I was in New York City visiting family, when I heard that Cindy Baron had passed away after a long bout with Leukemia.

by Douglas Holder

Cindy was the long-time assistant editor for Spare Change News, a paper serving the homeless community. When my small poetry press was in its formative stages, Don DiVechhio, the poetry editor; Linda Larsen, the editor; along with Cindy were supportive in publishing and promoting the press.

One summer, while I was attending the William Joiner Institute at U/Mass Boston, Cindy called and asked to do an interview with me. Of course, I was flattered. Cindy was one of the first folks to take an interest in my work as a publisher.

What I remember most about Cindy was her warmth and her encouragement. The Spare Change offices are in the basement of a church just outside Harvard Square.

In the summer it can be sweltering; in the winter bone-chilling. There is always the pounding feet of a ballet company on the upper floor to contend with. But, Cindy always greeted me with a smile, and seemed genuinely interested in what she was doing.

Before meeting her, I had done very little journalism. But after seeing an article I wrote about the poet Jack Powers that was rejected by a pretentious art/magazine, she asked if she could publish it.
Under her and Linda’s reign, not to mention former editor Marc Goldfinger, I was sort of a poet/journalist. I interviewed poets and writers who aroused my curiosity. Cindy, Linda and later Marc published just about anything I sent in.

This is a rarity– believe me.

Some years later I became the Arts Editor for The Somerville News. I took a lot of what I learned from Spare Change, and incorporated it into my new job.

I knew Cindy was a long-suffering cancer victim, but she never really talked about it.

She was an editor who kept her promises, kept you to a deadline, and edited your pieces so they would appear in the best possible light.

She never talked about her background. But in another life she earned an advanced degree from Tufts, and worked for years in a major publishing house.

The only thing she wore on her sleeve was her heart. She was one rare bird. I will miss her.