As one grows older, it is a matter of semantics about people who can be considered “friends for life.” I met Michael Yockel, who died last week at age 71 in late 1979, when he began writing for Baltimore’s City paper. We weren’t even thirty yet, but we kept in touch ever since and got together often, so a ‘friend for life’ he is, and Michael was a wonderful and wonderfully eccentric man. He is survived by his wife, the sweet and cheerful Betsy Boyd, and their twin sons Tex and Miner.

A working relationship and a long friendship go through many phases over so many years, and as this is not your standard sad tribute, I will give several impressions of the man whose nickname, to those who knew him well, was ‘The Yoke’. When he arrived City paperMichael was understated but flashy: he wore sunglasses in our office, drove an Alfa Romeo, spoke amiably about horse racing (but wasn’t much of a gambler) and was one of the first major contributors, and then an editor, who it didn’t come from the valuable but isolated coterie of Johns Hopkins students who were present when the paper began in 1977. He clicked with photographer Jennifer Bishop, among others, and they were best friends.

A native of Baltimore, he brought a much-needed “foreign” element to the paper, writing entertaining and clever stories during those early years about lunch boxes, sports, junk snacks (he later became a vegetarian), old TV shows (an insomniac child), he recorded the tube time well after midnight) and pop music. About a year before my mother’s death, he interviewed her for one C.P cover story about her jingle writing and competition career of 25 words or less – and she was excited, telling me, “Rusty, what an intelligent, well-mannered man Michael is. I sent him a thank you note, but please express my appreciation.”

I’m not sure Michael ever recognized it – sometimes personality traits are only visible to close friends – but he was a champion of the underdog. Not politically – we rarely spoke more than casually about national current events – but culturally. For example, when the inevitable Beatles vs. Stones topic came up in bars like the Club Charles of Mt. Royal Tavern, Louie’s and the Brass Elephant, Michael protested, saying that The Kinks and Who both had obvious bands in their prime. defeat. He was never swayed by ‘conventional wisdom’, but stuck to his own point of view, and as someone who was well read and informed about fiction, magazines and newspapers, he was argumentative in his opinions, and I often got away with the thought: ‘Hm, that makes sense.” Bee C.P, we had an anonymous “gossip column” called RUMP, and he contributed ready-made items to it. (For five weeks, RUMP was “born again,” and Michael burst out laughing and embraced the satire.)

Our mutual friend Michael Gentile, C.P and then NYPres‘s art director was stunned to hear of The Yoke’s death, and after a long conversation last week, he emailed me the following: “In the early 1980s, there was a large wooden desk in a row house in Charles Village (our office at 2612 N. Charles St.), front bay windows overlooking the street; the place was known as ‘the crow’s nest’. Here Michael read proofs before the paper was sent to the printer. As employees hurried through the production department, a boombox played a variety of songs from cassette tapes. Michael added his signature touch to workplace conversations with an astonishing recollection of obscure pop culture tidbits and songs from the 1960s… Once I asked him what he thought of Talking Heads. He just smiled and said, “Well, David Byrne was my roommate.” Typical of his understated humor… Michael had a weekly radio station on WJHU, which operated from a small studio on the Hopkins campus. I was a guest there once and it was quite amazing to see how he operated the station single-handedly, effortlessly operating all the knobs, buttons and microphones. His dedication to achieving the perfect sound was unwavering.”

In 1982, when the paper was in desperate financial trouble, my partner Alan Hirsch and I delivered bad news to Michael and Phyllis Orrick, fellow editors, that one of them would have to be fired. An hour later, Michael took me aside and said, “I know times are tough, and Phyllis and I have decided that we will work at half pay so we can both stay.” We were happy with the decision and Alan rightly said, “The yoke is a mensch.” Coincidentally, the newspaper became more successful and order was restored. Talented writers move away for better opportunities – one of the roles of an ‘alternative’ newspaper at the time – and Michael built a successful career writing and editing for the New Times weekly newspaper chain, as well as many local newspapers, as many as I can Don’t keep them straight.

In 1988, after starting New York PressI was going away for two weeks for an extended family vacation, and Michael came from Baltimore to fill in. He quickly made friends with a new group of writers, who probably chose him over me. He was also editor of City paper after I left, and published a beautiful, bold newspaper, so much so that its skittish owners fired him in 1993.

When my family returned to Baltimore in 2003 after sixteen years in Manhattan, we saw a lot of Michael, especially attending ball games at Camden Yards; an Orioles fan, a better baseball buddy I have yet to meet. He talked about the AL East Division races with my son Booker, but also had a long talk about garage rock and with my oldest son Nicky, who wasn’t a big sports fan but loved the atmosphere of the park. Later his wife Betsy would join us, and those are very fond memories. Always polite, when he emailed me about a professional or personal matter, he always closed with, “Please do my best for Melissa and the boys.” That’s not all that common these days, but The Yoke was a gentleman who didn’t give in to, or perhaps even recognize, today’s texting and email shorthand. As a private man, he shunned social media but didn’t judge those of us who do.

For the past five years, Michael, Jennifer, Alan and I met four times a year for coffee and chewed and chewed the fat for a few hours. We wandered exuberantly from topic to topic (family news first) and then reluctantly returned to our agenda, even though we could have enjoyed the company for an entire afternoon. If that sounds corny, so be it; it is accurate. That’s just one of the things I will miss about Michael Yockel, a generous and fine man.

—Follow Russ Smith on Twitter: @MUGGER2023