End of an Era

It's hard to imagine how well 6 businessmen in 1882 envisioned their small cotton mill experiment to be 125 years later. After years of amazing growth and economic impact on a city that in 1882 had a population of 7,500, the dynasty has come to an end -- or at least a humble reversion to a small community presence.

As I photographed the ongoing, careful demolition of the Schoolfield Mill buildings, a site supervisor came over and asked about my motivation for taking the pictures. I explained about doing a school project, etc., and he began to share some interesting thoughts. One comment he made stood out to me. "It's been over a hundred years since anyone saw this view," he informed me (see photo above for the view).

My philosophical engines tried to fire, thinking up clever parallels and analogies about how our life vision is sometimes blocked for years by what we assume is a good thing, or how walls separate us from promising horizons, blah, blah, blah. But I concluded that he was simply expressing a sad emotion. He could have just told me to stay away from the site, or explained that they were destroying the buildings brick by brick to sell the historic pieces; but he felt compelled to frame a picture for me of his emotional attachment to the sacred grounds. He didn't say it with a proud tone, or even with a hint of reveling in the fact that he was the first to share this rare trivia with me. He spoke the words with a strain of resignation and loss.

Having lived in Danville for fewer than six years, I cannot begin to relate to the emotional connection this city has with its beloved Dan River, Inc. My instinct is to mutter under my breath, "Get over it!" when I read the latest article in the newspaper about the demise of the textile giant. But as one local native was careful to point out to me, chastising me for my insensitivity toward the thousands of people in mourning, my family doesn't have several generations of ties to Dan River. I can't say that working at Dan River is all I have known since the 10th grade.

I have thought about that rebuke I endured many times over the past couple of years, and I have to say that while I do believe we must move on, I sympathize more each day with the people who have experienced this amputation. Seeing the nice, new CVS Pharmacy where memories at the Schoolfield Recreation Center were made must sting to those who longed to see it saved. Having to drive by the slow demolition process at the mill every day has to be torture for those who spent the better part of their lives sheltered by the labyrinth that once existed behind those walls.

Some of the workers have moved on to other jobs. I have met the ones working at Hobby Lobby, or as couriers for Danville Regional Medical Center. I see them in class at Danville Community College, or at the Adult Education Center, seeking to rise to the challenge of finding new skills and new jobs. But I also have seen them at the Salvation Army seeking lunch. I have greeted some of them at the United Way doors, needing utility assistance. Some of them remain at home, feeling hopeless. I don't know the numbers, but I hope (and believe) that the latter category represents the smallest of the groups.

The bottom line for me is this: We must move on, but we must also allow time to mourn. Some need more time than others. As a community, we must rise to the challenge and create better days. The walls that have created a city sky scape of sorts have a promising horizon behind them, and the gifts and talents of the many former Dan River employees can make room for themselves in a new economy. 125 years from now, Danville will be a different place. How is up to us.