Chiquola Mill in operation, no date
Child labor / Cotton mills / South Carolina

The shooting at Chiquola Mill became known as Bloody Thursday

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Chiquola Mill shooting hits 75-year mark
Belton and Honea Path News-Chronicle
September 6, 2009
By Frank Beacham

Photo above: An undated photo from Nan Shubert, a former employee of the Chiquola Mill, shown here back when it was in full operation in Honea Path. 

Seventy-five years ago—on September 6, 1934—seven workers were shot and killed and 30 others wounded at the Chiquola Mill in Honea Path, SC. It was an act that has shaped the town’s history and attitudes in ways that few could have imagined.

Yet, sadly, the old Chiquola Mill today stands in a seemingly unending state of demolition—now being torn down almost brick by brick. Not only have Honea Path’s founding fathers done little to preserve the town’s rich legacy, but it seems that some genuinely want to forget.

I have a special interest in this anniversary because my late grandfather, Dan Beacham, Honea Path’s mayor and superintendent of the mill in 1934, organized the gunmen who fired their weapons at the workers. That day became known as “Bloody Thursday.”

My grandfather died in 1936, many years before I was born. When I was growing up in Honea Path during the 1960s, the subject of the mill violence was taboo.
There were hints of what happened, of course, but the topic was never discussed in the open.

Men carry guns outside the Chiquola Mill
Men carry guns outside the Chiquola Mill in Honea Path during the textile strike of 1934.

I learned the truth about Honea Path’s history in 1994 from a documentary film called “The Uprising of ‘34.” Since that film essentially ended Honea Path’s six-decade long secret, I’ve learned about the history of the town and its people through many conversations and stories. I wrote about it in my book, ‘Whitewash: A Southern Journey through Music, Mayhem and Murder.’

As a writer who makes his living telling stories, I was shocked to find one of the most compelling stories I’ve ever heard connected to my own family and hometown.
Even more shocking, I found, was how an event of such magnitude and importance to the lives of generations of Honea Path families could have been hidden and buried for so long.

Of course the reason that I and so few of my fellow baby boomers knew the story of Chiquola Mill was because it was purposely denied us.
There was a campaign of fear and intimidation after the shootings that effectively erased public discussion of what had happened.

Fearful workers who wanted to keep their jobs put a self-imposed lid on their own past. 
Somehow, as the years went by, the violence at Chiquola evolved into a source of shame.

Many myths have built up over the years about the workers who died in Honea Path 75 years ago. They were called an isolated group of troublemakers and rabble-rousers. Some, mainly the mill’s former management, claimed they deserved what happened to them.

I see it another way. I think these mill workers risked everything—their jobs, their freedom and ultimately their lives—for a cause they believed in. They made a decision to exert some control over their changing place in an increasingly industrialized world. Their method was to attempt to organize their fellow workers into a labor union.

A committee of the South Carolina House of Representatives, led by Honea Path native son Olin D. Johnston, called the strikes by textile workers “final weapons of defense” and placed blame on mill officials who put “more work on the employees than they can do.”

The amazing chain of events that caused friends and neighbors in Honea Path to turn on one another with weapons has to be viewed in the context of the time. In 1934 the cork finally blew and labor protests erupted all over the United States. There were 1,856 work stoppages involving 1,470,000 workers. Honea Path represented a microcosm in a whirlwind of worker unrest.

Lois McClain, a young Chiquola Mill spinning worker, shown just after she was shot on Sept. 6, 1934.
Lois McClain, a young Chiquola Mill spinning worker, shown just after she was shot on Sept. 6, 1934. The bullet from McClain’s bleeding left hand was never removed and was still intact when she died at age 91 in 1993.

The shooting of the Honea Path mill workers was a pivotal moment in the General Textile Strike that was sweeping the South. Though the efforts of the workers ended in defeat and much suffering followed, the deaths of the seven Honea Path men was not in vain.

The disillusionment of the workers and the outrageous conduct by the mill owners made a strong impression on the Roosevelt Administration. This helped spur passage of the Wagner Act in 1935 and the Fair Labor Standards Act in 1938. Out of these laws came reforms that vastly improved the lives of all American workers.

One example was child labor. Before 1938, when the Fair Labor Standards Act outlawed employment of children under sixteen, the concept of “helping” was used in the mills. Very young children were taught factory skills by their parents and soon “helped” by working in the mill to increase the family’s piecemeal earnings.
“Helping” became a form of apprenticeship and a major part of the mill’s labor system.

Because this practice is now illegal, children have a better chance at a quality life by getting to stay in school rather than be exploited as cheap labor.
Other major reforms that came out of the labor unrest was the establishment of the minimum wage and the 40-hour work week.

