Personal memories of the legendary Mary Mason

Mary Mason, who for decades was a force in Philadelphia, has died, after a long and sad battle with Alzheimer’s. The Philadelphia Tribune provides details here.

The news story doesn’t mention controversy, which could have been her middle name. That’s often a byproduct of being a strong activist. I’ll get back to that in a moment.

The story also fails to mention that the legendary broadcaster was robbed blind by her grandson, on whom she had doted on her radio show. He took advantage of her once she was in sad decline. This was nothing short of tragedy.

On the radio, she was a strong advocate for civil rights, and her people, meaning African-Americans. She endorsed some candidates, fought with others, interviewed Presidents. She was close with former Mayor Frank Rizzo. 

At one point she threatened to launch a boycott against the Daily News over a story she didn’t like.

One or her more explosive comments had to do with Jews jumping out of the ovens when they are criticized.

That created an uproar, although I think Mason was talking about Jewish solidarity when they are attacked, but she used a truly horrible metaphor. I took her to task for it and I know a few Jews recorded her shows to compile other perceived insults. 

Here I will share a couple of personal anecdotes.

I was only an occasional listener to “Mornings With Mary,” as I did not listen to much morning radio, and when I did it was KYW and WIP.

Nevertheless, because I was writing about culture and politics, she invited me to join her as a guest one morning at 8 a.m. This would have been in the early ‘90s.

Because I am deadline-oriented, I am never late.

Make that almost never.

That morning, although I had plenty of time, the Schuylkill was flooded by a near hurricane, and the drive from my home in South Philly to her studio in Wynnefield was painfully slow.

I was about 10 minutes late, and was deeply embarrassed.

Rather than being forgiving, the often combative Mason scolded me.

On air.

As if I didn’t think the broadcast was important.

Often combative myself, I wise-cracked, “I was on CPT.”

CPT stands for Colored Peoples Time, which Blacks use as an inside joke. 

“You’re not supposed to know about CPT!,” she shouted. 

I laughed, as did the other guest, whose name I don’t recall.

That was the second time I met Mary in person.

The first time was in the late ‘80s at the Pen &  Pencil, a Center City club for journalists and their friends. I was the gossip columnist for the Daily News.

She was invited to be on a panel at the club, and I, as secretary of the club, a job I held off and on for decades, greeted her at the door.

“Welcome, Mary. I’m Stu Bykofsky.”

“No, you’re not,” she replied.

“What?”

‘You are Clark DeLeon,” she said. DeLeon was then the very popular local scene columnist for the Philadelphia Inquirer. We were both tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered, and bespectacled, but we don’t look alike.

“No, Mary. I am Stu Bykofsky.”

‘No you are not,” she insisted adamantly.

She stood her ground until I produced my press card, with my name and photo.

I don’t tell this story to be mean. I tell this story to illustrate that people with strong beliefs, or maybe ego, can be quite certain about something that is certainly wrong.

That she occasionally referred to me as “that white boy at the Daily News,” didn’t bother me. It wasn’t said in hate, annoyance maybe, and people in public life have to learn to tolerate some name-calling.

On balance, Mary Mason did a lot of good for “her people,” she made a mark as a strong, if imperfect vessel.

R.I.P. Mary.

This is Stu Bykofsky