Len Shindel Archives - Baltimore Post-ExaminerBaltimore Post-Examiner

A Nephew’s Hug

It was the right time   For the longest hug.   Had my nephew fathomed the death of his own younger brother?   Did he know his powerful, but soothing words, the prior night’s eulogy, quoting my own father’s favorite […]

A Nephew’s Hug

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It was the right time   For the longest hug.   Had my nephew fathomed the death of his own younger brother?   Did he know his powerful, but soothing words, the prior night’s eulogy, quoting my own father’s favorite […]

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Jackson and Beirut

In 2008, while working for the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers, I traveled to Mississippi, as a “released staff” to the AFL-CIO to cover the unions’ campaign for Ronnie

Can’t Beat This

The late U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Director Sean Hamilton fly-fishing. Photo used under a Creative Commons license of flickr user USFWS. One of my favorite bike rides in

Math Fright

I have always been frightened by math.   8,473 km, 5,264.878 miles between Amazon rain forests, Greenland ice sheets.   150 acres Amazon forest lost every minute, 78 million acres lost every year.   11 billion tons of Greenland’s ice lost, 1 day.   Is someone not

 Fingers

Raspy cough, white bathrobe, fingers reaching for your ivory coffee mug, red lipstick on the rim, fingers, slender and strong like vice grips, nails stripped of polish, fingers, so many years before pressing a cold washcloth against my fevered forehead. fingers, stretching for chocolate, sneaking smokes. fingers, clasping

Mill Memorabilia

Feature photo: Members of United Steelworkers Local 2609 at Bethlehem Steel’s Sparrows Point Plant hold a “tailgate” meeting at Penwood Field across from the plant’s hot rolling mill to

Buddy Bantum

I began working at Bethlehem Steel’s Sparrows Point Plant in 1973. I had graduated high school in 1968 in Connecticut and attended George Washington University for one year before

Bernie

Photo used under a Creative Commons license from flickr user Jasperdo  In the 1970s, I was living in Waverly, near the old Memorial Stadium. The city neighborhood was nearly all

Mac

Mac peered over his machine. His frantic foreman missed the wiser-than-you’ll-ever-be smile.   Mac was never disrespectful. But nobody messed with Shop Steward Billy McGuire, WWII U.S. Army Veteran.   I caught the big guy’s dry smile myself, radical know-it-all I

Coalescence

I peel leaf-colored clumps from my shovel. The clay carries memories, art class, wonders of the kiln, the rabbi’s head on a silver dish atop my grandmother’s mahogany table, forever pliable and moist, sculptures adorning the

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