Metal and Soul

Andy Netzel: From atop his perch on a rail car, Don Whipkey gives an overflowing heap of scrap metal a glance. Behind him is a mountain of junk. Old car doors. Appliances. Piping. Unidentifiable shards of discarded items that will again become useful once melted and processed.

He's looking for rubber or combustible containers or other objects that could harm the environment or the workers who will melt it down. But this look will be quick. Leaving bad scrap on top of the stack is rookie stuff. He'll examine it more once the giant, magnet-equipped crane removes a few feet of material. That's where the nefarious scrap peddlers stuff less than pristine materials.

This steel mill is where Whipkey belongs. His shoulders are just a little too burly to be an autoworker. His hands look too bulky to be a precision machinist. Accountant? Tax attorney? No way. At first glance he looks like the kind of guy who would tattoo the Tasmanian Devil on his arm. After talking to him for even a short while, you see he's the kind of guy the Tasmanian Devil might tattoo on his own arm. There's no question what this 50-year-old does for a living. Don Whipkey is a steelworker through and through.