National Silk Dyeing Company Valley Works

The first time I set foot here, it was clear: this place was home to those with nowhere else to go. A worn dirt path led me from a nearly abandoned street into what remained of an old brick building. A makeshift shelter—pieced together from boards and tarps—stood neatly in the hollowed-out front, right beside a waste bin. The building had been gutted by fire long ago, leaving behind only a shell.  

I moved carefully, not wanting to disturb anyone who might be inside. The path led me up a weathered wooden plank, serving as a walkway where stairs once stood. Stepping into what had been the main room, I found myself surrounded by scattered belongings—broken bicycles, old tools, and household items left in disarray.  

To my right, a large blue tent was set up snugly against the wall, a stark contrast to the chaos around it. Someone lived there. This wasn’t just a forgotten space; it was a home, however fragile.  

Alone, carrying an expensive camera, I felt the weight of my presence in a place like this. I snapped a few quick photos with my phone, then made my way back to the entrance, taking in the quiet desolation of this off-street pocket of the city. There was more to see, more stories hidden in the shadows.

Further down the street, I spotted another small building. Curious, I walked closer, only to find it packed with household junk, scattered trash, and a heap of old black tires—perfect breeding grounds for mosquitoes. There was nothing more to uncover here, nothing that urged me to stay. So, without a second thought, I turned back, leaving no trace of my visit, as if I had never been there at all.

On my second trip, I was determined to document the place more thoroughly. As I drove through, searching for parking, I spotted two people—a man and a woman—walking away from the very street I was about to explore. Their presence made me uneasy. Movement in a place like this usually meant unpredictability. But I hadn’t come all this way just to turn back.  

Bracing against the biting February wind, I walked up the lonely, desolate one-way street. The cold cut through me, but my focus was on what lay ahead. Near the downhill entrance, I noticed a small, street-facing building. Inside, a man was quietly tidying up his makeshift sleeping area. I was about to crouch down and slip through the half-barricaded door when movement caught my eye. I quickly stepped back, careful not to intrude, and made my way down the worn dirt path.  

Further in, I saw how the homeless had built a fragile refuge against the winter. Blue and green tarps were stretched across what had once been a docking bay, offering some protection from the elements. As I walked past a tent near the entrance, a foul smell filled the air—human waste left out in the open.  

Beyond that, a carefully arranged pile of metal caught my attention. Bicycle parts, washing machines, chairs, radios, and scrap appliances were stacked with purpose. A narrow walking path cut through the center, flanked by two carefully constructed piles, as if their creator had a system for collecting and sorting the discarded remains of a bustling city.  

This wasn’t just a place people passed through. It was a home—fragile, makeshift, but lived in.

I moved past the towering scrap-metal sculpture, stepping into a more enclosed space. If someone had followed me in, I would have had nowhere to run—a sobering thought that lingered as I pressed on.  

This section of the mill felt different. I saw no signs of immediate life, yet a makeshift shelter stood in what had once been an office. Someone might have been inside, watching silently. I kept my movements slow and deliberate, careful not to disturb anything—or anyone.  

The floor was treacherous. Rectangular trenches cut into the concrete held stagnant water, their murky surfaces littered with debris. I stepped lightly, navigating the unstable ground. These trenches had once served a purpose—likely channeling liquid waste to the city sewer or a holding tank below. Now, they were just another forgotten remnant of a place long left to decay.  

I continued documenting, aware of the stillness around me, the quiet weight of a space once functional, now barely holding on.

In October 2024, news reports surfaced about a collapsed single-story building—gutted, roofless, now reduced to a pile of bricks and wood. City investigators are still working to determine what caused the walls to give way.  

For those who had made this place their home, eviction now seems inevitable as authorities dig deeper into the situation.  

During the summer, this spot had been alive with movement—people coming and going, their presence mostly unnoticed by the outside world. But with the collapse, whatever had been happening here, hidden from public view, likely ended in a cloud of dust.

