The End

The story of the massacres didn't end with the funerals, and the story of Chiquola Mill didn’t end with its 2003 closing. Gary notes the changes in Honea Path have reached beyond the 1930s and continue to impact the town today.

“[One] thing that bothered me from growing up on the mill village [was] that we had nice houses. We kept them clean, we kept the yards clean. The mill was nice, you know, everything was good until that. And then when the mill stopped, when they quit producing the cotton mill, the mill was torn down. Whoever owns [the mill hill houses] now, they don’t keep them up and it’s really sad to ride around where I grew up. So that bothers me.

“And then they could’ve kept that mill. They could’ve made apartments out of it or put businesses in it, but they tore it down. Greenville and the bigger places have kept all their cotton mills and made things out of it. Whoever was in charge wanted it down and I don’t know why. So, I think that hurt Honea Path.”

Beth Cannon explained later that the "mill hill has become a terrible place to live today. I grew up there because my father was a minister. It was a great place to live when I was a young girl."

Gary and Cannon are both right. The mill and its surroundings look nothing like the old photos I've found of its days before demolition started and old age began to set in. The mill and hill have both continued to change with each passing day.

When I first moved here, the mill was mostly a pile of rubble and garbage. Sometimes homeless members of the community slept in the wreckage beneath the old entryways. Then a cleanup initiative was organized and the wreckage started to move, if only slightly.

Karen Stevens says, "contractors were paid to clean it up, got everything that was valuable, and left what was not."

The cleanup was a start in the right direction, but the rubble and wreckage left behind was a disaster waiting to happen. Eventually, the disaster did happen and the mill caught fire on April 5, 2021.

Chiquola Mill on Fire in Early April, 2021

Stevens says that the mill has "been on fire several times" so this burn was not unusual, but somehow it seemed different. It seemed like this fire was the mill's last goodbye to the town it once ruled.

When I saw the smoke, my first thought was that the mill would be completely levelled now. But the mill didn't let go. Pieces of it still stand, although its a bit more charred than its been in the past. The massive tower is still there to stare down on nearly every street in Honea Path. To many, that tower is a reminder of what the town once was and of what the town might have been. I always thought the same. Now, after completing this project, the tower has become much more to me. I see it as a broken, battered, but still standing symbol of forgiveness.

Lois McClain always knew who had shot her that day back in 1934. And he knew it too. He went on to teach her children in Sunday school for years after the incident. Nothing was said until the final days of their lives. Before his death, he went to McClain and apologized for the part he played on Bloody Thursday. She forgave him.

So, yes, the mill is a wreck of what it once was. The Mill Hill is slowly sliding away beneath trash, rotting boards, and overgrown yards. Honea Path is a tiny town with tiny streets and a tiny population of 3,600. On the outside it all seems like another old town living another old life, but the powerful story of pain and forgiveness lives on through the descendants of all involved.

I started this project hoping to deliver an interesting story; I've finished it believing Honea Path's motto "a little town with a big heart" just might be the truest statement yet. Lois McClain shared her big heart and I am proud to have shared her story and the story of Chiquola Mill once again.