NEW ORLEANS — It couldn’t have been any later than 6:45 when the screech of a tire led my eyes to his red Toyota pickup. Bleary, my thoughts, my gaze seemed clear and sharpened as he approached. There were no words—just a hug, followed by a, “How ya holdin' up, big guy?”
Time has led much to escape my memory bank of the day I found my mother dead. Even still, I’ll never forget the moment Ed Daniels rushed over to Algiers, after anchoring the 6:00 news, to check on me and my family — no more than twelve hours after our lives forever changed.
Ed consoled the family. I slipped him a Diet Coke as they talked for a spell. A sense of comfort blew in like a breeze—time for pause, albeit brief, as a house full of aunts, uncles, and cousins appeared awestruck over who stood in the front yard.
After about 15 minutes, Ed said his goodbyes and told me to call him if I ever needed anything.
That was Ed.
I was 16 years old when WGNO hired me as a high school intern. Every week, I'd hop on the downtown-bound St. Bernard, get off on Canal, and walk to the river for an evening of beat calls, script running, story vetting, and teleprompter running — the absolute life for this budding reporter.
“What’s up Purple,” often greeted me upon arrival, delivered with a sense of sarcasm that was quintessentially Ed. He’d do so at the speed of light, walking from one corner of the newsroom to another. Ed was always working on something. Rarely would you catch him in his seat.
We lost Ed last week. I’ve spent the weekend reading the many tributes so many have drafted — in memory of the man who loved as hard as he worked.
“When are you coming home, Lebron,” he’d often ask after I’d become a reporter in the northeast. (Aside: Lebron was one of our nicknames for one another. Diva was the other.). After nearly 15 years of reporting and anchoring elsewhere, WWLTV gave me that chance last year.
When I made it to Houston in 2014, Ed told me, “Get in your years in the big market and bring what you learn home."
I like to thank Ed had something to do with my return home. He never let off on asking about whether I had plans to do so whenever we spoke. At the time, I thought I’d moved on… then God laughed.
I’m sure Ed’s up there laughing, too — both at my recollection and expense.
Shoot… mom’s probably cackling with him.
Thank you, Ed.
We’ll always love you.
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