Perhaps you’ve been reading the BALTIMORE JEWISH TIMES long enough to remember our old “Kvetch” column, which allowed our faithful readers the opportunity to vent about nearly anything that passed through their minds.

No one was more of a participant or enthusiast of this column than a gentleman who went by the poetic sobriquet of “El Syd,” aka Sydney Goldfield of Pikesville. I had the pleasure of spending an afternoon with Syd and his lovely wife, June, a few years ago, and even wrote a profile on him. The piece was written shortly after the column was put to bed, chronicling Syd’s lament over “Kvetch’s” demise.

I recently read in our paper’s death notices that Syd, a true character if there ever was one, passed away. In his honor, I’d like to reprint here my article about him.

May Syd’s memory always be a blessing for his family, friends and those who came into contact with him.

Syd, thanks for the kvetches. Wherever you are, I know that you’re kvetching.

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Syd’s Last Kvetch

It was the tone of the voice that broke my heart. Captured by the miracle of voice-mail, it sounded dejected, beaten, inconsolable. “I’m really sorry to see it go,” the voice lamented. “Hmmm. That was one of my outlets.” Pause. “Well, that’s how it goes.”

Right off the bat, I recognized the voice as the one and only “El Syd,” the gentleman caller who for the past few years has rung up the BALTIMORE JEWISH TIMES’ ” Kvetch-line” every Monday morning like clockwork to voice his displeasure about some annoying matter. More often than not, he proffered a witty or ironic observation about the state of the world.

(As most of you undoubtedly know, the JT’s “Kvetch” column was discontinued a few weeks ago after a successful six-year run. Nothing’s forever, folks.)

Still, I worried about El Syd, as he referred to himself a couple of times in his kvetchings. He sounded like an older man on his voice-mail drive-bys, and the column was obviously something he cared deeply about.

“What’s going to happen to that guy who calls every Monday?” queried a former colleague. “Aren’t you concerned about his welfare? What will he do with himself?”

At first, I tried to put it out of my mind, even after hearing his last mournful “Kvetch” submission. He’ll be fine, I told myself.

But then a letter arrived from Syd, bemoaning “Kvetch’s” demise. “I shall miss it; I hope others do, too,” the letter read. “I kept a list of my printed entries, which totaled 185. I had a goal of 200.”

Oy, he kept track of how many kvetches he submitted?! Wow! That was it — I had to meet El Syd face-to-face and figure out who this person is.

Fortunately, he signed the letter and tagged on his phone number to boot, so tracking down El Syd didn’t require formidable investigative prowess.

Turns out El Syd (a longtime self-dubbed moniker) is Sydney Goldfield, a 74-year-old retired RCA executive and Social Security program analyst. When reaching the Scotts Hills residence he shares with his wife of 34 years, June, I immediately recognized the timbre and tone of his voice.

Initially during our conversation last Friday afternoon, Syd, an Atlantic City native and grandfather of three, seemed a bit reticent about discussing something that obviously became an obsession over the years. When I probed too deep, he tended to resort to non-sequiturs. “That’s his way of avoiding the subject,” explained June.

But then it all came out, including the stunning admission that he occasionally recycled his old kvetches just to see if anyone here was paying attention.

“I don’t consider myself a kvetchy person. I just consider myself a humorous kvetcher,” he said without blinking. “I’m definitely compulsive. Small things interest me. I just liked ‘Kvetch’ and thought it was funny. When I get on something, I don’t let go.”

Things evolved to a point where June said she would be driving with Syd to appointments and notice he was jotting things down on the backs of envelopes. Then, he would mull over these ramblings at home during the week and throughout the weekend, with as many as three rewrites for each kvetch. By the time the JT arrived the following Friday, they would play a game in which June guessed which kvetches were penned by Syd.

Just by looking around Syd’s abode, it wasn’t hard to see he’s compulsive about a lot of things. His massive collection of 45s and long-playing records lined the shelves of his den, not far from his stacks of TV Guide fall preview editions dating from the early ‘60s (did someone say Frank Costanza?).

A nearby framed Baltimore Sun article from a few years back hailed Syd for his documentation of more than 9,600 books that he’s read over the course of his life (and he has the handwritten list to prove it). He also collects postcards, autographs and baseball cards.

Hammering home the point about his being compulsive were the stacks of cutout pages of “Kvetch” sitting on his living room table, dating back to his debut on June 12, 1998. Syd also keeps copies of the pages, all dated and indexed by order of appearance, for posterity.

His “Seinfeld”-esque observations have railed against the medical community, SUVs, youngsters with a penchant for loud and irritating behavior, and incompetent drivers. (Syd always kept away from sex and politics).

Some of his favorites:

“When you push an ‘up’ elevator button and the red light comes on, someone behind you will push the same button. I guess they think their touch is better.” (Nov. 27, 1998)

“My kvetch is that suddenly I cannot think of a good kvetch.” (April 30, 1999)

“We kvetch when it doesn’t rain and when it does rain.” (Sept. 6, 2002)

“Ever do physical therapy? Oy, does it hurt! Now that’s a kvetch.” (Sept. 20, 2002)

“I see where reality shows are the big thing on TV. Well, we don’t watch them.” (March 7, 2003)

During his prolific career as a kvetcher, Syd said one of his pet peeves was another regular of the column, a woman who enjoys calling herself “Kvetchy Suzanne.”

“Suzanne has always bugged me,” Syd confessed, while admitting he doesn’t personally know the woman. “Three of her last four kvetches were mine. And I think she goes on and on. I’m always concise. Also, I always felt the ‘Kvetch’ column was for kvetchers without names. She wanted the glory. I don’t.”

That’s not to say Syd didn’t occasionally “out” himself and tell those closest to him that he was one of the unheralded kvetchers. June even scanned some of his best offerings and e-mailed ‘em to friends and relatives across the country

“A couple of relatives I shared my kvetches with said they didn’t get them. You’d have to wonder, ‘What the hell is wrong with these people?’” Syd growled. “I was saying things that should be said. This was my way of expressing my point of view.”

Now that “Kvetch” is history, Syd said he’s thinking of looking into the possibility of having all of his kvetches published in a book. But what about the fact that they’re all anonymous? No problem, responded Syd, he keeps a log of all of his kvetches, each original and rewrite handwritten and dated.

I asked him what publisher would seek this kind of, shall we say, unique material?

“Look,” Syd snapped, “I already have been published, whether anyone likes it or not. ‘Kvetch’ was addictive for me. I set the goals. First, it was getting 25 kvetches printed. Then, it was 50. And then 100. It was the thrill of getting printed.”

But then came that dark day a few weeks ago when June opened the Jewish Times and said, “Uh, Syd, you’re going to be very unhappy.” Learning about the column’s abrupt ending, he said, “was very traumatic. I died. I demised. Pages were wet.”

Still, Syd said he’s managing to keep his chin up. “I’ll be OK,” he promised. “I’ll miss writing them, but I’m 74. This isn’t the first thing I’ve run into in my life. Life goes on. I’ll keep kvetching, with the hope that someday, someone will start it again.”

Well, you can’t blame a good kvetcher for dreaming, now can you?