History

This property sits in Paterson’s First Ward, near the Great Falls National Historical Park and the heart of downtown. To the south and southeast, the Passaic River winds along its border, with the land sloping gently toward the water.  

One of the buildings here is divided into three distinct sections. The front portion, standing at two and part three stories, sits at the corner of Ryle Avenue and Geering Lane. The middle section, rising one and part two stories, stretches along Geering Lane, while the rear, a narrower one-story segment, runs parallel to the street, set slightly back.  

This address has a long industrial history. It was once home to companies tied to Paterson’s famed silk industry, including the Buser Silk Corporation, the Chas Vermorel Valley of the Rocks Silk Dye Works, the Emil Geering Silk Dyer, Addy-Venable Company, and the National Silk Dyeing Company Valley Works. These businesses were part of the city’s past as the “Silk City,” a hub of textile production that powered Paterson’s economy for generations. Now, the remnants of that era stand in decay, reclaimed by time and those seeking shelter in its forgotten corners.

  

The history of this property dates back to 1887, when it first operated as a silk dye company. According to an 1887 Sanborn map of Paterson, New Jersey, the original business was called Charles Vermorel Valley of the Rocks Silk Dye Works, founded and built by Charles Louis Vermorel in 1885. He began his operation in a converted horse stable at 51 Hamburgh Avenue, later remodeling the space to accommodate the demands of silk dyeing.  

As his business flourished, Vermorel expanded, acquiring land near the Passaic River—an old burial ground near the original First Reformed Church, opposite Temperance Island. The site was located along "Valley Road," a winding path that followed the river to the Passaic Falls, bordered by steep, imposing rock ledges. The company specialized in tram skein dyeing, fringe, and sewing silk, steadily growing in scale.  

By 1899, the property had changed hands. Emil Geering, a prominent silk dyer of the time, took over the operation after Vermorel lost it to creditors in 1892. A Swiss-born entrepreneur and the son of master dyer John Geering, Emil revitalized the site and ran his business along the Passaic River, next to a now-demolished mill called The Addy Mill. This mill had once housed multiple silk industry tenants, including William Lockman-Ribbon Manufacturers, The Smith Beard Silk Company, The Standard Ribbon Company, and Clowes, Sothern & Moss-Silk Manufacturers.

In 1904, Geering expanded further, constructing a larger, modern facility on Ryle Avenue. By 1915, the Addy Textile Mills had grown to host ten different silk mill tenants. The area’s main road, originally called Quarry Road, was later renamed Ryle Road before becoming Geering Road—a nod to the dye house’s impact on the area.  

In the 1915 Sanborn map, another significant addition appeared—a larger color dye house across the street from the original 1887 facility. This expansion was part of a merger between Emil Geering Silk Dyer and the National Silk Dyeing Company Valley Works, increasing the plant’s production capacity.  

However, by the 21st century, little remained of this once-thriving silk hub. The larger color dye house was demolished in 2013, and by the time I explored the site in 2022, most of its history had been reduced to ruins. The last known occupant, Columbia Textile Services Inc., finishers of broadwoven fabrics of cotton, silk, and manmade fibers, also known as Columbia Textile Mills, had taken over the former National Silk Dyeing Company’s operations before the final decline of the property. It seems the last occupant of the building was Trubilt's factory operations and, before that Woodlite Finishing Company.

Once a cornerstone of Paterson’s booming silk industry, this place now stands as a relic—its past buried beneath the dust and debris of time.

Silk production was a relatively late addition to Paterson’s long and storied industrial history. The city itself was born out of a national debate in the 1790s between Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson over the future of America’s economy. Hamilton, a firm believer in industrial development, championed the creation of the Society for Establishing Useful Manufactures (S.U.M.), a private corporation tasked with transforming Paterson into a hub of industry.  

In 1792, the S.U.M. chose the Great Falls of the Passaic River as the ideal location for an industrial city. By 1794, they had completed the first in a series of canals designed to harness the power of the falls, providing a steady source of energy for manufacturing.  

