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“MarkSullivannnnn…!!”

Saturday, January 12th, 2008

Well. Now that I’ve composed myself… A few words about my colleague and friend. Maybe more than a few. This turned out to be long.

My friend, 100.3 Love-FM night jock Mark Sullivan, passed away at age 40 on December 27th.

It doesn’t even seem real to say it: “My friend died.”

Mark and I first met back in 1993 when I was a little rookie intern at B96 in Chicago, and he was a (much taller) little rookie DJ with his first part-time gig at a major-market station. We both had big dreams, knew that we’d have to move around to other markets to hone our talent, then hopefully get to the big time back home in Chicago. He was four years older, and a little ahead of me.

He was this good-looking ladies’ man type: tall, blue-eyed, dark-haired, big friendly smile and an ambitious, mischievous twinkle in his eye. He had a kind of kinetic energy at the control board, and with every small move, seemed to bounce around the studio. He was thrilled to be there… and showed off in front of the little interns.

I remember meeting him just a handful of times there, but we had a rapport. I teased him about his deep, dark St. Tropez tan–unusual for a guy. “Oh, I have a liver problem, so it covers the jaundice.” He was 25 and said this to me, a veritable stranger. We lost touch after I went back to school. Over the years, I sometimes wondered what ever had happened to that cute B96 part-timer with the yellowed but sparkly blue eyes, liver thing, and a tan.

In 2005, after Oldies 104.3 had flipped to the jockless Jack-FM, I walked into the studio for my producer shift, and saw the back of a head I did not recognize, a guy at the console facing toward the wall.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” his back still to me.

Alrighty then. “Who are you?” I playfully asked.

The chair whipped around. “Mark Sullivan!” Smile. Twinkle. Tan.

“I remember you from B96!!”

“Yep, I’m back.”

Well, whaddaya know. We were all grown up and working back home in Chicago. He had lost his radio gig out of town and came home to rebuild…the same as I had done five years before. We exchanged cell numbers, email addresses and websites right away, and resolved to grab lunch soon to trade radio war stories.

Little did we know that by the summer of 2006, we’d both be applying for part-time air work at Love-FM. By then I had lost my full-time traffic gig. We each remained part-time at Jack-FM, but, now experienced but struggling equals, each hid the Love-FM efforts from the other. Then, boom, there we were, seamlessly working together again, rapport established, duking it out for extra hours, trying to please the boss, and gunning for the next full-time opportunity.

“I told Lippincott I’ll do anything to get full-time, and that I’m gonna be his A-P-D!” he grinned inside our new Love-FM studio, punctuating each letter (for ‘assistant program director’) with a pointed finger.

“Hm. Funny,” I grinned and wagged my finger right back. A duel! “So. Did. I.”
**********

On a personal level, Mark and I specialized in… Annoying each other. In a fun way. For example, most of my colleagues know that, for some reason, anyone entering the studio while I’m doing a show will startle the pants off me. They make fun of me, we have a good laugh, it’s always been that way, and I can’t help it. They graciously try to be quiet, and when I gasp (or scream, or fall ass-to-floor in a few cases), they say “Oh, sorry, I tried so hard not to scare you!” Nothing works. Oh well.

What did Mark do? Bounded into the studio before the end of my show with his jumpy energy, banging the sound-proof rubber-sealed door open with a loud Fffooomfffph!, and bellowed, “LisaGreeeeeene! What’s new, LisaGreeeeeene!! How’s LisaGreeeeeene today!! LisaGreeeeene’s on the air in Chicago!! How’s LisaGreeeeeene’s website? Huh? Huh? Huh?”

Thanks for making my heart jump across the room. Like I’m not anxiety-prone, already. Kindly check your ego at the door, wise-ass. “Oh-ho. YOU are here too. YOU have a website too! MarkSullivannnnn!! MarkSullivannnnn…!!” I’d bleat back at him. It felt like he would throw me over his shoulder and give me noogies, big-brother style, if workplace policies weren’t against that sort of thing.

“Heh-hehh,” he’d laugh that low belly-laugh, cracking a sly smile. End Witty Banter and Wise-Cracking portion of this show. “So what’s up?”

Then would commence normal conversation about any number of common interests: radio, Chicago, Bikram yoga, music, spirituality, the Beatles. (He was born on the same day as John Lennon, and discussed his inspiration to become a musician on one of his old websites, MarkSully.com. It’s down now. Since he passed, I discovered he had at least three. So take that, mister. But seriously…Mark had grown into a fabulous guitarist and the web is how you put your stuff out into the world these days, so more power to him.)

And as we were only a few years apart and previously lived the nomadic radio lifestyle, single-hood and the trials of dating were also frequent topics. He was more of a politically smart ass-kisser than I’ve ever cared to be, and I told him so. (Response? A knowing smirk and a “heh-hehh.”) So he’d advise me on work, and I’d advise him about women. There were some “spirited debates,” of course.

