Shift workers at the mill, 1981. Photograph courtesy Chuck Whitt
On November 30, 1977, I walked into the paper mill known to me only as the source of the “Aroma of Tacoma.” The mill, operated by the St. Regis Paper Company of New York, intimidated the hell out of me, puffing huge columns of white smoke from its many stacks, emitting that sulfurous smell. But, with a starting wage of $6.63 per hour, more than tripling the pay at the job I was leaving, going to work there was not all that difficult of a choice.
Neither was staying for what would become a 45-year career that took me across various jobs and departments, from the Recovery Boiler, which produced those clouds of billowing steam, to the lime kiln, primary source of the notorious aroma. It wasn’t the path I envisioned myself on when I left high school, but it was the one that would take care of me and my family for decades to come. The mill became a place where I made lifelong friends. It became a place that was part of my identity.
It was crisp and clear outside. I drove up to the security gate and was escorted to the assistant HR manager’s office, where I received a quick orientation, then was led into the mill to go get my safety gear. As we walked out of the offices, I was greeted with the hustle-bustle of mill activity. We walked down the main road dividing the mill into the pulp side on the east and the paper side on the west.
Having lived just across the tide flats in Hilltop, I was familiar with the “aroma” broadly speaking, but being at the mill I learned that it was actually comprised of many individual odors. Suddenly I could smell all of them.
As we passed the entrance to the paper machine building, I smelled stewing potatoes, just a few more steps down the road and I was assaulted with flatulence. I glanced over at the assistant HR manager and he just smiled and said, “it’s not me.” The smell of turpentine and other unidentifiable sulfurous gases greeted us as we made…
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