'The man on the spot'

Ed Ruisi — "Eddie" to friends on the waterfront, "Papa" to his family at home — spends his time these days gardening, doing yard work, working around the house, reading the New York Times (but not enjoying the editorial page) and listening to and enjoying talk radio (which could explain his reaction to the Times's editorial page).

But for 40-plus years — first in New York City and later, beginning with the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway, in Duluth-Superior — Ed worked long, hard hours on the docks and in the company's waterfront office as a ship agent. In Duluth-Superior he worked for Guthrie-Hubner, and many say that he was one of the best. Some say he was the very best.

A ship agent, he says, "is the man on the spot." He thrived on being on the spot — watching over his ships, taking care of his captains and crews, getting vessels unloaded and loaded, fighting rain and wind and fog, handling tons of paperwork, coordinating tasks being done by inspectors and state and federal officials and laborers, working seven days a week. When a ship assigned to Ed Ruisi was in Port, that ship was Eddie's ship. There was no going home for the day until everything for that ship was in order. "God," he says now with a laugh, "if I had had overtime pay, I would've been a millionaire!"

Ed Ruisi, whose father was a doctor (who died when Ed was young) and mother a former opera singer, was born and raised in Westerly, Rhode Island. After a year of college prep school, he determined that he need a rest from the academic life. He signed on for four years with the U.S. Navy during the Korean War, serving much of his hitch on the carrier USS Tarawa.

After his military service, Ed moved to New York and lived with his mother and her college-professor husband. Ed says that for a while he was a "lost soul." But with the help of a family friend, he got his first work in the 1950s with a general agent on East Coast ports and soon was on his way to becoming experienced in the affairs of ocean-going vessels. That experience would become a critical factor in his coming to Duluth-Superior.

When the 1959 opening of the Seaway brought the impending arrival of salt-water vessels to the Twin Ports, Alastair Guthrie — "Mr. Guthrie" to all — found himself in need of a ship agent who was intimately familiar with the whole new world of handling the paperwork for salties.

A call to the East Coast identified a few likely candidates, Eddie came to Duluth for an interview — and promptly found himself with a new job.

And a new home. His first residence was in Duluth's Lincoln Hotel, but he couldn't afford the seven dollars a day so he found an apartment that he shared for a while with Davis Helberg, then also a ship agent. "Davis took me under his wing," Eddie says. "In fact, everybody in this town has been very nice to me. I made a lot of friends then who are still my friends to this day."

Later on, he got married and bought a house in Duluth. The marriage didn't last long, but his world expanded with the arrival of a son, John. His son still lives with Ed, along with Ed's daughter-in-law and his grandchild. Ed's sister also lives in Duluth. Maybe his Sicilian roots (his grandparents came from there) account for his devotion to family.

Ed saw the tools of his trade change dramatically over the years. Technological advances in communications were especially critical. In his earliest years in the Twin Ports, the first he heard of the approach of a ship came by way of a telegram from the Soo. Talking to a ship's captain required ship-to-shore radio.

Then came the citizen band radio. And then VHF. And then the fax machine. "God bless the fax machine," Eddie says. "We used to have to deal with stacks of mail. Now you get instant communication — information and answers — by fax." And, more recently, the cellular phone.

Then came, in his 72nd year, the diagnosis of a cancer in his esophagus. Eddie finished out the 2002-03 season and then took time out to fight for his health. The docs, he says, have given him a clean bill, and he knows that the door is always open at Guthrie-Hubner.

"I miss having lunch on board the ships," he says (evidently, his shipboard lunches were the stuff of legend around the office), but he isn't making plans to get back to work. There's always something to do around the house.