These reforms—a direct result of what happened in Honea Path—have permeated modern life in the United States and have extended far beyond the textile industry. That’s why these workers were heroes and why their history should be honored.

The corrosive division that poisoned Honea Path after the shootings and the sense of shame that followed the shooting was concocted by those responsible for the violence. Fortunately that has mostly ended now, if for no other reason than fewer and fewer remain with us who can give a first person account of what happened.

Sadly, it is no accident that the history of Chiquola Mill was so effectively suppressed. After 75 years, it’s time to take an honest look at what happened in 1934 and learn about the terrible events that shaped the lives of our parents and grandparents. We are better off knowing the truth.

online at http://bhptoday.com/index.php/headlines/248-chiquola-mill-shooting-hits-75-year-mark

EP52 Chiquola Mill

More articles on child labor:

“Morrison Is Employing Boy 12 Years of Age”(Opens in a new browser tab)

Two Empty Spaces in Cap Smith’s Little Boy’s Heart(Opens in a new browser tab)

27 comments

  2. It is crazy to think that such a big thing could happen in such a small town. I have lived in HP all my life and did not find out about the shooting until my senior year of high school. Thanks for putting this vital part of our history out so more people can find out what our roots really are.

  3. My grandmother, Iva Meeks Cox, joined the union because her daddy did. She said they had to call in the National Guard after the shootings. I wish I had been old enough to ask her more questions.

  4. My father’s brother Ira Davis was killed in the strike and his family said he was trying to go to work. My father said someone in the community come to the family and told them what had happened. Daddy said they stayed up and dug Ira’s grave that night. Ira left 3 children and his wife who lost her father in the strike as well. I remember my parents talking about being blackballed if you were not careful with what you said. Unfortunately Daddy died when I was in my 20’s and I did not ask him more about the strike, but I could tell Daddy was hurt by the massacre; he did say the management of the mill were given guns and stood on top of the mill. It is a dark mark on society that these people were allowed to walk away free and were not punished for killing these people.

  6. My paternal grandfather, Robert Doyle, was a child at the time. He was simply walking down the street and had to dodge bullets that were whizzing by. My dad has talked about this with us often, but I wasn’t able to find any information until recently! It’s great to see this site.

  8. Hi Lori. I was told by Dad that it was Grandpa’s Uncle who got shot and walked a mile home before he died of the wound.

  9. My father, William J. Shaw, was there working at the mill when this happened. The only thing I was told about what happened was that my father William and my uncle, J.C. Shaw, were deputized and that my grandmother, Georgia Woodson, was saved from being hit in the head with a baseball bat. Other than that I was told nothing.

    I came across this account by accident: was I surprised! This all occurred 5 years before I was born. Most of my family worked at this mill, most for their entire life. I know of one relative that still lives in Honea Path; there are most likely many more of my extended family that might be there.

    They are the Shaws, Cox, McNeil, Johnson and Lollis. There could be more, but I’m not sure. I have individual pictures of my family but only one group picture of mill workers, which should be sometime around 1934. I know it’s from before I was born (1939). My aunt, uncle and grandmother lived directly down the street from the mill, at 21 Orr St. When I was a kid, my cousin and I were all over Honea Path……LONG AGO

  10. I was born in 1951 and grew up in southern Greenville County,Lebanon community. NEVER knew anything of this until the documentary was FINALLY allowed to be broadcast on Soth Carolina E-TV. Since, I have rtead Frank Beachem’s book.
    Heartbreaking, and yet it PISSES me off!!!!

  11. First I have heard of this tragic story. Must represent the tip of the iceberg in what has been withheld from the people of this country. No wonder no one really knows from where we come. Another sad reckoning.

  12. Lois McClain was married to Cowan McClain who was my grandmother’s (Lona McClain Fowler Hatcher)brother.

  13. PS Lois McClain was shot in the arm as she walked into the mill to get her paycheck. Her only son was with her at the time. She retired from the mill. They lived in a mill house down past the mill and past the creek.
    As a footnote….Cowan (Lois husband) lost the sight of one eye while working at Orr Mill. He was a child around 5 yrs old.

  14. My grandfather was shot while passing by the mill and recovered from the wound. What a tragedy for the families that lost their loved ones and grieved and suffered due to their loss. I can’t imagine, if some of the people had to return to work for someone that murdered your family member, neighbor or friend and still look them in the eye and be civil and show respect. Times were different and hard in those days and I guess you had to survive. Still upsetting to hear this tragedy ever happened, but good to know people are speaking up today on issues that make a difference.

  15. The same thing happened at greenwood Mills. Many pics of employees etc. with guns on roofs to keep out unions.

  16. It is possible that my paternal grandfather was involved in this incident and may have been subsequently banned from employment in mills for the rest of his life. It’s hard to get details after all this time. But I always wondered why grandma worked in the mills (which eventually killed her) but my grandfather didn’t.

