Interviewer’s Note

James “Mike” Aaron is a kind-hearted realist. As a former journalist, he committed himself to uplifting the perspectives of marginalized communities in Maryland, advocating for different people in society to treat each other as equals. When I talked with Mike about creating his own written legacy, I learned that he is unafraid to share the good and the bad. We discussed heavy topics like racism in Baltimore and his struggles with codeine addiction. Many people may not want to “taint” their legacies with negative stories, but Mike advocates for including them in the name of authenticity. Mike is the most true-to-himself person I’ve ever met. Life is not perfect, but who said it should be?

Legacy Letter of Michael Aaron

To M., E., and J.—

When I was asked to name three things I’m grateful for, I said my family twice. In my lifetime, I’ve done a lot, learned a lot, had a lot more good times than bad, but most of all, I’ve been graced with a wonderful family. I’m real proud of you guys. In your honor, I leave behind my stories, my wisdom, and my legacy.

An Upbringing Rooted in Humanity

I grew up in Illinois with a very good education from grade school on. I was an only child, so my parents always had time for me. My mother was incredibly loving, incredibly supportive, incredibly proud. She was a practicing Christian in the best sense of the word. She was really nice to everybody, she had a tremendous number of friends, and like me, she was very liberal. There’s virtually nothing negative I can say about my mother.

My father, on the other hand, had a bad temper. He was not a good money manager. He went bankrupt, forcing us to move to a series of lesser houses, scraping by with very little money. I only say these things to paint a balanced picture of my father.

Despite his shortcomings, I still loved my father. He taught me humanity. He worked in the oil fields as an electrician. He’d be out all hours, and I would often go with him. One of these trips, we stopped to get some breakfast around four in the morning. We went to this cafe in the little town in Illinois. This Mexican family came in, and the guy wouldn’t serve ‘em. My father got up and said, “what do you want?”, and he ordered for ‘em himself. That’s always stuck with me.

Spreading Humanity through Journalism

For the longest time, I thought I would follow in my father’s footsteps and become an electrician. That was until I discovered journalism. You get to talk to people, you get to write about the world, and hopefully, you’re doing some good.

When I came to Baltimore in ‘72, it was very racist. Not so much now, but it was real easy to look down on if you had any sense of social justice. We used to have a cobbler, an elderly black guy. I asked him once what it was like in those days. He said he’d stay in the shop every night with a loaded shotgun in his lap, waiting for somebody to break in. I don’t think anybody ever did, but you couldn’t blame him for being afraid.

This—and the humanity my father instilled in me—guided my approach to reporting. I wrote stories that explained different parts of society to each other. I wanted to bring together different social classes and races, get them to become aware of Maryland’s prejudices and treat each other equally.

I remember one paper I led. All the way across the top was the headline, “BLACKS BEING FORCED OUT OF DOWNTOWN.” I thought somebody would object and nobody did. Downtown Annapolis was historically a poor black neighborhood. In the 70s, when the desire to move near the water grew among the affluent, these people were all bought out, forced to go away from their homes, away from where they’d always lived. That’s godawful. It was. It made me sad. It makes me mad in hindsight.

Sometimes the truth hurts, but that never stopped me from sharing it. I’ve always tried to be true to myself. I hope people learned something from my stories. I really do.

Monumental Events in American History

While I lived for stories about people in Annapolis, I’ve also seen a bit of history: the Apollo Challenger disaster, the USS Iowa turret explosion, and the day Reagan was almost assassinated.

Most memorable was the day in ‘71 when I covered the funeral of George Jackson, an activist in the Black power movement. My mother had sewn for his aunt J. I’d gotten a call from the local funeral director in California who said, “you don’t know where you got this, but George Jackson’s going to be buried here.” I went out and covered the burial on Sunday morning in this rural cemetery. Standing guard over the ceremony were several Black Panthers. There was a blue Ford right behind my car on this little dirt road with two FBI agents. At one point, I looked with binoculars towards the grave, and I saw two Black Panthers running across a field at me. I thought, “you gotta get out of here!”

I can still play that tape in my mind, seeing those Black Panthers charging at me. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the agents’ Ford backing down the road at breakneck speed, and I backed down right behind them. That’s the most scared I’ve ever been.

When God Closes a Door, He Opens a Window

I was addicted to codeine to the point where I had to get over it. I decided that I would just take a week off work. I called my boss, D.C., on a Sunday morning and told her. She was very supportive.

I will never forget what she told me: “when God closes a door, He opens a window.”

Thanks to her guidance, I decided to become clean that Friday. Later, I started to doubt myself. I didn’t think I could do it. I was taking a shower, and I swear to you, I heard the voice of God say, “it will be all right.”

I looked around. Of course, nobody was there. I still remember that moment very, very vividly.

Blessings

I don’t have many blessings for you three. You’ve all got your heads screwed on straight. I don’t think there’s much more I can teach you that you don’t already know or have figured out.

To M., the love of my life: you still look amazing for 76, and your mind is incredible. Thank you for being the supportive, kind, loving, and giving wife you have been for the last 46 years. Keep being courageous.

To E., my first daughter: I guess one of the tests of how good you were as a parent is how much your kids can stand on their own and be comfortable with it. You’ve always stood up for what you believed in, which I think is still difficult for a woman to achieve. It’s still a male-dominated world, sadly. I’ve always been proud of you for that.

To J., the future mother of my first grandchild: I never thought I would become a grandfather, but I am so glad that I will. I think it will be a lot of fun watching you become a mother. I have no doubt you will be a very good one. Pass along my well wishes to your wife. She’s a very lovely person, and I’ve always appreciated how nicely she treats you.

Legacy

I hope the world remembers me for trying to make the world better. I wish for peace, for different races to treat each other equally, and for my kids to live worthwhile, productive, and happy lives without trauma.

Above all, I believe there is too much seriousness in this world. I try not to take myself too seriously. I’ve always liked to make people laugh. In my career, I’ve always done serious work, but I would never succumb to being too serious myself. To whoever may be reading this, laugh a little.

With all my best, Michael Aaron