Online Lowell Offering
The following articles are written by students posing as historical characters.
The Mill Offering was a literary journal publishing the stories of New England Mill Women established in 1841.

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THE LOWELL MILL GIRLS’ OFFERING
Molly Lynn Watt

Flow down the Merrimack River

past cow barns and mills

churches and malls

Pause at the falls remembering

smallpox sweeping the Penacook people

who fished here for salmon and shad

Enter the heartbeat of the city of Lowell

with textiles, trolleys and canal locks

pad thai, hummus and pizza

Remember the farmers of old

with strong backs lifting shovels and hoes

hacking through bedrock forging canals

Honor the laborers from Ireland with pickaxes

            marching from boats landing in Boston

to deepen and widen the channels

They floated crops and lumber to markets

funneled the Merrimack River to power

            and the Industrial Revolution to Lowell

           

 

Farmers indentured daughters down river

to weaving with slave labor cotton

for wages to save their farms

The mill girls swapped living to rhythms-of-nature

to sleep to the snores of companions

            roused by a whistle to 14-hour work shifts

They worked to the roar of the looms

their days bound by the sound of a horn

they dreamed of babies and kisses

                        On Sunday   the one day for rest  

the knell of the church bell called them to chapel

they knelt on the stone floor with Mary and Jesus

They recorded hopes and fears in their journals

            awakened rage and dissent in its pages

turning them into a public offering of essays and poems

The mill girls got together and struck

for freedom and fair working conditions

winning shorter work shifts and less wages

 

Wage Reform
Written by "Jeanne-Lucie"

It was 1940. Janet had just come off her shift and braced herself against the cold October wind. The shawl her mother had knitted for her back on the farm in Dracut scarcely warmed her. How she missed her and Papa. She pictured them in the fields tending the gardens as little Suzie tagged along with her tattered little "Dollie". Oh, to hug and squeeze her little frame and see her big brown eyes sparkle! "Big Sis", she would say, "read me another story?" She grabbed at her shawl and tucked it around herself, and buried her hands underneath it, still burning from the long day's work. "Bye, Nancie, see you tomorrow!" The leaves swirled around her in a flurry till they became blurred in the dusk's pale amber glow. There was much chatter among the girls today amidst the hum of the weaving looms. The night before the boarding house was a-buzz with anticipation. FDR had signed the bill to bring minimum wage up to twenty-five cents an hour. At lunch break, each in turn, shared what they would do with the extra money. Jacqueline would buy new clothes downtown, Jeanne would send more money home to educate her little sister "so she won't have to work in the mills like me", she said, Susan would get mama a wheelchair that she so desperately needed. . . after papa died, she had to run the tractor herself . . .if only she had been there to run it for her, maybe she wouldn't have fallen off, maybe the farm wouldn't have been lost. Behind each dorm room door in the evening, each girl silently counted her coins as the mask of dusk slowly closed their sleepy eyelids. "Let's see, it would take 30, no 32 months to have enough money for the wheel chair. . ."

The words still rang in her ears from the radio announcement the night before, "In these days of difficulty, we Americans everywhere must and shall choose the path of social justice. . ..the path of faith, the path of hope and the path of love toward our fellow man." The girls at the Bootmill Boardinghouse had clustered around the radio in the main room after a meager dinner, hanging on to every word, every spark of hope. Could there be a chance for their families? Each young woman knew the burden of being the sole provider of their families. All of their aspirations were sacrificed for them. She scurried to the boarding house door and let herself in. Once inside her tiny room, her life was her own. She didn't have to follow anyone's orders. She coughed. Ugh! . . . lint from the looms. Today was especially humid. The air inside the mill was thick and the lint hung there in mid air. Breathing was getting particularly difficult these days. Many times she was not allowed the privilege of taking a break for a drink of water. Now, the ten minutes for lunch was barely enough time to eat but a few bites of bread. "One more day to Saturday", she thought. She figured she and Nancie would pack a lunch and take the trolley to the seacoast. It was free--one of the benefits of the mill owners. Then they could look forward to church on Sunday. It was built by the mill owners so that the promise of taking care of the girls and sending them to church was attractive to the parents. It was mandatory for them to attend church, but Janet loved to go. She knew her faith would get her through each lonely, hard-working day. Her hands still burned from the blisters on her fingers. The moving cotton thread had worn the skin off her forefingers. If only the supervisor would get them the gloves they had asked for. . . She unrolled the last piece of bread from the napkin she saved from lunch and nibbled on it as she thought about the day's news-twenty five cents an hour.!

