Ed Tusnadi was in the neighboring desk on my first day at Boeing, July 18, 1972.  He was one of the few guys in the group that came in on-time, and so he introduced me to the rest of the crew as they arrived. (Mike Bunt, Craig Hopperstad, Jim Hobbs, Ray Brown, Herb Tubs, Dave Corea, and Conrad Knopf with John McIver as our supervisor).  We were part of the Minuteman New Business organization. It wasn't long before Ed had us all playing Kriegspiel at lunch, keeping score of the tournaments with elaborate spreadsheets - long before Excel was invented.  A few years later, when we started weekly bicycle races around Mercer Island.  Ed joined in, saying what a fast biker he was in Hungary, and even though he never won, he never gave up and always threatened that he would beat all us younger guys.
As we moved around the company, we never lost touch, and in 1984 Ed convinced his close friend Ed Monell, to hire me as a manager in the Military Airplane Operations Analysis organization.  We did some good work in that organization, and had a lot of fun doing it.  Bridge at lunch was a staple for several years, and if you had ET as a partner you were much more likely to win.  In 1992 our IRAD money dried up and I went to Everett, but still got invited to Kriegspiel tournaments at one of the Ed's homes.  My Boeing career would not have been nearly as rewarding if God hadn't put Ed Tusnadi next to my desk over 40 years ago.
May God bring comfort to the Tusnadi family as you grieve the loss of one of the best men I have ever know.

While I had but scant time to share in what was clearly a blessed, happy, and full life, it was very clear that the love of family and friends was never too far from Ed's reach; further, Ed knew how to REALLY enjoy life.
Upon meeting him, not only was he very nice to me, but he was genuinely warm and a welcoming gentleman to boot - And…he shared his beer!
I know his children, grandchildren, extended family, and friends will revel in his wit, intellect, and wisdom for as long as they themselves live. - He will, most certainly, be missed.
Condolences and love to you all, from the Burt's; Los Angeles -
“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”
~ Oscar Wilde ~

Ed Tusnadi was an "old school" analyst who could do more with a calculator, graph paper and some sharp pencils than all the computer "geeks" could. I had the fortune to work with him at Boeing in the early 1990s. He was the best!

Jean and I feel Ed's loss greatly.  I started working with Ed 40 years ago, and we continued our friendship through retirement.  We will miss his cooking, sense of humor, and tutorials on soccer.

My family is all saddened by this news; we all loved him very much!

t is with grief and incredible sadness that I am writing these lines in memory of my dear friend Odi (yes, I am going to use his Hungarian nickname and not Edmund, since I have known him by his Hungarian name now for 67 years.) I met Odi in December 1946, in Budapest, where we were third grade students in a school run and supported by the Dutch reformed church.  Odi just came back from Holland after a three months stay supported by the church that generously took care of semi-starved Hungarian children. I still remember our first meeting in our cozy little classroom where we received instruction, love and rancid peanut butter in abundance. (The rancid peanut butter came from the US Army that could not use it anymore for axle grease.) Our meeting was friendship on first sight. Odi was tall, handsome, lively young boy, skinny as my little finger and continuously moving like an excited squirrel. He was swift in mind and body, doing very well in all subjects if he wanted to, and excelling in all the games third-graders like to play. He was a leader and I was a happy follower. In the endless games of Indians and Cowboys he was the Indian chief and I was the messenger. I did not mind it, we had a good time anyway. We spent much time in each other's house, happily trotting through the rubble of the city still in ruins. I remember well his cozy home where we played a form of soccer that only Hungarians of my age would understand; it was played not with ball but with large buttons that we surgically removed from our and our parents' coats. The parents were not amused.
In two memorable summers we went to summer camp run by the Lutheran Church. It had the stark grace of everything Lutheran, good food, strict discipline, lots of play and exercise and reassuringly small dose of prayer. Needless to say Odi was the leader of most games and I still can see him as he was running around faster than anybody, his arms and legs flailing, in retrospect I think he had unusually loose joints. We got in trouble together. As children do, (we were about 10-year-old), Odi was was very fond of and strongly attached to his belongings. Foremost among them was his comb that he liked to run through his thick dark hair. Unfortunately on one of our long hikes he lost this invaluable comb. He was inconsolable, and we decided that we shall sneak away retrace our steps on the hike to find the precious item. Mind you the hike was quite long, at least four , five miles one way so it took us a long time to search the trail. In vain, the comb was gone. We got back to camp past sunset, the good minister who ran the camp was already organizing rescue teams and poured out his pent up emotions in a spanking that I think both Odi and I remembered forever. Never resented it, it belonged to a good Lutheran education which builds character.
In high school our paths unfortunately diverged, I did not see him as frequently as I would have preferred. Odi left Hungary in 1956, during the Hungarian uprising; I could not get out at that time, I followed his steps in 1966. I did not have an address for him in the US, I did not forget him but I could not write to him. The twists and turns of fate however being unpredictable it was here in Seattle that about 15 or perhaps more, years ago at a Hungarian party I saw somebody who looked very much like the dear friend of my childhood. He was tall, his hair still dark but he certainly wasn't as skinny as my little finger and did not move as fast as the squirrel.  I still wonder how he recognized me with graying mustache and beard which I certainly did not have at our last meeting. The years passed but they did not erode our warm feelings for each other. We both knew that in a way we were the keepers of each other's memories, the sweetness and mischief of childhood that we shared. Perhaps when we say we are our brother's keeper we also mean that we are custodians of each other's memories. I feel that way and, Odi, I am sure you would feel the same way.
We got older, in fact for the record Odi you were exactly 6 weeks older than I am. As the years pass by, we inevitably age and die. We die in the body but not in the spirit, and as long as we are remembered we are still alive. So Odi in this way I promise you I shall keep you alive as long as I can and I shall be faithful to the memories of our shared childhood. Isten veled! Your old friend Csaba. (Hegyvary)

OBITUARIO

Edmond Tusnadi

10 enero, 1938 – 21 febrero, 2014

Sunset Hills Memorial Park & Funeral Home

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