  17. I grew up in and around Honea Path. I went to HP Middle and BHP , class of 97, and this is the first time that I have ever heard this.

  18. This was a great article about the Mill in Honea Path. So much of our History has been left unheard. I’m from Piedmont, not far away. Love to hear about our History even tho it is hard to grasp sometime. The cruelty and greed is still rampant today. Seems we don’t learn from our mistakes in a lot of matters. Thanks for sharing.

  19. My mother, age 92, was born in a house on Maryland Ave, which is in the Chiquola Mill village. She and I took a ride to Honea Path a few days ago (9/30/20), to look for the house, which still stands and appears to be occupied. Mother said her father, my grandfather, M. W. Collins, was one of the 126 men deputized during the uprising, and was given a gun. (But he did not shoot/kill anyone, she said.) My mom said her mother (my GM) was very worried, of course, and so were my mom’s siblings (4 had been born at that time). My grandmother did not want my grandfather to get involved, but he did what he felt was his “duty,” I suppose, to fight the union members. Mother, age 6 at the time, clearly recalls hearing the National Guard troops marching down the sidewalk of Maryland Ave, right outside her house, and cautiously peeking out the curtains to get a look at them. Needless to say, it left a lasting impression on her. The “incident” was never mentioned in the family when I was growing up. It was interesting going to Honea Path and seeing the site of where the mill once stood and hearing my mom’s account of the uprising. And although my mom wanted me to drive her to see the house, it evoked scary and sad memories for her. She had trouble even looking at some of the houses on Maryland Ave, as many of them are in a sad state of disrepair. One house, the one at the corner of Maryland and Carolina, has been taken over by kudzu, even the front porch is covered in it. M. told me a woman named Maude Patterson lived in the corner house when she (my mom) lived on the street. (side note — Ms. Patterson was my grandmother’s best friend). Sad that the old Chiquola mill houses have not been refurbished and kept-up like many of the mill houses around Greenville. Anyway….it was an interesting little trip we had, and sad, recalling that period of time when it was “brother against brother.”

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  21. We moved to this area a few years ago after a lifetime in Colorado. This incident is not unlike what happened in the coal mining wars all over the country. My grandparents and their 4 children lived in a striking tent colony for 9 months of a brutal winter in 1913….what a price to pay for fairness. Sad that this story did not play more of a prominent part in the history of your town. Thank you for the excellent work you have put into it.

  22. Lois (McGaha)McClain was my great aunt she was one of 19 children of which many of them work the mill and never spoke of the incident as mentioned in the article there were severe repercussions for those that did

  23. My maternal grandfather is Robert Lee Calvert. My mother was conceived approximately 10 years after this incident, in 1945. She was the illegitimate child of two married people, and was adopted out and never knew him, but she was given the middle name “Roberta” as an homage. Since she passed away in July of 2020, I’ve been researching her biological family…and what I’ve found in the last few days seems to confirm the “folklore” that was passed down. She was told that her father “ran the city” and “ran the mill.” I found 3 newspaper articles today, from the trial, that talked about how my grandfather (“Rob” “RL” “Robert Calvert”) was charged with 7 counts of murder after this incident. I guess he’s one of the two men primarily accused of murdering the 7. It looks like he got off scott free and ended up becoming the superintendent of the mill, and the mayor of Honea Path. I really want to know more, but everything else I find doesn’t mention his name. I was always lead to believe he was something of a “mob boss,” and that my grandmother was basically forced to sleep with him to settle some sort of debt. Do you have any information about him? It sounds like he must have been one of your grandfather’s right hand men before coming into his own power.

  24. It is interesting, that although I was not raised in South Carolina, my father was a son of a share cropper and his siblings were all LINT HEADS-no pun intended. My father told me stories about the Mills and the fact that he was in the mill after harvest until planting. .and as soon as he could he enlisted in the Army–then Army Air Corp and remained into the Air Force. . .he retired and never again lived in South Carolina but always quick to spin a story about his people, some from the Piedmont others from the Low Country. . .

  25. My grandmother was working in this mill when this occurred. I never knew any of this until I saw the special on PBS and then called one of my uncles and asked him about it. He said he, my father, and my grandmother were living in a house just down the road from the mill at the time and my grandmother crossed the picket line every day because she had mouths to feed and couldn’t afford to miss a day of work. Her name was Janie Davis Bowie and my uncle was Bud Bowie and my dad, Robert (Bobby) Bowie. My aunt and uncle, Nellie and Roy Hensley, lived directly across the road from the mill. She also worked there her entire life.

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  27. I am her great great great great great granddaughter of Lois McClain when I found out about this I was very devistated

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