His friends tell him he’s a dead ringer for Bishop Desmond Tutu.
On second thought, make that Desmond Tutu with an Edward G. Robinson edge, because Marv Dyson means business this afternoon, see.
Burr Ridge resident Dyson is jousting with a shady car dealer as he waves his visitors in. His pitch rarely varies. The inflection won’t change, even if WGCI radio’s general manager is steamed because this particular dealer hoodwinked an illiterate grandmother into signing a blank sales contract, landing her fat on the hook for a $466 monthly car payment.
Dyson, interceding for the elderly woman, is not amused as he leans into the phone, his voice now flaring up an octave: “If you’re about doing the right thing, you’ll rip up that contract and take the car back, my friend. Even if the daughter’s lying to me, give her mother back her money and she’ll go tell 10 or 15 of her friends you did the right thing. So do the right thing.
“Can you do that for me?”
Dyson eases off at the dealer’s assurance of a refund, and the crisis of the moment is averted. He swivels gently in his seat, shaking his head: “Sometimes I wonder what my life is all about. I supposedly run a radio station, but I spend more time on community issues like this one. A poor old black lady is ripped off and nobody cares, so the daughter calls WGCI with her mom’s story. I don’t know her, she doesn’t know me. But she thought of WGCI. She thought we might listen, because that’s one of the things we do for the community. We listen and we help where we can.
“I take a dozen of those calls every week, only I don’t kid myself. That guy never heard of Marv Dyson. In fact, he insisted on calling the station switchboard to check me out, to see if I was on the level. Mentioning WGCI is what made him pay attention. It’s the power of the president’s seat, not the power of Marv Dyson.”
WGCI-FM (107.5) and WGCI-AM (1390) are what radio programmers call urban contemporary stations. The FM side plays current hits, primarily by African-American artists. The AM band is pure oldies, or dusties, if you please. But Dyson, who has seen and heard it all at 59, shrugs off industry labels, choosing instead to stick with the “black radio” appellation (though he adds that 10 to 15 percent of WGCI listeners are white or Hispanic).
Marv Dyson, in case you didn’t know, is the man who gave you popular Chicago deejays Tom Joyner, Doug Banks and Steve Harvey.
Imagine the legendary WLS deejays of the 1960s together again and you might approach the power of WGCI’s current AM oldies lineup. Because in the African-American community, deejays such as Richard Pegue, LaDonna Tittle, Lon Dyson (Marv’s brother) and Richard Steele carry the same star cachet as Art Roberts, Ron Riley, Jim Stagg and Dex Card, only they’re still hard at it, still playing Joe Tex and the Impressions and giving no quarter to age.
The latest Arbitron rating book lists WGCI as Chicago’s most popular station with listeners under 35. Dyson is fond of saying, “We own 12 to 35. WGN has it locked from 35 to dead.” To be sure, an estimated 473,000 people listen to the George Wallace/Jeanne Sparrow morning drive show, with another 100,000 punching up Joe Cobb on Dusties 1390, WGCI’s AM outlet.
“We kicked Bob Collins (WGN’s morning man) the first month of the summer,” Dyson boasts, rubbing his hands together. “Look it up.”
In a more serious vein, WGCI’s considerable clout was never more evident than in the recent Girl X case, where a youngster was tortured and left for dead in a stairwell of the Cabrini-Green housing project. Dyson’s personal appeal to station listeners pulled in $108,000 in donations in a single day, more than $350,000 overall. Attorneys working for free are helping Dyson arrange a trust for Girl X to be administered through the Harris Bank.
Dyson also is overseeing a search for a new home for Girl X, having personally decided a Southeast Side residence provided by the Chicago Housing Authority is unacceptable.
“Look, the white media got back onto Girl X because of the response from our community,” Dyson maintains. “Interest faded until WGCI started raising money. We offered a $25,000 reward for information on the people involved, and then you saw Oprah speak out about Girl X, and she was news again. It’s really that simple.”
WLS-Ch. 7 news reporter Charles Thomas has been on Girl X from the get-go and insists “it’s not like reporters choose what stories to cover; that doesn’t happen. We have assignment editors who make those decisions.