We’d go to the same yoga studio or run into each other out in the city from time to time, and he always asked, “Hey, when we gonna go to lunch?!?” We had much to talk about, and, let’s face it, we were supposed to be concentrating while at work. But he eventually won the 7p-midnight gig and our schedules were so opposite; we also both prioritized work over much else, and came close to actually hanging out at times, but it never was to be.

Mark occasionally told me how his “liver thing,” the result of a congenital blood condition, had in recent years morphed into a “heart thing.” Meds he took over his lifetime built-up too much iron in his heart and liver, and he became more and more fatigued by daily activities. This resulted in many trips to the hospital, starting last July. I wanted to visit, but filled in for him so often that it couldn’t be scheduled. The last time he came to work, in October, we had a long catch-up talk. I asked, “So…what are these doctors doing for you, then?” He said, “They don’t know what to do. My condition means the traditional meds won’t work. Eventually I’ll have to have a heart transplant.”

Then he chuckled and made a snide crack about death. Just once. I had never heard him talk that way so I told him to just stop that. He was the enthusiastic, hey-get-out-and-live-life guy, right? I learned from his mother after his death that he rarely showed any emotion other than Happy. Yet by October he knew, as he did most of his life, that his health was potentially in more danger than before, and he just didn’t want to worry anyone. But he needed that heart transplant, and went back in the hospital.

In early December, we finally decided on a day for me to visit. He wound up frantically calling a few hours ahead of time to say his heart was erratic and it was turning out not to be a good day. “OK, I’ll come next week.” Next time I called, December 18th, his mother answered his cell and said he had been put on a ventilator in the ICU, heavily sedated, over the weekend.

Ever the optimist, she urged, “Pray for Mark, pray for a donor, and pray for that donor’s family.” As word got around that many staffers had been in touch with Mrs. Sullivan, we all just prayed and stayed positive, and assumed he’d get what he needed and eventually would come back to work. Even as we heard about returning infections and organ failure, her optimism echoed in our brains.

Then on December 27th, I got the shocking email from our boss: Mark’s heart had given out before a donor could be found, and he passed peacefully. But…No…No! It couldn’t be true–could it? He was supposed to be fine. I realized I had never known someone so close to my age that passed, or a friend, or a co-worker. He was all three.

So, it’s been a rough, emotional time at the station, yet an odd bonding experience for the staff. We all get along pretty well anyway, which is fortunate. It has been a comfort to share “Mark stories” with each other, and with his lovely family. Many comments from Mark’s other friends and colleagues tout what a positive, spiritual, life-loving guy he was, and it is apparent that he had a profound influence on many people.

But how could someone with so much light and life be taken so tragically, and so young? We’ve reasoned that perhaps that was his purpose here, and he fulfilled it.

His priest told a lovely story at his funeral service, about when he’d visit in the hospital. He said Mark would harangue the doctors in typical Mark-fashion: “You guys got my heart yet? Got my liver yet?” “No…not yet.” The priest believed that G-d finally said, “Mark, I have your heart now…but you have to come with me…”

What a story. But honestly, it still sucks. I’d rather have him here, enjoying the job, city, friends and family he valued so much. And annoying me. And having lunch.

One more story, if I may (in true Lisa-fashion), which Mark’s brother shared with us about his final days:

The nurses had to clean his sedation tubes every four hours. On Christmas Eve, the dosage wore off a bit during cleaning, and Mark opened his eyes, still on the vent and couldn’t talk. His family got him to squeeze their hands and blink his eyes to communicate. His brother said he took his hands and did something not everyone gets to do: “I got to tell my brother I love him, that his family was around him, and that all of you from the radio station were asking about him.” He said a teardrop rolled out of each of Mark’s eyes, that he understood. Then the drugs took effect again, and he fell asleep.

That story gets me every time I picture this once-beaming, frenetic guy sitting there, in a hospital bed, weak, tubes everywhere, being briefly lucid enough to see, hear, and comprehend everything that was happening to him. Yet, there is some relief in knowing that he knew we were there for him.

So, I look up and tell my friend I miss him, and that everyone has been talking about him–he’s probably loving it. Goodbye for now, my wise-cracking radio/music/yoga buddy. When I meet you up there someday, you’d better have lunch ready, for once, as your mother has since informed me what a fabulous cook you were. And that you’ve been a twinkle-eyed prankster since you were a kid, big surprise.

My friend Mark died. Yet he’s still here. I can hear his voice…on the radio, giving me career advice, bossing me around, talking about The Secret, whining about women, and laughing. It’s a new year, and many of us at the station have resolved to take a cue from Mark and try to live more positively. As for me, in addition, I feel it’s more important than ever to…always make time to go to lunch.

Musical selections for today: “Hallelujah,” Jeff Buckley; “Wish You Were Here,” Pink Floyd; “Rainbows & Butterflies,” Mark Sullivan.

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