Those dark Satanic mills.

• Position: Textile mills - Brief Article

Millwork ain't easy

Millwork ain't hard

Millwork it ain't nothing

But an awful boring job

I'm waiting for a daydream

To take me through the morning

And put me in my coffee break

Where I can have a sandwich

And remember

Then it's me and my machine

For the rest of the morning

For the rest of the afternoon

For the rest of my life

from Millworker, a song by James Taylor

Our aspirations, I recall, ranged from the realistic (truck driver, paratrooper, preacher) to the ridiculous (cowboy, movie star, captor and master of the Loch Ness monster). But growing up in a town its multitude of mills had made a city, a city that spawned and shared its name with the world's largest textile manufacturer, I never knew anyone who dreamed of becoming a millworker. For most whose lives led to and through those gates, in Burlington and in places like it across the South, millwork was what they settled, not set out, for.

That thought stuck in my mind as I read Ed Martin's eloquently written, exhaustively researched cover story (see page 18) chronicling the changes in North Carolina's economy during the last two decades -- a period that, not coincidentally, parallels the publication of this magazine, which turns 20 this year. One topic the story deals with is the long decline and impending demise of the domestic textile industry -- at least the part that's long on labor and short on the latest technology. Humor me, please, while I ponder what once would have been heresy: Is this really such a bad thing?

The mills have made many millionaires, but their number is insignificant when compared to that of the families mill wages have fed and clothed. My belly and back are among the beneficiaries. My daddy, while still in his 20s, worked as a supervisor before quitting to learn plumbing on the GI Bill. My momma -- husband...