“Regarding Girl X, I do recall a highly unusual Sunday morning news conference where (Chicago Police Department spokesman) Paul Jenkins appealed to the media for more involvement (to help find those responsible). I’m not sure of the chronology, I don’t know if WGCI’s involvement predated the press conference or not. But the police putting editors on notice is so highly unusual, it’s entirely possible Dyson and other black leaders said something to someone. It may have been because of Dyson’s activities. He has connections we don’t have. He has phone numbers we don’t have. It’s very possible.”
Marv Dyson is a radio executive.
Or is Marv Dyson a reluctant crusader?
Who is this guy, anyway? Where did he come from?
Dyson grew up in Chicago at 68th and Stewart, the son of Richard and Florence Dyson, both air personalities of early black radio.
Richard Dyson was heard over WCFL in the 1930s, and Florence Dyson hosted religious music shows on stations WHFC, WSBC and WVON while also performing in radio commercials with Olympic track star Jesse Owens.
(Little known fact: Florence Dyson was the original voice of Aunt Jemima, remembered best for her catch-phrase, “Great grits in the morning!”)
Dyson’s younger brother Lon presently holds down evenings at WGCI-AM. A 30-year veteran of the Chicago radio wars (including a hitch at WLS as Larry Lujack’s newsman), he remembers Marv’s first day at WAAF (now WJPC) in the early 1960s: “Marv had been selling for Wilson (sporting goods) when I suggested he try radio. He came down to interview with Dick Eichner, who, if I recall, threw an ash tray at him and said, `Sell me the ash tray, kid.’ Marv sold him the ash tray all right and then sold three new accounts the same day.”
It’s safe to say Dyson showed a certain flair for sales, as he remained with WAAF as an account executive through its transitions to African-American-oriented WGRT and later to WJPC. Dyson had risen to vice president and general manager of the Johnson Publishing-owned station before he left in 1978 to become president and general manager of WGCI.
WGCI-AM afternoon host Richard Steele, a close friend of the Dysons since high school, insists “like anyone else, Marv has good points and bad points. Marv’s cold-blooded at business, and we have had our disagreements. I like to say he could sell ice cubes to Eskimos, he’s that good.
“But Marv’s also loyal to a fault, especially with friends. When I was off work last December after serious surgery, he told me not to worry about my job. You don’t often see that type of loyalty, not in our business.”
Tour the WGCI offices at 332 S. Michigan Ave. today and you’re immediately struck by the complete lack of pretense. No star egos, not a snotty jerk in sight. Deejay Tittle stands in a doorway joking with clerical staff. Fill-in host Armando is banging away on his PC.
These people are warm. They’re friendly and pleasant. They joke with their boss.
To them he’s “Marv,” a solid throwback to the days when presidents of small companies mingled with their help, when management-by-walking-around was the norm, not a quaint exception.
And now Dyson is on the move, rolling through the hallways at ‘GCI, three steps ahead of everyone else, sticking his head into offices, stopping to yak, to gossip, to learn what’s up with his shop.
Richard Steele’s on the air, right?
No big deal. Dyson strides through the studio door and waits for a commercial break to speak. Steele looks up, nods, holds a finger for silence and reads his commercial tag line.
They’re a study in opposites, this pair.
High energy meets medium cool.
But does Steele’s boss ever unwind?
Kim Dyson holds the answer there. At home in Burr Ridge, she says, “It depends on the day with Marv, but usually he’s pretty mellow. He watches videos, chills and kind of lets me run the house. He’s devoted to his children, he likes to entertain old friends and staff from the station. He’s really very quiet at home.”
Fatherhood the second time around obviously suits Dyson, who, in addition to daughter Gabrielle from an earlier marriage, enjoys younger children Max, Danielle and Jordan more than he can explain as he leans forward across his desk pointing to their photos.
“I go to church and pray I’ll live to see them grow,” he says without hint of affectation, and when he sits back in his office chair gazing absently at their photos you believe him.
Then the phone rings again and he covers the mouthpiece.
“He . . . excuse me, will you? I gotta take this one.”
