time and one that removes two valuable voices from the public conversation. I certainly regard yours as another.
Great insight into Ed and your friendship. Very sorry for your loss and to all who knew Ed well. Respected him very much and we were always cordial with one another. Thanks for sharing and giving me a good reason to pause and remember him.
Thanks so much caring Eric. I know Ed would appreciate that and I certainly do.
Nice piece of writing, Mr. Love. You captured Ed’s complexity well. A good man though by the time I got to know him I was one of them. I always appreciated his cantankerousness with “management.”
My closest dealing with Ed was when he pissed Bill Belichick off to the point that he kicked Ed out of the Browns facility. For reasons I still don’t understand, Michelle L. came into my office and asked if I would call the coach. I mean I do know actually. She knew she’d lose it with Belichick. So I called him. He hung up the phone. I called him back, I said, “Mr. Belichick, sorry we somehow got disconnected” and then we got into it. He could give me no reason for banishing Ed. “How about you let Ed do his job and you do yours.” He hung up again. But I was pleased that no further calls were necessary. Ed was let back in. And he continued to piss off Belichick for the rest of Bill’s “storied” time in Cleveland. And, I should add, Ed pissed off Belichick and others because he wasn’t afraid to ask “rude” questions. I mean isn’t that what reporting is (was?) all about? I enjoyed the man immensely. Sorry to see him go. And thanks for this piece, Steve.
Great story, Geoff. Thanks so much for sharing it. It would have been a wonderful specific to include but I wrote long enough—too long—as usual, and I wanted to emphasize with the Plusquellic story that took on all the tough guys. Ed wrote to Belichick at some point during his reign of success with the team on the field—opposite of his terror here without the success—and they seemed to come to some sort of accommodation. I appreciate that you took the time.
I was hoping you’d offer your insights on Ed. I was first introduced to his talent as the Browns beat reporter. My favorite Meyer line was the retirement story on longtime left tackle Doug Dieken, stating that Dieken “literally held the position for 14 seasons.”
But I got to know Ed better when he covered the courts. We had some common ground in that he remembered when I was a sports reporter at WAKR. So, I think he felt comfortable. I found him a fair, reasonable, responsible reporter. I helped him understand the language and processes of juvenile court and he respected the confidentiality we try to maintain regarding the court-involved youth. We also had golf in common and we spent much of the down time waiting for hearings to start lying about our golf games. I don’t know about Belichick, but I enjoyed my time with Ed. I was stunned and saddened to learn he was gone.
I know you, Steve. As much as you valued Ed’s friendship, I am certain that he valued yours. Just as I do.
Love your response, Donnie. I have no doubt that you hit if off. You two deserved each other and I mean that with utmost respect. Two of best of the best.
Steve, I finally read what you wrote about Ed. Touching..especially the scenario surrounding the death of your mom. One of your memories of Ed catapulted me back in time to when I had interviewed for the Tampa Bay Bucs’ beat-writer’s job at the St. Pete Times. I turned it down. Didn’t want to live in Florida and chase lizards around the house. I can imagine, also, Ed’s run-ins with players, coaches, etc. I had a few of them in my life…especially when we were going after Switzer and OU football…God forbid! Having met the first “Donald” some time later in life I can also empathize with you and Ed and your journalistic forays of the ex-mayor. I ran into him this winter at Frank’s bar across from the defunct Tangier. He was drunk and loud as usual and swearing like an Admiral! I can only imagine the pain of even working for the guy. Thanks for the trip back in time. By the way, it’s spelled, Edmond. 🙂
Thanks for the note and the edit, Hank. I’ll correct it, though too late to matter. I think it would be better, though, if Edmond changed it to my misspelling.
Another great column, Steve. I can close my eyes and see the conversations between you and Ed, especially postgame in the old Stadium pressbox. When I started on the Browns beat, Ed barely gave me a glance, probably not wanting to lend credence to this podunk from Canton. But once I established myself, we became friends. By watching him, I became a better reporter. Ed wasn’t afraid to ask the uncomfortable question, especially ones that had to be asked after consecutive drafts that netted the Browns Mike Junkin and Clifford Charlton. RIP Ed.
There was no better person than Ed Meyer that a writer could watch and follow his example. And you nailed one of his greatest strengths—a willingness to ask questions so pointed and sharp they could puncture the veneer of even the Great Stone Face, Bill Belichick. He got so angry with Ed because those questions found not just a vein of truth but often its heart. Mr. Ed made Bill, the organization and even, I think, some other reporters and columnists and editors back in the bunker that is the newspaper office, uncomfortable. I am glad that someone besides me remembers those postgame conversations that Ed and I had. I so valued his views and takes on things. They made me a better thinker and writer. I owed him a lot.
This is a beautiful, heartfelt tribute that perfectly captured the man. Thank you, Steve.
Thanks, Bob, for this note and generous words. Edweirdo, as I liked to call him, was a special person who had the guts to take on all foes, whether a run amok Browns organization or the justice system. Losing him on the heels of Art Krummel has me reeling. so I do greatly appreciate your kindness.