R.I.P. Michael Days. A gentleman and editor to be admired

Michael Days was the tallest man I know.

Not in height; in moral authority.

Many years ago, when I learned from him, in an off-handed way, that he and his wife Angela Dodson had adopted four African-American brothers, I was floored.

Here stood before me, a man (and his wife) who had made a profound lifetime commitment to save the lives of four brothers they would not allow to be separated.

I did not know what to say then, or now, other than “God bless you,” knowing that was not nearly enough. Such generosity of spirit struck me dumb.

We were not especially close, but I enjoyed our occasional chats, and gleaning some gold nuggets from him. He was a serious Roman Catholic, and was a very proud alumnus of Roman Catholic H.S., right down the block from where we worked at 400 N. Broad Street, now police headquarters. 

The school remains one of the best and safest in the city. I would occasionally pass by at dismissal time and never have to worry about my back. These high schoolers were gentlemen. As was Michael. 

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I clearly recall the last time we spoke, face to face. It was July 12, 2019, at what turned out to be an infamous retirement party another former Daily News editor had arranged. 

Michael was among 16 speakers. He said that we had worked for decades “in that marketplace of ideas,” that was the Daily News.

Not everyone enjoyed the marketplace, and Michael —- I never called him Mike — recounted how we often faced readers’ boycotts (back when we had readers). And then “there were columnists, including Stu, who got us in trouble all the time,” he said.

Who created the most trouble? It was a tie between Stu and editorial cartoonist Signe Wilkinson, he joked. Maybe not a joke. 

“I always had your back even though they called for your dismissal,” he said, and I believed him.

One of the joys of the Daily News, “was that people did not try to be Politically Correct, although I tried to get you there,” he said, with a chuckle.

Actually, he did not try very hard.

I did not often seek his advice, or any editor’s advice, but there was one controversial column about which I had second thoughts. The subject involved race.

I brought it to him and asked him to read it, which he did.

I know he disagreed with my point of view.

He said, paraphrasing, some people are going to think you are a racist.

I asked, “Do you think I am a racist?”

He said no. 

Then he said, “It’s your column. Go with it.”

And I did, and the blowback wasn’t as bad as we had feared.

This was Michael’s proof of  his belief in the marketplace of ideas — to greenlight an opinion he disagreed with. Defending unpopular ideas does not pave your pathway to popularity.

Long after I “retired” from what had become the Inquirer to launch my blog — shameless plug, stubykofsky.com, Michael urged me to read Douglas A. Blackmon’s Pulitzer prize-winning “Slavery by Another Name,” about what the author calls “the re-enslavement of Black Americans from the Civil War to World War II.”

I took his suggestion. It was a damn good read and we discussed it, back and forth, via email.

It led me to write this lengthy and I hope thoughtful column about the book. Michael and I agreed on many of its points, but not all.

I believe we were each fine with that. Mutual respect.

Like most top Daily News editors, Michael’s door was always open and he was known as an encourager of talent. Always gracious, always soft-spoken, with a quiet authority.

“People loved him,” his widow was quoted in the Inquirer. “He commanded respect.”

All true.

He was in line to become editor of the Daily News, but his path was blocked by an interim owner who brought in an outsider with no newspaper experience. Without whining, Michael quietly played the cards he was dealt.

When that short experiment with the outsider ended, and Michael was named editor, there was a spontaneous burst of joy in the newsroom, kind of like V-E Day in Times Square.

He was where he was meant to be.

And it was my pleasure to be in the presence of a man who towered over me.