Winter 2008 - 2009
Hot in Japan
Johnson Woolen Mills rises again selling "old American" in Asia
By Stephen Russell Payne
Photographed by Craig Line
When you meet Stacy Barrows Manosh, in her office just off the cutting floor of Johnson Woolen Mills, you'd swear there's enough energy coming off her to power the sewing machines in the whole factory. "Since I first started sweeping these floors at age 4 or 5," she says, "I've always known this was the place I wanted to be. This old company is precious. People have always loved our products and hand them down through their families' generations as cherished heirlooms."
But in an age when synthetic fibers dominate and just about every article of clothing is made overseas, surely the proprietor of a 19th-century woolen mill — apparently the last remnant of the once thundering New England textile mill industry — doesn't have much to smile about. Surely, in an age of "soft shell" jackets and "technical" performance clothes, the clock is winding down on a fabric and style that took root in the 1800s.
Not so.
The renaissance of Johnson Woolen Mills — arguably the most iconic of all Vermont brands — began in 1998. Like many mills of its kind, the Johnson enterprise had a rich and storied history, but by the late '90s it was teetering. The mill had lost money for 12 straight years starting in 1986, and Stacy Manosh's father, Delmar, was looking to sell. There were few takers, of course, but Stacy decided she couldn't bear to see the company close, so she and her ex-husband, local entrepreneur Howard Manosh, bought it from Stacy's father. Stacy was ecstatic that the fate of her beloved family business — she is the fourth generation of the Barrows family to own and run the company — was finally in her hands. She decided to pour everything she had into making it a success again.
"This is a very hard business to survive in," Stacy says. "I feel like we're the last of the Mohicans. Of the hundreds of mills operating in the United States, there's only four left and we're the only one in New England. We, like Woolrich, and most other American companies, could have our products made overseas, but we don't want to. I want the heart and soul of northern Vermont to continue to be an essential ingredient in every piece of woolen wear we make.
On the other hand," she says with a smile, "you can sell Vermonters only so many sets of hunting clothes, so we had to do something new."
Stacy knew the business had to develop additional markets to survive. She was also keenly aware that they had to preserve and honor the traditional designs that had kept the company going for more than 150 years. She decided to begin peddling their wares at major international clothing shows and soon found herself in Las Vegas, where she met various Japanese businessmen who were fascinated by the mill's classic American designs.
"I quickly realized that many Japanese love clothes and other things they consider to be ‘old American,'" Stacy says. "When they saw our traditional plaid jackets I could see that look in their eye. They were hooked."
In the Japanese, Stacy saw an enormous new market that had never been tapped. Before long, Japanese buyers flew from Tokyo to Vermont and met with her at the mill. They were so intrigued by the company's original designs that Stacy ended up showing them the company's "boneyard," where dusty, 19th-century cardboard patterns were still hanging on the walls. The Japanese buyers asked if the mill could manufacture custom-designed coats for them using some of the old patterns, and Stacy was only too happy to oblige.
Since then, the mill has produced for the Japanese a wide variety of somewhat wild-looking woolen products, which are showcased in Japanese stores, shopping catalogs and in-flight magazines on some Japanese airlines. One of the most popular products is called the "Happy Vest," which sports bright yellow, red-and-plaid patches on a gray wool fabric. "Though the Japanese love them, you sure wouldn't catch a Vermonter wearing one of these!" Stacy says with a laugh.
The success of the Japanese connection means Stacy now has so many overseas orders she cannot keep up with them. In fact, the giant Sony Corporation recently came to Stacy and asked if Johnson could make several thousand custom woolen coats for Sony clothing stores in Japan. Flattered by the offer, but a victim of her own success, she had to turn them down. "At the present time, no matter how hard we work we simply cannot keep up with orders. We're just buried. The growth of the business and return to profitability is very exciting but also demanding to keep it sustainable. I would hire another dozen sewers right now, if I could find them." A
STAYING WARM
• Home base: Johnson Woolen Mills, retail store and mill located in the heart of Johnson
• Products: Wide range of cold-weather outerwear and clothing, much of it from the company's original designs; also blankets, handbags, day packs, gaiters, dog beds, pot holders, Christmas stockings and more
• Full-time employees: 35
• Percent of revenue, overseas sales: 80
• Key U.S. sales partners: L.L. Bean, Kittery Trading Post, Farm-Way
• Looking ahead: Hopes to return the mill to running on its own hydro power from the Gihon River; also hopes to open a second retail store in a larger population center
A Personal Note
Writing about Johnson Woolen Mills stirred childhood memories for Stephen Russell Payne.
"As a young boy I loved watching my father head off to deer camp in his Johnson Woolen Mills red-and-black plaid hunting clothes. I dreamed of someday being old enough to go to camp with him. When I turned 12 he took me down to Caplan's Army Store in St. Johnsbury and bought me my own wool hunting jacket. I proudly joined Dad riding to camp in our old pickup, a pot of his homemade beef stew between us on the seat. Over 40 years later my Dad (now 94) and I still go to camp in our Johnson woolens.
