Sonia Florian presided over a radio station like no other in Chicago history.
For one thing, as many as four dogs and 10 cats had free rein of the station headquarters on Erie Street just west of the Kennedy Expressway where WNIB (97.1 FM) — known as Classical 97 — broadcast its extensive library of classical music.
Barking and meowing could occasionally be heard in the background as announcers spoke on air.
One cat in particular liked to walk on the station’s control board.
Sonia and her husband, Bill Florian, were animal lovers, and the station received regular calls from listeners asking about the background noises. It got a bit of media attention in the ’80s, when the station began to hit its stride with listeners, and some people even dropped off strays at the station, knowing that they’d be cared for.
The station stood in contrast to Chicago’s deep-pocketed classical radio station WFMT (98.7 FM).
“It wasn’t snooty like other classical stations were,” said Wendy Rozenberg, who worked at WNIB. “It was down to earth and people loved them for that.”
The genre can be seen as elitist — but the Florians were anything but.
Mrs. Florian was the daughter of Macedonian immigrants. Her father, Nick, worked for a socialist newspaper. Her mother, Olga, was a seamstress.
Mrs. Florian attended public schools in Chicago before studying opera at Roosevelt University.
She was in her early 20s and working for a non-profit that ensured musicians were getting paid for songs that played on the radio, when she met Bill Florian.
He was the son of a Chicago cop and a consummate tinkerer who, in 1954, acquired the license to operate the station on a shoestring budget years before FM radio came into its own as the place for people to listen to music.
“He was so nice looking with those piercing blue eyes — you know how this sort of infatuation happens to people in their 20s,” Mrs. Florian told the Chicago Reader in 1999.
The two became a couple. She started working at and later ran the radio station, steering it towards classical music. About a decade after they first met, Mrs. Florian refused to go on a cross-country road trip with him unless they were married. They got hitched at City Hall.
“I’m old-fashioned that way,” she told The Reader. “I didn’t think it right for a single woman to travel on the road with a single man.”
Mr. Florian, bearded and scruffy with a chain on his belt loop that held an assortment of keys, could be mistaken for the radio station’s janitor, and was, Rozenberg said.
He worked as the station’s engineer, making sure the broadcast was uninterrupted and clear. A self proclaimed “stubborn Bohemian from the South Side,” he eschewed status symbols and when the station became financially successful, splurged mainly on BMW motorcycles.
The couple ran the station for more than 40 years, including many lean years, before their presence in the market, and their prime spot in the middle of the FM dial, netted an offer they, after refusing many, couldn’t refuse.
In 2001 they sold the station for $165 million in cash to Bonneville International. It was rebranded as WDRV The Drive — a classic rock station — and has since been purchased again by Hubbard Broadcasting.
With the money from the sale, the Florians established the NIB Foundation and awarded millions in grants to music, dance, environmental and animal welfare organizations. (Mrs. Florian was a past donor to Chicago Public Media; the Sun-Times is owned by CPM.)
Mrs. Florian died Sept. 1 from natural causes. She was 89.
She served on multiple boards, including the Auditorium Theatre, Lyric Opera of Chicago and the Joffrey Ballet.
She had no filters and was direct and honest, especially when it came to sharing views with artistic directors and choreographers.
“I think everyone really appreciated and got a good laugh out of it, too,” said Jan Kallish, former director of the Auditorium Theatre. “It was a refreshing response for people who might not normally get such an honest response.”
Mrs. Florian, whose husband died in 2016, loved taking trips with friends to see opera and ballet and picking up the tab.
“She was such a character, such a dry sense of humor. And she always kept everything in a paper envelope in her purse, no wallet. She was not someone who needed things,” Kallish said.
“And she was a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat who donated to many candidates … she’d ask every year while attending the Kennedy Center award ceremonies ‘When are they going to honor Jane Fonda?’ Kallish said.
A private memorial service will be held next month.