Second citizen

Andrew Alexander had a flight scheduled to New York City one recent Thursday afternoon so that he could meet with Second City alum Martin Short on a TV project. He was also in the midst of making final preparations for the big Second City 50th anniversary weekend coming up December 11-13, but the Second City CEO, president and co-chairman (along with Len Stuart) sat down for a leisurely lunch at Topo Gigio just down the street from the Old Town theater for 90 minutes of relaxed, freewheeling and utterly candid discussion on topics ranging from his heading up of SCTV from 1976 to 1984, reviving the ailing Second City Toronto franchise in 1974, coming down from the Great White North to buy the Chicago theater from co-founder Bernie Sahlins in 1985—and how he's still waiting to be embraced by the city that gave Second City its name. He also discussed the theater's sometimes-difficult personalities, his own bout with addiction and the time the late improv guru Del Close tried to kill him. For a man known for staying behind the scenes—and who says he's terrible at making small talk—Alexander has some remarkable anecdotes to share.

You were born in England and ended up in Canada and the States. How do you go from London to Indiana to Toronto?
My mom and dad immigrated from London in 1951, so I was 7. He was in the aeronautical business, so a lot of Brits came to Canada, and he ended up working on a very advanced jet—he worked on the engine. This jet was so far advanced over anything the U.S. had that Kennedy told our prime minister, "Get out of our business." And they did because if they didn't, the U.S. was going to yank the auto pact. Anyway, that's what got us to Canada, a small town outside of Toronto. I went to Indiana because it had the only college in North America that would accept me, Tri-State in Angola. I did a year there and then I went back to Ryerson Polytech [in Toronto]. I lasted about a year and a half there, and then I worked at a newspaper, I worked at a couple of speakeasies that were very popular. In that era, the liquor laws were very restrictive in Canada, so they had these late-night bottle clubs. A friend of mine, Ritchie Yorke, knew John Lennon, and he called up John Lennon to do a peace festival [in Ontario, Canada's Mosport Park, in 1970]. John Lennon agreed and they brought him over to do a big press conference. They asked me to be involved in the marketing and stuff like that. I had no real experience, but they felt that with a late-night bottle club you must know what you're doing. The festival never happened—it was right after Altamont where there was a killing during the Rolling Stones show, and the authorities were very involved: Do you have enough porta-potties, do you have enough electrical outlets? That eventually failed. I ended up working as a producer of a late-night theater [in Toronto] called Global Village Theatre. Gilda Radner was working the box office, Danny Aykroyd was working with a girl named Valerie Bromfield. We did comedy, we did dance, we did everything. We did that for a while without making any money. I finally had to get a job that paid a regular check. I worked for a small arts organization. I did very well at that, so I got hired by the Ivanhoe Theater here in Chicago, and got to know Bernie [Sahlins] and Joyce [Sloane, now Second City Producer Emeritus]. They opened the theater in Toronto, which didn't work. I said to Bernie, "Give me the opportunity, give me the rights to Canada and I think I can make a go of it."

This is the legendary sale of Second City Toronto for $2 with a contract written on a napkin?
Bernie gets mad at that story. I really took over all of the debts they'd accumulated there and paid them off. It was probably about 30 grand in debt.

As you started to move into a presenter-producer role, was that scratching a specific itch with you?
I'm very entrepreneurial. I definitely wasn't into a 9-to-5 existence. But I could have done something else. At the time, I certainly didn't know where this was going to lead. I was in my late 20s.

I understand you drove a cab and still keep your hack license current.
I do. I used to drive a cab in college, and when I dropped out. I actually loved it. It was a cash business, you set your own hours, it gave me a vehicle for dating. So I was thrilled. I met a lot of great characters. And you always have to have something to fall back on. My fallback is that I can always drive a cab.

Are you critical of cab drivers these days?
I am. The industry seems to have gone to pot. Back then you didn't have the threat of violence you do today, of course. But you still get a lot of... independent thinkers in the cab world. I like it in Chicago because a lot of cabbies listen to NPR and they also have a point of view.

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