The Great Falls Mill
written by Paul Warnock
I’m going to repeat the first two paragraphs from a previous
essay, so if you think this sounds familiar, it will be. I
apologize, but the reader will need this information if they
didn’t read the other article.
Back in the early to mid 1950’s, there were myriad cotton mills
in North Carolina especially in the Rockingham area. The
prototype of these was the old Great Fall Mill that was
destroyed by General Sherman’s troops just prior to the end of
the US Civil War. This was only a few days before General
Joseph Johnston surrendered the southern portion of the
Confederate Army to General Sherman at Durham Station, N.
C. on April 17, 1865. I can imagine how this must have
“endeared” some of the local residents to General Sherman,
especially that close to the end of the war. By the way, most of
General Johnson’s troops were from Georgia and South
Carolina or points west as they had stayed in front of General
Sherman’s Army all the way from Savannah, but were
outnumbered at least two to one. Most of the North Carolina
men were in Virginia with General Lee, who had surrendered
to General Grant about a week before General Johnson
surrendered. This Mill was later rebuilt, but was abandoned
by the time I came on the scene.
From where I lived on Sand Hill Road (now Caroline Street),
you could go down the hill, cross the bridge over Falling Creek,
turn left at the railroad station, and continue down the tracks
across the trestle, and then you had a bird’s eye view of the old
Mill. At that time Falling Creek had been dammed to form a
pond. The dam could have been used to provide power to the
Mill, but it was no longer being used that way. This was about
a quarter mile from my house, maybe a little more. I imagine
that since General Sherman’s troops were coming from South
Carolina (on their way to Raleigh and the Battle at
Bentonville, N. C. which occurred on March 19-21, 1865), they
must have passed directly in front of where our house was
later built, went down the same hill I did, walked down the
same railroad tracks I did, and then they did their mischief.
Actually we were lucky they didn’t burn the towns in North
Carolina like they did in South Carolina, especially Columbia.
They had a particular vendetta against South Carolina because
it was Fort Sumter in April 1861 that started the shooting War.
There is a saying: “If you ever saw them make sausage, you
would never eat it again”. I don’t think the slaughterhouses
discard anything. At the Curtis Packing Company here in
Greensboro, they even have tanker trucks hauling away liquid
by-products; I assume to be used in manufacturing animal
feed. I’m not sure if there is a saying like this about young
boys, but there should be. “If mothers and fathers had even
the slightest idea of some of the dangerous things their ten
year old sons did when no one is looking, they would never
allow them out of the house.”
In the early 1950’s, this Mill was only used for storing bales of
cotton. All the machinery except for scattered junk had long
since been removed. The Mill had a lock on the front door, but
that didn’t deter me. It was a chain connected through holes
in the door and the wall, with a lock to fasten the chain. They
don’t put ten year old boys in jail for breaking and entering, do
they? I wouldn’t have done that, not even back then. What I
did do was to go around to the north side and go down to the
basement level. There the door was so old and decayed it
couldn’t be closed never mind locked. That was my entry
point. Now the charge can be reduced to trespassing.
This was about the time they were building the [old] US 74
bypass around Rockingham. It is now called Business 74 or
Broad Avenue. There was a small obscure dirt service road
leading to the Mill from Washington Street back then. The
construction had more or less obliterated any trace of it, but if
you knew it was there, it was just barely passable. I didn’t go
that way, but I did come back that way, as I found it was much
easier. To go, I went down the hill from my house, across
Falling Creek and down the railroad tracks. Then I had to
cross the trestle. Do you remember the scene from the movie
“Stand by Me” where the boys were crossing the trestle? They
could hear nothing as they started across, but had to run like
mad to outrace the train at the end. The trestle was at least a
hundred feet long and was spanning fairly deep water. One
problem, I didn’t know how to swim at that time. So if a train
starting coming, I had two choices. One was to continue
across to beat the train; the other was to retrace my steps, that
is, go back. Jumping into the water wasn’t an alternative.
Well, I keep my ears wide open, but no train ever came. I
crossed the trestle.
Then, I had a new problem. I was on the wrong side of Falling
Creek although I was below the dam. On previous occasions, I
had noticed fishermen at the bottom of the dam, but there
were none that day. There was a fair volume of water coming
over the dam, but there were enough rocks and brick pillars
from the damage to the Mill, that an adult might just be able to
maneuver there, but not so young boys. The water was black
(as in pollution). About a hundred feet below the dam, the
creek had managed to reorganize itself in to a strong current I
would guess was ten feet across and four or five feet deep. If I
were to fall into those currents, they’d been looking for my
body all the way to where Falling Creek merges with Hitchcock
Creek or maybe all the way to the mighty Pee Dee River.
