September 2026

There is something especially hard about losing a coworker. Over the years, we sadly lose many of our retirees. It is a natural part of life as the years pass, but that doesn't make those losses hurt any less. These are the brothers and sisters who helped build the labor movement we inherited, and their contributions don't end when they punch out for the last time.

Over the summer, we lost one of those retirees, Peter Benvenuto. Peter remained active, visited the Union Hall often and was always there when called upon. Retirement may have ended his working days, but it didn't end his commitment to his union. His unionism, advice and solidarity will be greatly missed.

But losing an active member hits differently. Maybe it's because you aren't prepared for their spot at the break table to suddenly be empty. You aren't prepared to walk into work and not see the person you saw just days before. There was no retirement celebration, no last day, no goodbye. One day they were part of the everyday routine of our lives, and suddenly…. they’re not.

Recently, our union family experienced that kind of loss with Pauline Hundley and Charles Flores. When I think about Pauline and Charles, I think about more than the work we did together. I think about the time they gave to the labor movement. I think about standing together for things we believed in, showing up for our union brothers and sisters, and the conversations and laughs that happened somewhere between all of it.

Because solidarity isn't something that exists only at the bargaining table or on a picket line. It's built every day. It's built when we stand up for the person working next to us. It's built when we show up at a union meeting after already putting in a full week’s work. It's built when someone needs support and their union brothers and sisters answer the call. And it's built through years of working, fighting, laughing and living alongside one another.

Those years give us stories, too. Anyone who followed Charles on Facebook probably remembers his ongoing reports about the neighbor who apparently mowed his lawn winter, spring, summer and fall. According to Charles, that man was ALWAYS mowing. Sadly, the ongoing lawn mowing saga he joked about will forever go untold. 

Those little memories matter.

We spend more waking hours with some of our coworkers than we do with our own families. We watch each other grow older. We hear about kids and grandkids. We celebrate each other's milestones. We complain about the job. We disagree. We stand together. And we laugh—a lot.

Somewhere along the way, "coworker" doesn't quite describe the relationship anymore. We become brothers and sisters in more than name. That's why an empty spot on the doorline, or nobody there to fill that crane rotation, can feel so heavy. Someone isn't just missing from the manpower. Someone is missing from us.

The labor movement has never been only about contracts, wages and benefits. Those things matter, and generations of union members fought hard to win them. But underneath every contract, every grievance, every picket line and every fight for fairness are people. People standing together. That is solidarity.

Peter, Pauline and Charles each gave some of themselves to this membership and to the labor movement. They showed up. They participated. They stood with their union brothers and sisters and in doing so, they became part of the history of our Local.

Someday, every one of us will punch out for the last time. When that day comes, our greatest contribution to the labor movement may not be measured by how many meetings we attended or how many years of seniority we have. It may simply be whether we stood beside one another while we were here.

That's what being union is.

Rest easy, Peter, Pauline and Charles. Your Brothers and Sisters will carry the memories, the solidarity, and…..we’ll take it from here.

In Solidarity,

Lena