Sid Down was a feisty, tough-minded curmudgeon who had immigrated with his parents to the south side of Chicago, from Warsaw, when he was three. Sid’s father, a tanner in a leather processing plant six blocks from their third-story apartment, stood by one fall afternoon when Sid was seven and watched two fourth graders beat on him until his nose was bleeding and his shirt torn from his back. Sid looked up and saw his father watching. They looked each other in the eye and his father merely nodded. As the two older boys walked away, Sid picked up an empty trashcan and buckled them both at the back of the knees. He jumped on their backs, lifted their heads by the hair at the back of their necks, and drove their foreheads into the sidewalk, just once. He ran to join his father and they walked home in silence.
Sid grew up listening to radio. A small, dark-brown table unit on the family’s kitchen table was most of their entertainment, except for the seemingly regular fights between his mom and dad. The Green Hornet, The Lone Ranger, and The CBS Mystery Theater were family staples. When he graduated from high school, Sid talked himself into a job at a small Chicago station as a gofer and part-time production assistant. He changed his name from Donowski and began to read sports scores. He had a raspy authentic voice, an intriguing accent, and a sense of drama that made the scores come alive, and soon he was on the air regularly.
He worked hard in Chicago for seven years and, at twenty-six, moved to the Twin Cities, taking his 1948 Chevrolet coupe and his sports tapes with him. He wanted a change.
He caught on as a late night DJ at a college station, playing jazz and blues. “Get down with Sid Down” was his tag line and he developed a following among college students and the city’s professionals. He met his future wife, Jean, who was a waitress at a coffee shop he frequented, usually going in before he went on the air. Jean was sweet, smart, and ambitious. She was six months away from a nursing degree. A year later they were married, and Jean took a job as a nurse at St. Paul General.
By the time he was forty, Sid was general manager and, two years later, was offered half interest in one of the top ten AM stations in Minneapolis. He worked hard there for ten years, then he and Jean sold their interest and bought a station of their own in Boise. They leveraged their interest in that station and moved to Seattle to purchase KSID. Jean quit nursing and helped Sid at the station in whatever way she could. They lived in a comfortable, unpretentious house in the Montlake district.
Sid’s philosophy about radio was simple. He never shouted at an audience, and he walked away from commercials that did. He never talked down to his audience but assumed that they were intelligent, cared about the world, and cared about good music. His reward was a small but loyal audience in a city that was growing in population and in culture and gaining a reputation for being reasonably “hip.”
He only needed to meet me once. He had talked to Elaine about her impressions, read my resume, and invited me for a walk. We left the station’s offices and walked slowly up First Avenue and through Pike Place Market, familiar territory for both of us.
“Why do you want to do such a show?” he asked me. “It would seem to me that most psychologists are quiet, somewhat reserved, and not at all interested in being in the public eye.”
“I think you’re right about that,” I answered, “and I am all of those things. However, I think I, or should I say we, can provide a community service with this show. I am interested in two things: education and service. I think we can educate people in an area that is still somewhat of a taboo with parents and schools, and I think we can help people solve some problems in their relationships.”
“I support that, of course, but we still must build an audience. We can’t expect to hold a classroom or a therapy session on the air. That might not be exciting enough for our listeners.” Sid turned so he could see my face, conscious that he was challenging his future employee. We walked away from the shouting at the fish market and walked past the spring flowers, down by the fresh vegetables, and sat down at a small, open lunch bar that featured clam chowder and crab cakes.
“Well, I confess, I am not by nature an exciting guy,” I said. “And I don’t know a lot about radio, but I do know how to relate to people, and I know a little about sex and relationships. I am hoping that will come off, over the air, and we will gain some respect and some listeners.”
“Are you averse to some marketing?” Sid ordered two small chowders and iced tea.
“Gee, I don’t think so. I haven’t thought much about it.”
Sid scratched his cheek and closed his eye on that side. He looked sleepy.
“We are going to have to push the show some at first, just to let people know what we’re doing. Our own current listeners, I hope and trust, will get on board, but I think we need to let a broader audience know about this show.”
“Sid, that’s fine. And I need to tell you something. I’d like to make it clear that I’m not interested in publicity in order to build up my practice. I’m doing just fine.”
“OK, yes, yes, I know.” Sid was shaking his head and throwing both hands up and out. “Why don’t you leave the marketing to me. We’ll run some things by you and come up with a modest campaign. Have you thought about a name?”
I was feeling some guilt at this moment, about not considering any marketing or a name for my own show. I looked at Sid with a weak grin. “Not really.”
“Well, think about it. I’d like to get moving on this. Something catchy but not over the top.”
After we went our separate ways, Sid back to the station and me to my Pioneer Square office, I had the unmistakable feeling that I was entering a new world, a world I wasn’t going to have complete control of. I was definitely going to learn something.
***
Elaine came up with the name.
“Rex, are you ready?” She said on the phone.
“For what?”
“I’ve got a name I think we’ll all like. I ran it by Sid and he liked it more than anyone else.” She chuckled. “That’s a very good sign and not just because he’s the owner, but I think he has a real good feel for these things.”
“OK, I’m sitting down,” I said and collapsed into the Adirondack chair on the deck. The phone was silent for about five seconds.
“Keeping Seattle Up.” Elaine said it crisply, with emphasis on the last word.
“Keeping Seattle Up,” I repeated. “OK, OK, I get it. It’s going to be fairly late at night and it’s also about male anatomy, right?”
“You got it. What d’ya think?”
“I think it’s clever, maybe a little risqué …”
“God, Rex, you’re such a head case. Do you like it? Does it hit you where you live? How do you feel about it?”
Suddenly I was caught in a familiar accusation, thinking through everything, considering, taking my time, contemplating, not reacting with my feelings. I fought not to sound defensive. I was not sure how to take this from Elaine, a woman I’d only known for a month.
“You’re right,” I said. “I like it. I think it’ll go over well.”
Elaine groaned over the phone, obviously disappointed that she hadn’t gotten any excitement out of me. I could hear her, feel the disappointment, but didn’t know what to do about it.
“Well, we all like it a lot and, if you’re OK with it, we’re gonna go ahead with it.”
“Sure, let’s go for it.”
When I hung up I felt more like a nerd than I had in years. The old tapes started running, mostly in Sally’s voice, saying that she couldn’t get me. “I can’t get you, you know, from your gut. I don’t know how you feel. Everything is a thought, a carefully considered process up there.” And she jabbed her finger at my head. I looked at the phone and shook my head.
What have I learned?
The mind analyzes and, in that way, divides. The heart unites.