Massachusetts Mill Town Gets Angel for Christmas

Two weeks before Christmas, on an Arctic night fierce with howling winds, Methuen watched its economic lifeline--Malden Mills, one of the last great textile mills in New England--burn to the ground.

The fire that swept through the century-old red-brick mill on the Spicket River, injuring 24 people and idling 1,400 workers, was, it appeared, the knockout blow Methuen had long feared--the loss of not only its largest employer but of one of the last remaining mills whose owner had refused to abandon the Merrimack Valley for the cheap labor of the South and Asia.

“I turned on Channel 5 and saw the mill burning and said, ‘Lord, what I am going to do?’ ” recalled Bob Edwards, 50. “I had no idea how I was going to support my family, no idea how I’d get another job at my age. And Christmas was coming. I had to cry.”

The mill’s owner, Aaron Feuerstein, had been at a surprise party for his 70th birthday the night the fire struck and had told his friends, “I hope you didn’t come here expecting me to announce my retirement, because I intend to keep right on working.”

He was, after all, the third generation of Feuersteins to run Malden Mills--his father had gone to work in the mill at age 13; his grandfather, a Hungarian immigrant who once sold rags from a pushcart in New York City, had founded the mill in 1906--and his wife, two sons and son-in-law had worked there for years.

Feuerstein could see the orange flames leaping over Methuen as he approached Malden Mills. He told himself, Don’t permit any tears; don’t let anyone feel sorry for you.

The next morning, amid the smoldering ruins of timber and brick, he issued a statement saying, “With God’s help, we will overcome the events of the past 12 hours and continue to be a vital force in New England.” Then he gave every worker a paycheck, a $275 Christmas bonus and a $20 coupon for food at a local supermarket.

Within hours, help was pouring in from across the country. Gov. William F. Weld declared the mill’s destruction a state emergency. Large donations to help the idled work force came from a Boston bank, a newspaper, a customer in South Dakota. Frank Dumont kept his diner open late to serve free coffee and food to relief crews and the Fireside put a plastic pickle jar on its bar with the words: “For our friends and customers who work at the Malden Mills. It’s Christmas.” The jar was soon stuffed with $1 bills.

“I think a lot of people figured, well, this guy is 70 years old and he’ll just take the insurance money and that’s the end of Malden Mills,” Feuerstein said. “Maybe I’m a nut, but honestly, that thought never crossed my mind. My commitment is to Massachusetts and New England. It’s where I live, where I play, where I worship. Malden Mills will rebuild, right here.”

Even before word of Malden Mills’ plan to rebuild got around, Feuerstein, a religious man who spends an hour a day memorizing the works of Hebrew and English poets, was exulted as a hero in this gritty, union town. He was the stayer who had stuck it out in the valley when the other mills went south, who had survived bankruptcy in 1981 and now, in prospering, paid the highest textile wages in the world, $12.50 an hour plus benefits.

He had brought Malden Mills--the largest textile mill remaining in New England--back from near extinction with the development in the early 1980s of Polartec, an advanced lightweight fabric that provides extreme warmth in winter clothing and is in demand by Eddie Bauer, Lands’ End, L.L. Bean and other apparel merchandisers.

Polartec created a $3-billion industry that pushed Malden’s annual sales up over $400 million, making the mill a symbol of blue-collar hope and pride in an impoverished region that had little of either.

“I don’t think there’s another man in the world like Aaron Feuerstein,” mill worker Steve Kay said of the man who eats lunch in the company cafeteria and likes employees to call him by his first name. “I know personal examples where he’s helped people buy houses. He buried my best friend’s son because my friend didn’t have any money. And now the fire, and instead of running off, what’s he do? Give us Christmas bonuses.”

Three days after the fire--apparently started when a boiler exploded, knocking out the sprinkler system--more than 1,000 mill workers filed into the gym at Central Catholic High School to learn the fate of their jobs and the future of Malden. Although many didn’t know it, at that very minute two miles away cranes were lifting spare equipment into warehouses left untouched by the fire and bolts of fabric were being moved on forklifts. It was the first step in the company’s emergency plan to get back in operation.

Feuerstein entered the gym from the back of the crowd, shaking snow off his coat. Heads turned. A murmur went up and the murmur became a roar, and there was the rattle of fold-up chairs moving all at once as workers surged to their feet cheering. The boss, making his way across the basketball court to the podium, was engulfed in a din of applause and the call of his name.

“I will get right to my announcement,” Feuerstein said. “For the next 30 days--and it might be more--but at least for the next 30 days all our employees will be paid their full salaries. I think you have already been advised that your health insurance has been paid for the next 90 days.

“But over and above the money, the most important thing Malden Mills can do for our workers is to get you back to work, and by Jan. 2, we will restart operations, and within 90 days we will be fully 100% operational.”

There was a moment of stunned disbelief, then the workers were on their feet again, cheering and hugging. Rene Gingras turned to the man next to him and said, “I been in textiles 55 years so I’m at the end of the line, but I’ll tell you: This is the best Christmas present I ever got, far and away.”