Preserving the Family Heirlooms

During the Civil War, nearly all of the great American hotels were destroyed. The Bedford Springs Resort stood resolute, however. Its stately porches and grand pillars held firm through all the fires and fights. Last week, when my family checked into The Bedford in Bedford, Pennsylvania, we stepped back into the 18^th century. The technology surpassed the resort’s earliest days, of course. But little else had changed. And that made all the difference.
In 1796, it took guts to make the journey to The Bedford. The train line stopped a day’s journey away. Hotel guests traversed the remaining 21 miles by foot or horseback. Over its two-century existence, the resort’s owners expanded the resort to meet the growing demands of its fan base. The initial draw was the eight mineral springs dotting the mountain property. They were said to hold natural healing powers. The springs are still featured prominently today.

The springs feed the indoor pool, which was one of the first built in the nation. We were treated to a few days at The Bedford and we savored each moment. During our stay, our 3-year-old, Desmond, reveled in the pool’s waters. He didn’t necessarily appreciate the ornate pearl tiling and sweeping archways, but mineral water splashes like regular water, so he was happy.

From 1986 to 1998, the Bedford sat vacant. It deteriorated quickly and its fate hung in limbo.
In 1998, new owners purchased the Bedford and renovated back to its former glory. The architects and engineers practiced extraordinary caution in restoring the hotel tastefully. They studied historic photographs and talked to longtime neighbors and former employees. They retained original carpentry and masonry when possible, and replicated the original construction with new construction when they needed to.
With the resort aging and filling with cobwebs, the new owners could have scrapped The Bedford and built a new hotel from scratch. It would have been less costly and much faster than the tedious work of historic restoration. A flashy new luxury resort would have looked beautiful sprawling across the Pennsylvania woodlands. But the owners knew something was trapped in the old timbers and scratched floorboards.
There was value in the history. In the heritage and grandeur of the original walls, the owners knew there was irreplaceable worth. And after a few days staying there, I can attest. The Bedford is majestic. The stone fireplaces and Colonial crown molding separates this place from its modern counterparts. It might sound melodramatic to say a building took my breath away, but that’s exactly what it did. The Bedford stirred my imagination.

We can make a logical case for the restoration of a physical institution like The Bedford. Visitors can see it and feel it immediately. For institutions of different varieties, however, the value of the history can be much more difficult to detect and protect. Why should a nonprofit or school or business care about its heritage and history? Why should the founder’s story matter?
“[Organizations] need to remember how important it is not to sell off the vision when times are tough,” reflected Fred Smith, president of The Gathering, a community of Christian philanthropists. “It’s like selling the family heirlooms. You have some money but the loss is enormous.”
Nonprofits, particularly, are prone to lose sight of this. For faith-based organizations, too, we quickly auction away the family heirlooms–such as our faith, values and purpose–as if our faith is cursory to the work we do. As if our values and founding identity are interesting, but not integral. But it’s those old timbers—the original architecture and designs—that make our work unique. If we apologize for our faith and soft-pedal its importance, we will lose the very uniqueness our world so desperately needs.
The Bedford is special not because of its modern amenities, but because of its rich view of history and commitment to staying true to its founding vision.