Jun. 28—Building a timeline of events for the pulp and paper mill in Canton has been like living a century in the span of a month, building a story a moment at a time. You get to know people and institutions gradually, building relationships with the past.

Take Reuben Robertson Sr. Most people in these parts know of "Mr. Champion," how he came to Haywood County for a six-month stay that turned into half a century of service to the mill, its company and its community.

Reuben Sr. arrives with paper from father-in-law and company founder Peter Thomson giving him authority in all matters related to the pulp mill. He is a young man, juggling the challenges of a start-up logging camp, railroad construction and completion of the mill. And he manages it all, occasionally showing a tough side underneath a jovial exterior.

The newspapers tell the story of the 1924 mill strike — the only one in the company's history — when workers walked off the job during an economic slump rather than work longer hours at a lower rate. Robertson closes down the mill. The strike and closure ends, but so does the union.

Robertson exhibits a peculiar combination of ruthlessness and humanity, because while he crushes the union, he gives the workers their original hours and pay. The only loser in those early years seems to be the union.

It remains that way through the reign of the Robertson family. Never again during their time will the mill come close to unionizing. Reuben Sr. knows his workers — stories abound of how he calls them by name, whether they're management or on the production line.

Even as he becomes company president and chairman of the board the newspapers continue to mention that he is presiding at every old-timers' gathering, company picnic or Labor Day festival, where he walks around handing out dollar coins.

Historians call this period "paternalistic," when the mill "took care" of its workers, providing company housing in Fibreville, a company store and a YMCA. The term is not flattering, implying the company manipulated its workers. But reading, year on year, of Reuben Sr.'s actions, I wonder if there is a better term for the relationship here — perhaps "community-minded."

Expansion and patriotism are also common themes through the first 40 years of the mill, when the Robertsons run the business. Even as the Great Depression sucks jobs and life from the country, Champion uses money obtained from creation of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park to expand operations with a new book binding machine.

The mill keeps its people employed. And when it sends them off to fight in World War II, the women step in to keep the mill and country going. Pride in America is a constant theme in the Robertson era.

That passion doesn't fade with the close of war. This timeline includes anecdotes about Champion — and Reuben Sr.'s work to promote his country, including — of all things — a series of movies on citizenship, moral responsibility and paper production. The air may smell, the water below the mill run dark and foamy, but within Canton there is a community whose life is flavored by company picnics, YMCA swims or softball meets, mill-supported Boy Scout ventures and wildly enthusiastic Labor Day celebrations.

It's about as all-American as you can get, in part because the Robertsons, father and son, have a passionate love of God and country, reflected in Reuben Sr.'s anti-Communism work for President Eisenhower, in his son's service as assistant secretary of defense.

I get to know Reuben Sr. through the details, the coins in his pocket, his continual presence at workers' events. I begin to know his son, Reuben Jr., as company leadership begins transitioning to the next generation.

Then — even knowing it was coming, I am not prepared for the grief that hits me as I read of Reuben Jr.'s sudden death. For more than 50 years of newspapers, I'd come to know this family that had founded and led Champion Pulp and Paper. And suddenly, its leader is snuffed out, the victim of a drunk driver. So abrupt, so devastating.

Company shift

The newspaper's next quarter-century tells of a shift, a change in relationship between company, mill town and workers.

It's not so much that the company has closed its store, and sold the properties in Fibreville to individual homeowners, both occurring before Reuben Jr.'s death. It is more in the details that disappear from stories about the mill — Reuben Sr. is still present, though he has stepped back with age and, perhaps, heartache.

But the key leadership doesn't come to Canton with the frequency of the old guard. There is no sense that the CEOs know the individuals working the paper machines or hang out with retirees at Snug Harbor.

The relationship is good, as companies go, but not as intimate. When Reuben Sr. dies in 1972, his body lies in state at the new YMCA, the building he personally helped fund, and hundreds file through. There is a sense that this is the last toll for the end of an era.

And is it coincidence that after Reuben Jr.'s death, the votes on unionizing become annual affairs? While the union is rejected for the next five years, the margin narrows each time, until in 1966 the Canton and Waynesville workers vote to join the union.

Environmental concerns

There are other changes coming. Tennessee rumblings from the early days, when the mill begins discharging its waste into the Pigeon River, become a roar by the 1980s. The mill's effect on air and water will dominate company news for the last quarter of the century.

Now, away from the high emotions of the late 1980s, it is easy to read the events unfold and wonder how much Champion's corporate leadership manipulated workers and state officials while trying to win concessions.

First there were warnings the mill would have to close to meet environmental standards — then that it would have to cut the work force in half — then that job cuts would not be as severe as first thought.

Back then, only environmentalists dared question the company's dire warnings, most of which did not come to pass when federal standards were met.

Some unusual characters come to light, perhaps one of the most remarkable being Dick Mullinix, who, while in his 70s, helps found what becomes the Dead Pigeon River Council, trying to force a cleanup of the river.

Love or hate Mullinix, his is a story of courage, for he lives in Haywood County, remains through the controversy, despite threats of death and arson.

The workers

The millworkers, however, are at the heart of the timeline. Their story is told in literally thousands of newspaper clippings, including obituaries that declare the deceased was a Champion retiree, to wedding announcements stating the bridegroom or bride — or both — are mill employees.

There are tragedies, for many have died constructing and working at the Canton site. And heroics — workers saving each other from danger, or raising funds for families in need. Always, there is drama.

The mill workers come forward in a new role in 1999, when Champion sells its Canton and Waynesville mills, and employees give up 15% of their pay toward an employee buyout, changing the name to Blue Ridge Paper.

The tone changes as well, for while Champion has remained community minded even after the era of the Robertson family, there is new vigor while Blue Ridge is in operation.

The Evergreen purchase of the mill in 2007 hardly seems at the time like a final chapter in the story of the mill. The new "corporate" continues to support the community, but the enthusiasm of the Blue Ridge era is diminished. So is the visibility.

Evergreen is notably silent when it comes to communicating with press and community. Mill injuries are no longer explained beyond what state and federal law requires. Calls to corporate often go unreturned.

The philosophy carries to the end, when Evergreen does not warn state or local officials of its decision to close the mill, choosing to convey the message by an announcement to mill management and union officials.

It might be a bitter close to the story of the mill — or is it? The workers remain, as does the community, one tempered by hardship and challenges, from environmental battles to economic downtowns and ferocious floods.

This ending brings grief, but perhaps, also opportunity. Surely such a people who have worked at this mill, who have been known for their work ethic and sense of community, can build stories of hope and success.

Here's hoping the news reports of the next quarter-century will tell us of the survival of Canton's Papertown culture, its revival in the face of this closure.