I notice that a pine tree had recently fallen across these rapids
and if I were brave, I could scoot across the rapids on that tree
and then be on the right side of the creek. I thought about that
for about five minutes, and I decided I had to do it or forever
be a coward. So I did, mostly crawling across on my stomach
and holding on with all four. When I got to the other side I
decided very quickly that I would never do that again. But I
was now on the correct side of the creek. I don’t remember
how I got to the main door, which faced east. But it was
locked; so I went to the north side and downward where a
basement had an unlocked entry. I think the building had
four floors plus a basement. The interior was mostly wood –
old wood that creaked and gave a little as I walked. I didn’t
spend more than fifteen minutes exploring the premises. The
staircases were old with some stairs missing. There were
many bales of cotton stored on the first floor, but I don’t
remember if they were stored on the upper floors or not. It
seems hard to believe it could have supported that much
weight. I would image a bale of cotton weights at least two or
three hundred pounds.
There were remnants of some gears or maybe I should say belt
drives hanging from the ceiling. Electricity wasn’t
commonplace until well into the twentieth century. The
original Mill would have had to been powered with mechanical
power from a paddlewheel. Based on the location of the Mill
in relation to the dam, I would think they would have
channeled water from the dam by a wooded conduit to drive a
paddlewheel located very near if not attached to the side of the
mill. [About ten years ago, I saw an example of this in a
working gristmill located in Guilford County near Oak Ridge].
All evidence of this had vanished by my time. Supporting this
theory, on the third or fourth floor on the south side (dam
side) was what appeared to be an opening in the wall, which
was closed off with what appeared to be makeshift doors that
were by no means securely attached. Stupid me, I kicked this
door. It raddled, but it did not break. I quickly determined
that was not a good idea since I was at least seventy five feet
above the bottom of the dam, and if that door had failed, I’d be
headed down to all those rocks & brick pillars I was talking
about earlier. If the fall hadn’t killed me, I would probably
have bled to death, as no one knew I was there.
On the way out, I noticed there was a room near the exit in the
basement that appeared to be a guardhouse or something of
that nature. All of a sudden, I heard a noise from that area. So
I quickly made my departure.
Now I reason that this was probably a transient who was as
interested in getting away from me as I was from him. A guard
would have at least yelled at me. I never went back.
I can imagine that night about bedtime, my mother asking me:
“How did your day go, son? Did you do anything exciting?” Of
course my reply would have been: “Oh, nothing much.”
written by Paul Warnock
I’m going to repeat the first two paragraphs from a previous
essay, so if you think this sounds familiar, it will be. I
apologize, but the reader will need this information if they
didn’t read the other article.
Back in the early to mid 1950’s, there were myriad cotton mills
in North Carolina especially in the Rockingham area. The
prototype of these was the old Great Fall Mill that was
destroyed by General Sherman’s troops just prior to the end of
the US Civil War. This was only a few days before General
Joseph Johnston surrendered the southern portion of the
Confederate Army to General Sherman at Durham Station, N.
C. on April 17, 1865. I can imagine how this must have
“endeared” some of the local residents to General Sherman,
especially that close to the end of the war. By the way, most of
General Johnson’s troops were from Georgia and South
Carolina or points west as they had stayed in front of General
Sherman’s Army all the way from Savannah, but were
outnumbered at least two to one. Most of the North Carolina
men were in Virginia with General Lee, who had surrendered
to General Grant about a week before General Johnson
surrendered. This Mill was later rebuilt, but was abandoned
by the time I came on the scene.
From where I lived on Sand Hill Road (now Caroline Street),
you could go down the hill, cross the bridge over Falling Creek,
turn left at the railroad station, and continue down the tracks
across the trestle, and then you had a bird’s eye view of the old
Mill. At that time Falling Creek had been dammed to form a
pond. The dam could have been used to provide power to the
Mill, but it was no longer being used that way. This was about
a quarter mile from my house, maybe a little more. I imagine
that since General Sherman’s troops were coming from South
Carolina (on their way to Raleigh and the Battle at
Bentonville, N. C. which occurred on March 19-21, 1865), they
must have passed directly in front of where our house was
later built, went down the same hill I did, walked down the
same railroad tracks I did, and then they did their mischief.
Actually we were lucky they didn’t burn the towns in North
Carolina like they did in South Carolina, especially Columbia.
They had a particular vendetta against South Carolina because
it was Fort Sumter in April 1861 that started the shooting War.
There is a saying: “If you ever saw them make sausage, you
would never eat it again”. I don’t think the slaughterhouses
discard anything. At the Curtis Packing Company here in
Greensboro, they even have tanker trucks hauling away liquid
by-products; I assume to be used in manufacturing animal
feed. I’m not sure if there is a saying like this about young
boys, but there should be. “If mothers and fathers had even
the slightest idea of some of the dangerous things their ten
year old sons did when no one is looking, they would never
allow them out of the house.”
