BETHLEHEM NO MORE
Bethlehem Steel's
shift-turn whistles
do not blast out
in Maywood anymore.
Mill workers no longer congregate
at Slauson Avenue bars
on pay day.
Bethlehem's soaking pits
are frigid now.
Mill families,
once proud and comfortable,
now gather for unemployment checks
or food.
Bethlehem,
I never thought you would be missed.
When we toiled under the girders,
we cursed your name.
But you were bread on the table;
another tomorrow.
My babies were born
under the Bethlehem health plan.
My rent was paid
because of those long and humid
days and nights.
I recall being lowered
into oily and greasy pits
or standing unsteady
on two-inch beams
thirty feet in the air
and wondering if I would survive
to savor another weekend.
I recall my fellow workers
who did not survive--
burned alive from caved-in furnace roofs
or severed in two by burning red steel rods--
while making your production quotas.
But Bethlehem you are no more.
We have made you rich;
rich enough to take our toil
and invest it elsewhere.
Rich enough
to make us poor again.
--Luis J. Rodriguez