海角大神

A proudly American shoe company ships jobs to China

Chaco Sandals in Paonia, Colo., succumbs to global market forces and lays off 45 full-time workers, silencing a manufacturing plant 鈥� and a town.

Paonia, Colo.

On the Chaco factory floor in western Colorado, workers are head down at sewing machines and sole trimmers 鈥� stitching, gluing, and shaping pair after pair of rubber-bottomed river sandals. The high-ceilinged room hums and buzzes with activity, as it does every day, but today is different. For most of these employees, today feels something like a graduation and something like a funeral.

Since company founder Mark Paigen invented the sandals in his spare room almost 20 years ago, Chacos have caught on among river guides, kayakers, and weekend warriors, and the company has grown from a one-man operation to a 145-person business with a catalog of styles and an international clientele. Through it all, the sandals have been designed, made, and proudly worn here in tiny Paonia.

The company鈥檚 steel-sided headquarters and factory sit just outside town, next to soccer fields and within sight of the western edge of the Rockies. The setting, tucked between the mountains and the desert, is starkly gorgeous, but as the saying goes, one can鈥檛 eat the scenery. The county鈥檚 per capita income hovers just above $17,000, and blue-collar jobs with benefits 鈥� like most of those on the Chaco factory floor 鈥� aren鈥檛 easy to find here.

So the sandal builders at Chaco tend to stay around 鈥� Cheryl Burch, the leader of the 鈥済lue team,鈥� has been with the company more than 13 years 鈥� and their camaraderie is palpable, their ribbing and bickering like that of an extended family. The tags on the completed sandals read 鈥淢ade with pride鈥� 鈥� sometimes even 鈥淢ade with love鈥� 鈥� 鈥渋n Colorado, U.S.A.鈥�

But in the past two decades, shoe manufacturing has rapidly decamped overseas. Now, only about 1 percent of all shoes bought in the US are made here, with the vast majority of the rest made in China. (US military footwear, required by law to be made domestically, helps sustain what stateside manufacturing remains.)

Chaco, founded on small-town loyalty, resisted the trend. While the company sent some of its manufacturing abroad, it continued to make the bulk of its sandals 鈥� some 320,000 pairs a year 鈥� in this isolated Colorado valley. Today, that鈥檚 about to change. 鈥淲e knew it had to happen,鈥� says Mr. Paigen, Chaco鈥檚 founder and owner. 鈥淭here was no way we could continue to compete in the marketplace and have our material costs so much higher than everyone else鈥檚.鈥�

鈥⑩赌⑩赌�

Paigen is a former river guide who remains an inveterate skier and sailor. In his years leading the company, he has traded shaggy curls and a moustache for a trimmer look. While he recognizes what he describes as the 鈥渢remendous feeling of solidarity鈥� on the factory floor below his office, he says the move to China was at least a year overdue.

鈥淲e鈥檝e seen our margins erode, erode, erode,鈥� he says.

Even after accounting for shipping and other costs, he says, a pair of Chacos can be made for at least $4 to $5 less in China than in Colorado. That translates into roughly a $16 to $20 difference for consumers, he says, and while some might be willing to pay such a premium out of patriotism 鈥� or regional pride 鈥� he doubts that loyal core could support the company.

What鈥檚 more, he says, dwindling domestic supplies of materials and equipment could soon force Chaco to look overseas for more of its components, no matter the location of its factory 鈥� meaning that if were it to stay in Colorado, the factory would have to ship in materials only to assemble them with more costly labor.

Paigen, and employees throughout the company, are also aware of the decision鈥檚 disadvantages 鈥� not only the immediate loss of local jobs, but also the environmental costs of overseas shipping and the inevitable difficulties of distance. Company headquarters and manufacturing, once separated by two flights of stairs, will sit on opposite sides of an ocean; quality control will be tougher in the short term, and special orders will take longer to fill.

In this small town, where the 45 people who lost full-time work aren鈥檛 anonymous laborers but friends and neighbors, the cost is emotional, too. While nearly all the employees upstairs 鈥� those in product development, customer services, human resources, and the like 鈥� will keep their jobs, some tear up when discussing the move. 鈥淚 understand the economics 鈥� I鈥檝e spent my whole career in numbers,鈥� says David Shishim, manager of customer services and sustainability. 鈥淏ut there鈥檚 still an inescapable sense of betrayal.鈥�

Some employees, upstairs and downstairs, wonder if added efficiencies could have extended the life of the US factory floor. But most acknowledge that at some point, manufacturing had to move or die.

鈥淚t鈥檚 not anybody鈥檚 fault, it鈥檚 what has to be done for business,鈥� says departing employee Jerry Price. 鈥淣one of us like it, especially us older ones who have been here for a while. We really appreciate the company, and know what it鈥檚 been doing for us and the valley. Now it鈥檚 going away, because somebody clear around the world can do it cheaper.鈥�

Many longtime customers, local and otherwise, are also disappointed by the decision, and the customer services department has handled more than 100 critical e-mails. 鈥淧eople say, 鈥榊ou were the last ones doing it right, and now you鈥檝e sold out,鈥� 鈥� says Paigen. 鈥淚f I can sit down and talk with somebody, they鈥檒l usually understand that our choices are limited. But it often takes a long conversation.鈥�

鈥⑩赌⑩赌�

On closing day at the factory, the production teams cheer their way through their last sandals, and the entire company assembles to watch the final pairs come off the line. When they鈥檙e finished and packaged, the workers sign the box with farewells, leaving it on Paigen鈥檚 desk 鈥� part tribute, part reminder.

By the next morning, the factory floor is eerily empty, with only a skeleton crew of workers left to muscle apart the remaining equipment. Some of the machinery already bears red 鈥渟old鈥� tags; the company hopes to rent the cavernous space to another business.

Ten factory employees will stay on for the long term, to repair sandals or fill custom orders. Several departing workers will participate in the federal Trade Adjustment Assistance program, which funds education and retraining for those who have lost their jobs to foreign commerce. Others may take often better-paying but more dangerous posts in the nearby natural-gas fields or coal mines. Still others may move elsewhere.

Outside, in the high desert sunshine, departing and remaining employees gather for a lunchtime barbecue. Chaco, which announced the factory closure last fall, has extended a wide array of small-town courtesies 鈥� and practical assistance 鈥� to its soon-to-be-former employees.

But today, there鈥檚 no avoiding the firings. Beneath the speeches, thanks, and tears runs a trickle of bitterness. 鈥淎ll I got to say is, when China is down, look for us,鈥� Debbie Mitchell, a member of the factory鈥檚 glue team, says to the crowd in parting. 鈥淲e鈥檙e still here. We want our jobs.鈥�

While the mourning won鈥檛 last forever, that doesn鈥檛 make today 鈥� or tomorrow 鈥� any easier. 鈥淲hen one door closes, another one opens,鈥� says human-resources manager Mary Treder. The tough part, she acknowledges, is the hallway.