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The girls were paid about $12 or $13 for a hard week's work, and they were mighty glad to get it.
I've always had a warm spot for the old lace mill since my mother, then Edna Deacon, and all of my aunts and uncles on both sides of the family worked there at one time or another.
My maternal grandfather, Albert Deacon, came over from England and was boss of the weaver department. His three daughters - Gertrude, Edna and Edith - worked there, as did his son Charles. My father's brothers Obie, Mack and Harry worked there, as did his sisters Margaret, Martha and Barbara.
I got to thinking about the lace mill over the holidays when my Aunt Martha passed away. She was the last of eight Gebhart kids who could still tell me stories from "back in the day."
Fortunately, Aunt Martha had filled me in on some lace mill lore last fall.
"The lace mill was a lovely place to work," she recalled. "It was like one big family."
"Your mother and Aunt Edith were hem-sewers. There were about 15 of them. Myself, Woody Grace and Mabel Grace were examiners. If we found a hole in a curtain, we'd put a string on it and send it back to be repaired. It was 'piecework' and you really had to work hard to get $13 a week.
"Your Uncle Mack punched out designs, and Uncle Obie was a weaver, a higher-paying job. Your Aunt Gert worked downstairs where the curtains came off the looms. They'd shake them out and put them in big bins. They were called 'bin girls.'"
Ethel Callaway, of the florist family, is another "survivor" of the lace mill. She's 84 now, but just as sharp as she was the day she had to drop out of the 11th grade at Chester High to go to work when her father became gravely ill.
She was Ethel Moore then, and she used to walk to work each day from her home at Fourth and Jeffrey streets - about 12 blocks away - with the Miley girls, Laura and her sister, whose father was a policeman.
She remembers that Alice Nessome used to work in the office for Mr. Shropshire, "a very nice gentleman."
"Abe Detweiler ran the mill. His daughter worked with Jen Reilley as folders. That was the best job in the plant. I also remember Ann Wohnus. She did flat work."
Some other young ladies remembered: Ruth Pilkington, Minnie Hampton, Amy Laird, Ruth Sweigart.
Mrs. Callaway started as a bin girl, then was moved up to the folding department where it was her job to make certain the curtain "pairs" matched, for size and design.
Even more than the lace mill, Mrs. Callaway remembers the good times every Friday afternoon when the girls received their pay.
"We'd head right for a little club near Fourth and Trainer," she said. "I don't remember the name of the place, but they had a little band, 'The Three Keys.' Just wonderful musicians.
"There were no men there, just us girls. We'd dance with one another. It was such fun. They served beer, but we didn't need it. We drank soda. I think you could get Coke for a nickel then.
"It's a lot different today."
After the war, things changed quickly. A new material called nylon made lace curtains obsolete almost overnight.
My Uncle Charlie, after serving almost five years in the South Pacific as an infantryman, went to see Mr. Detweiler to get his old job back. He was told there was no work and no jobs.
There remains a massive, iron gate on the Trainer Street entrance to the old lace mill plant. At the end of the day, workers walked up a street-wide incline and through the gate.
I used to wait there for my mother and to see all my aunts and uncles walking up when the whistle blew.
If I look real hard, I can see them still.
Ed Gebhart is a retired public relations executive. His column appears Friday and Sunday.
