The Fall of Graco: When A City Chooses Parks Over Paychecks

In the heart of Minneapolis, a city that once thrived on its industrial backbone, a quiet but catastrophic decision unfolded—a decision that would tear apart the very fabric of the community.

The Graco plant, located on a 40-acre campus overlooking the Mississippi River, had been a cornerstone of the city for decades.

For nearly 100 years, it had provided stable manufacturing jobs to thousands of workers, helping to build not just products but lives—families that depended on those jobs to survive.

Yet, in 2025, after nearly a century of loyalty to the city, Graco made the fateful decision to pack up and leave Minneapolis behind, heading for the suburbs of Dayton and Rogers.

The consequences of this decision would resonate throughout the community, exposing deep flaws in Minneapolis’ business strategy and a devastating disregard for the people who helped build the city.

It all started with a vision in 1926, when Russell Gray, a parking lot attendant in downtown Minneapolis, saw a need that would lead to a revolution in snowmobiles.

It was a freezing day, and Gray was trying to use a manual grease gun to lubricate cars, but the cold made the grease thick, nearly impossible to use.

From this frustration, Gray invented an air-powered grease gun, a machine designed to function in even the harshest Minnesota winters.

What started as a simple invention grew into something much bigger—a company called Gray Company.

Over time, the company grew into Graco, a giant in the manufacturing world, with a legacy of innovation and American craftsmanship.

Graco was no longer just a company—it was Minnesota’s pride.

From building military equipment during World War II to innovating in airless paint sprayers, the company continued to grow.

By 1969, it became a public company, a beacon of American manufacturing.

For decades, the company operated from its campus on the Mississippi River, and its employees were part of the heart and soul of the city.

But by the 21st century, things began to change.

In 2019, Graco began to make moves that indicated a shift was on the horizon.

They spent $73 million to expand their Rogers, Minnesota facility—just 25 miles outside of Minneapolis.

That expansion doubled the size of the facility, a clear sign that Graco was eyeing the future in a different location.

In 2021, Graco bought land in Dayton, another suburb, to build a brand-new, state-of-the-art facility, with solar panels and cutting-edge technology.

Meanwhile, the Minneapolis workforce began to shrink.

In 2021, Graco had 800 employees in Minneapolis, but by 2025, that number had halved to just 400 workers.

The city’s reliance on Graco had always been unquestioned.

It had been the backbone of Ocyola‘s economy, a place where families worked, lived, and prospered.

But in May 2025, the unthinkable happened.

Graco announced that it would be leaving Minneapolis entirely, taking with it 400 jobs.

The Minneapolis riverfront campus, a 40-acre property that had once been home to a thriving manufacturing empire, would be sold off.

The shock was palpable.

Local officials, including Eric Hansen, the economic development director, were caught completely off guard.

He admitted that the news was a surprise.

How could this happen? How could a company that had been so deeply entrenched in the city’s history, a company that had once stood as a testament to Minnesota’s industrial strength, now walk away?

As the reality of the loss set in, the city’s political leaders scrambled to understand what went wrong.

Kevin Reich, a former city council member, pointed to the growing rift between the urban political elite and the manufacturing sector.

“The focus is now on green jobs, on tech jobs, on density,” he said.

Reich argued that the political climate in Minneapolis had shifted, and manufacturing—the very heart of the city’s working-class foundation—was being pushed aside in favor of newer, less tangible industries.

He noted that the highest unemployment rate in the state sat just a few miles from the Graco plant, in an area where residents had no access to the new tech or green jobs that the city council had championed.

But it wasn’t just the loss of Graco’s factory that caused devastation—it was the ripple effect that followed.

The city had already been struggling with high unemployment, and the closure of Graco magnified the problem.

The new suburban locations where Graco would now operate were 25 miles away—a commute too far for many workers who lacked reliable transportation.

And with no public transit options to speak of, many would be unable to make the journey every day.

The 400 displaced workers now found themselves with no clear path forward.

The city, meanwhile, seemed unfazed.

Minneapolis had made it clear that it didn’t value manufacturing.

The Minneapolis 2040 plan, the city’s guiding growth document, barely mentioned anything about manufacturing jobs.

Housing and density were the priorities.

The city council, in their zeal to reshape the city’s future, had forgotten about the working-class communities that had built Minneapolis in the first place.

The rise of the knowledge economy—with its emphasis on high-paying tech jobs—had left manufacturing in the dust.

And the loss of Graco was just the latest example of the city’s failure to recognize that its manufacturing base was essential to its survival.

In the aftermath of the announcement, Graco’s spokesperson summed it up succinctly: “The move brings manufacturing, engineering, and corporate teams closer together.

It makes sense from a business perspective.

Why stay where you’re not wanted?” It was the simplest, most honest answer: Polaris had made its choice based on money.

It wasn’t about the legacy, it wasn’t about the community—it was about the numbers.

And for Graco, moving to the suburbs with cheaper land and labor was the logical decision.

But it didn’t make it any less painful for the people of Minneapolis who had built their lives around this company.

The shift in priorities in Minneapolis left a lasting wound on the city.

The idea that Graco, a company that had been a Minnesota icon for nearly a century, could just pack up and leave with minimal opposition reflected a larger pattern.

Other companies—like Target, 3M, and Cargill—had already made similar decisions, opting for locations with lower taxes and friendlier business environments.

The Minnesota Chamber of Commerce had warned for years that the state’s policies were pushing businesses away.

The 9.8% corporate tax rate, the highest in the country, was one of the most prohibitive in the nation.

Graco was just one more casualty in a long list of businesses that had left Minnesota for greener pastures in neighboring states.

Graco wasn’t just a company that left—it was a symbol of what had been lost.

The Minnesota dream of stable jobs and prosperous industries was fading, replaced by a vision of condos, apartments, and tech parks.

The 40 acres of riverfront land where Graco had once thrived would now become yet another housing development, another reminder of what used to be.

The 400 workers who had given their sweat and blood to the company were left behind, forgotten by the very city that had once supported them.

This wasn’t just about the closure of a single plant—it was about a larger failure of policy and leadership.

Minneapolis had ignored the workers who had built it, choosing instead to focus on industries that would only benefit the few.

In the end, it was the workers who paid the price, and the city had no answers.

The legacy of Graco will live on, but not in Minneapolis.

It will live in the suburbs, in the new Dayton and Rogers plants, where workers may find jobs, but at what cost? The Minneapolis riverfront, once a thriving hub of American industry, will become a memory—a sad monument to what was lost in the race for profits over people.

And for the 400 displaced workers, there is no easy road ahead.

They will have to find new paths, new ways to survive in a city that no longer has room for them.

Graco made its decision.

Minneapolis made its own.

And in the end, it was the workers who were left behind.

The city’s future may be built on shiny new developments, but at what cost? For the workers who built it, the price is too high.