However, the city's industrial beginnings were not without setbacks. The first large-scale manufacturing venture, launched in 1796, collapsed within just a few years. After that failure, the S.U.M. shifted its role—rather than directly producing goods, it became a real estate and energy broker, leasing land and water power to private businesses. This model fueled Paterson’s transformation into an industrial powerhouse, drawing entrepreneurs, inventors, and manufacturers to the city for over 150 years.  

While early industries in Paterson focused on cotton, wool, iron, and locomotives, silk production eventually emerged as one of its defining trades, earning the city the nickname "Silk City." The industry flourished in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, leaving behind a legacy of textile mills and dye houses—many of which have now fallen into decay, remnants of a bygone era.

Silk production in Paterson began in 1840, but it wasn’t until after the Civil War that the industry truly took off. High tariffs on imported silk gave American manufacturers an edge over their European competitors, allowing the domestic silk trade to thrive.

Before the rise of synthetic fabrics, silk was a big business. Known as the "queen of fibers," it dominated high fashion and the luxury market. Yet, silk wasn’t just for the wealthy—women of all economic backgrounds aspired to own a "best dress" made from the prized fabric.

Paterson had everything needed to support a booming silk industry. It had:

✔ Abundant water resources for powering mills and processing silk.

✔ Strong transportation networks, making it easy to ship goods.

✔ Close proximity to New York City, the heart of the fashion world.

✔ A skilled workforce familiar with the delicate nature of silk fibers.

By the 1880s, Paterson was producing nearly half of all silk made in the United States. Its reputation as “Silk City” was well-earned, marking it as the center of America’s silk manufacturing empire.

As of December 2024, the former Silk Dye Works property in Paterson, New Jersey, is reportedly under contract for development into a mixed-use housing project. The proposed plans include a 10,000-square-foot commercial space or over 90 residential units, pending renewal or modification of existing approvals. The property's redevelopment reflects broader efforts to revitalize Paterson's historic industrial sites, transforming them to meet contemporary community needs. The outcome of this project will significantly impact the city's landscape and heritage preservation. 

 

Sources:

1. Sanborn Map Company. Insurance maps, Paterson, New Jersey: volume two (Sheet 124). [TIFF]. New York: Sanborn Map Company, 1915.. Retrieved from https://maps.princeton.edu/catalog/princeton-4j03d183x

2. Sanborn Map Company. Insurance maps of Paterson, New Jersey: volume two (Sheet 153). [TIFF]. New York: Sanborn-Perris Map Co., Limited, 1899. Retrieved from https://maps.princeton.edu/catalog/princeton-8049g723b

3. Annual Reports. (1903). (n.p.): (pg.262).

4. The Story of New Jersey. (1945). United States: Lewis Historical Publishing Company, Incorporated.

5. The History of the Silk Dyeing Industry in the United States. (1927). United States: Pub. under the auspices of the Silk dyers' Association of America. (pg.230-233)

5.  Attrino, G. (2024, October 23). Building collapse under investigation in N.J. city. NJ.com

6. Industrial Directory of Pennsylvania. (1948). United States: Bureau of Statistics and Information.

7. Jones, J. (2013, July 18). Mayor hopes demolition of Ryle Avenue mill will be completed today. Paterson Times. 

8. Paterson, New Jersey: America's Silk City (Teaching with Historic Places)

9. (n.a.). (2017, June 5). Firefighters battling blaze at old Paterson mill building. Paterson Times.

10. Downtown Paterson and Abandoned Mills. Michael Minn.

11. Industrial Finishing. (1948). United States: (n.p.).

12. Directory of the Forest Products Industry. (1992). United States: Miller-Freeman.

13. Addy-Venable Company on Ryle Avenue in Paterson, New Jersey. Retrieved from https://doi.org/doi:10.7282/T3NP2515