FDR's message drifted in her mind: "No country, however rich, can afford the waste of its human resources. Demoralization caused by vast unemployment is our greatest extravagance. Morally, it is the greatest menace to our social order. The words still rang in her ears. She put a few coins in an old sock as she did every pay day and hid it under her mattress. She left a little out for herself and planned to go shopping downtown in Lowell for a new pair of shoes. Her feet hurt terribly. They were swollen from being on them so long all day and she needed a larger pair. She pulled her shoes off and carefully unwrapped the gauze. She massaged her feet then she pulled her covers up around her to ward off the chill fall air. Outside you could hear the water of the river lapping up against the brick mill, the air dank with the smell of boiled cotton and wool. Soon the bell in the mill yard would ring and like sleepy-eyed zombies, one by one, each girl would make her way toward the mill except for those who were still dreaming. The gates would shut and they would be penalized a day's pay. She drifted off to sleep.

"Janet. . .Janet. C'mon dear, wake up". The girl fussed with the pillow behind Janet and propped her up to get her ready for her supper. Her back hurt as she tried to lift Janet up. Ugh, if only she could get better benefits, she thought. Her co-pay would not be so hideously high. Fifty dollars for a co-pay! Whoever heard of it? Janet began to wake. Her faded blue eyes adjusted to her far-sightedness and she looked up at the girl. "Oh, I checked the coins in my sock and I still don't nearly have enough money to send home for mama . . ." "Janet, wake up, dear. You're still dreaming." Poor Janet, she thought, worked so hard all her life in the mills in Lowell to support her siblings and parents and then her own husband and children. What a nice rest for her to have in her final years here at the Atrium in Chelmsford with its' nice surroundings and beautiful gardens. "What year is it?" asked Janet. "It's 2038, dear. Isn't your birthday coming up next week? I heard you are going!

to be 100 years old!" Janet gazed out the big bay window in her room. It was fall and memories of her past filled her head. Again, the leaves swirled and lifted. FDR signed the Fair Labor Standards Act today, she said. I'm getting twenty-five cents an hour now. The girl turned on the computer above to hear the news. "Despite the increase of the minimum wage signed into law by the Clinton administration, the current minimum wage has been proven to be inadequate. It has increased only 27 percent over the last forty years while the average pay of the CEO of the Center for Nanotechnology has increased by 500 percent. . .

 

Conditions
By "Lucy Larcom"
April 16, 2001

As you probably know, the conditions in the mills are horrible. If they don’t get better, all of us mill girls will get sick and lose money. The dark and dirty rooms we work in aren’t healthy. The boarding houses are overcrowded. The looms are dangerous and you can get seriously hurt from them. The overseers are too mean (14 hour days, I mean). We should meet sometime, December 5th, maybe? Let’s meet and discuss what we should do about this. Anyone interested, meet in the old town hall on 43rd street on Sunday, December 5th. Come at 7:30pm. Thank you!

New Co.-Editor
Written by "Harriet Farley"
April 18, 2001

Hello! My name isHarriet Farley. This year I have attempted to co.-edit the Lowell Offering. Editing is my favorite thing to do in the world. I want to become a famous editor someday. I studied at Atkinson Academy. There, I learned french, drawing, and ornamental needlework. I later taught school. I would be very interested if there are a few ladies who would like to participate in a French circle or a schooling circle. I would be very happy to host them. If you are interested, please let me know at boarding house number 18. I plan to make myself useful to these mills and to this job of co.-editing the Lowell Offering.

The Pay That Girls Get
By "Maria Currier"
April, 2001

I don’t think that mill girls get enough pay. I get $1.25 a week but if were late we have to pay 12 ½ cents! We have to pay 2 cents for medical insurance. We also have to pay for board. It is very hard to save money with the little pay that we get.

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