Jay, Maine (pop. ~4,600) pursued an AI data center on a roughly 1,000-acre former mill site after the Androscoggin Mill — once the town's largest employer with over 1,500 workers — was destroyed by an explosion in 2020. Developer Tony McDonald argued the center would use far less water, could rely on up to 82 MW of previously permitted power plus solar, and provide 125–150 full-time jobs. The town board rapidly endorsed the plan and Governor Janet Mills vetoed a bill that lacked an exemption for Jay. As of June 11, the data-center firm Sentinel reportedly withdrew and the project is on indefinite hold.
How a Small Maine Town Bet Its Future on an AI Data Center
Magicpiano via Wikimedia Commons / Futurism
Across the United States, many communities have pushed back against large data centers over concerns about energy use, water consumption and local impacts. Jay, Maine — a town of roughly 4,600 people — is an unusual exception: its leaders actively courted a proposed AI data center as a possible lifeline after a catastrophic industrial loss.
For decades the Androscoggin Mill anchored Jay's economy. In 2020 a sudden explosion destroyed much of the complex; miraculously, no one died because the blast happened during a lunch break. The mill once employed more than 1,500 people, and its loss left a deep economic void.
Developer's Pitch And Local Response
Developer Tony McDonald proposed siting a data center on roughly 1,000 acres that include the former mill property. He framed the project as a cleaner, quieter replacement for the mill, arguing it would use only a fraction of the tens of millions of gallons of water per day the mill once consumed, tap up to 82 megawatts of previously permitted power, and supplement supply with solar panels to limit added strain on local utilities.
'Would a data center be loud? Can't be as loud as the mill! Could it smell bad? The mill smelled like rotten eggs! Would it pollute the environment? The river was covered in toxic foam in the mill days!'
McDonald relied on those comparisons — invoking local memory of the mill's noise, smells and pollution — to make the case that a data center would be comparatively benign. He also acknowledged that the completed facility would likely create only 125–150 full-time, well-paid positions, roughly one-tenth of the mill's workforce.
Fast Politics, Fragile Promise
When the state considered a moratorium on new data centers, McDonald approached Jay's five-member town board. He had not informed the board earlier, but after disclosing the plan and apologizing for the late notice, the board quickly voted to draft a letter to Governor Janet Mills asking for an exception. The Atlantic observed the rapid shift from unfamiliarity to unanimous local support 'in the time it takes to bake a lasagna.'
Governor Mills later vetoed a bill that would have banned new large data centers in part because the measure did not include an explicit exemption for Jay, underscoring how the town's hopes factored into state-level debate.
Uncertain Outcome
The momentum faltered: on June 11 the data-center firm Sentinel reportedly withdrew from the proposed project, leaving McDonald's plans on indefinite hold and the town once again without a confirmed economic anchor. Jay remains in limbo — still hoping for investment but confronting the reality that a single data-center deal, even if built, would not fully replace the mill's lost jobs.
Why Jay Matters: The story highlights broader tensions between communities seeking economic revival in postindustrial regions and the environmental, energy and planning debates surrounding modern digital infrastructure. It also shows how developers can reframe painful industrial histories to make new projects appear comparatively attractive, and how quickly small-town politics can pivot when a promise of investment emerges.
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