In the early 1950’s, this Mill was only used for storing bales of
cotton. All the machinery except for scattered junk had long
since been removed. The Mill had a lock on the front door, but
that didn’t deter me. It was a chain connected through holes
in the door and the wall, with a lock to fasten the chain. They
don’t put ten year old boys in jail for breaking and entering, do
they? I wouldn’t have done that, not even back then. What I
did do was to go around to the north side and go down to the
basement level. There the door was so old and decayed it
couldn’t be closed never mind locked. That was my entry
point. Now the charge can be reduced to trespassing.
This was about the time they were building the [old] US 74
bypass around Rockingham. It is now called Business 74 or
Broad Avenue. There was a small obscure dirt service road
leading to the Mill from Washington Street back then. The
construction had more or less obliterated any trace of it, but if
you knew it was there, it was just barely passable. I didn’t go
that way, but I did come back that way, as I found it was much
easier. To go, I went down the hill from my house, across
Falling Creek and down the railroad tracks. Then I had to
cross the trestle. Do you remember the scene from the movie
“Stand by Me” where the boys were crossing the trestle? They
could hear nothing as they started across, but had to run like
mad to outrace the train at the end. The trestle was at least a
hundred feet long and was spanning fairly deep water. One
problem, I didn’t know how to swim at that time. So if a train
starting coming, I had two choices. One was to continue
across to beat the train; the other was to retrace my steps, that
is, go back. Jumping into the water wasn’t an alternative.
Well, I keep my ears wide open, but no train ever came. I
crossed the trestle.
Then, I had a new problem. I was on the wrong side of Falling
Creek although I was below the dam. On previous occasions, I
had noticed fishermen at the bottom of the dam, but there
were none that day. There was a fair volume of water coming
over the dam, but there were enough rocks and brick pillars
from the damage to the Mill, that an adult might just be able to
maneuver there, but not so young boys. The water was black
(as in pollution). About a hundred feet below the dam, the
creek had managed to reorganize itself in to a strong current I
would guess was ten feet across and four or five feet deep. If I
were to fall into those currents, they’d been looking for my
body all the way to where Falling Creek merges with Hitchcock
Creek or maybe all the way to the mighty Pee Dee River.
I notice that a pine tree had recently fallen across these rapids
and if I were brave, I could scoot across the rapids on that tree
and then be on the right side of the creek. I thought about that
for about five minutes, and I decided I had to do it or forever
be a coward. So I did, mostly crawling across on my stomach
and holding on with all four. When I got to the other side I
decided very quickly that I would never do that again. But I
was now on the correct side of the creek. I don’t remember
how I got to the main door, which faced east. But it was
locked; so I went to the north side and downward where a
basement had an unlocked entry. I think the building had
four floors plus a basement. The interior was mostly wood –
old wood that creaked and gave a little as I walked. I didn’t
spend more than fifteen minutes exploring the premises. The
staircases were old with some stairs missing. There were
many bales of cotton stored on the first floor, but I don’t
remember if they were stored on the upper floors or not. It
seems hard to believe it could have supported that much
weight. I would image a bale of cotton weights at least two or
three hundred pounds.
There were remnants of some gears or maybe I should say belt
drives hanging from the ceiling. Electricity wasn’t
commonplace until well into the twentieth century. The
original Mill would have had to been powered with mechanical
power from a paddlewheel. Based on the location of the Mill
in relation to the dam, I would think they would have
channeled water from the dam by a wooded conduit to drive a
paddlewheel located very near if not attached to the side of the
mill. [About ten years ago, I saw an example of this in a
working gristmill located in Guilford County near Oak Ridge].
All evidence of this had vanished by my time. Supporting this
theory, on the third or fourth floor on the south side (dam
side) was what appeared to be an opening in the wall, which
was closed off with what appeared to be makeshift doors that
were by no means securely attached. Stupid me, I kicked this
door. It raddled, but it did not break. I quickly determined
that was not a good idea since I was at least seventy five feet
above the bottom of the dam, and if that door had failed, I’d be
headed down to all those rocks & brick pillars I was talking
about earlier. If the fall hadn’t killed me, I would probably
have bled to death, as no one knew I was there.
On the way out, I noticed there was a room near the exit in the
basement that appeared to be a guardhouse or something of
that nature. All of a sudden, I heard a noise from that area. So
I quickly made my departure.
Now I reason that this was probably a transient who was as
interested in getting away from me as I was from him. A guard
would have at least yelled at me. I never went back.
I can imagine that night about bedtime, my mother asking me:
“How did your day go, son? Did you do anything exciting?” Of
course my reply would have been: “Oh, nothing much.”
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