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Return to Glory

Saving the biggest old house in New England

By Suki Casanave '86G

My son Gabe, 22 months, is jumping and spinning in the October sunlight, chortling at the wide-open space that is his alone. Watching his antics, my husband and I glance at each other, remembering another afternoon when we stood on this very spot, hands clasped. The south verandah of the Mount Washington Hotel is, after all, our verandah. It was here, on May 28, 1994, that we recited our wedding vows.

I close my eyes and conjure up the moment: three bridesmaids shivering in the spring breeze, my husband-to-be all proud and polished, the chorus of friends whose earnest voices brought tears to our eyes, the face of my father, who is gone now. Swallows swooped in and out among the white columns. Snow-dusted peaks rose about us on all sides. After the ceremony, we swept into the ballroom and twirled across the shining hardwood floor, waltzing beneath hundreds of tiny rosette lights. Just once during the evening, the two of us slipped outside. We stood in silence, imagining the other brides and grooms who had married here through the years, the lives that had come together, the promises made. Somehow, a grand old hotel, ringed with mountains, seemed a good place to begin.

Joseph Stickney, it turns out, knew a good piece of real estate when he saw one. The Pennsylvania coal and rail magnate, who returned to his native New Hampshire after making his fortune, purchased 10,000 acres smack in the middle of New Hampshire's White Mountains. Then he set out, with the help of noted architect Charles Alling Gifford, to build his dream--a Spanish Renaissance-style hotel, sparkling white, vast and turreted, dolloped with trimming, topped with roofs red as roses.

Numbers alone tell some of the story of his remarkable undertaking: 900 kegs of nails, 52,000 square feet of roofing tin, 10 miles of plumbing pipe, 20.7 miles of electrical conduit, 200,000 square feet of wooden flooring, and two million board feet of lumber. If all the materials used to build the hotel had been transported in one train, it would have required 450 cars. Stickney also brought in 250 Italian master craftsmen and installed state-of-the-art electricity and running water. Work began in June of 1901. Incredibly, just over a year later, on July 28, 1902, the hotel opened to the public. "Look at me, gentlemen," Stickney is said to have proclaimed, "for I am the poor fool who built all this."

From the beginning, the hotel drew an elite clientele, people who usually arrived with an entourage of servants and stayed the entire summer. Guests paid $20 a night, more than four times the going rate for most other hotels. The main dining room was designed with these socialites in mind: its octagonal shape ensured that no one would feel slighted by being seated in a corner. The names of many of the hotel's famous visitors can be found on small brass plaques attached to guestroom doors: Babe Ruth, Vladimir Horowitz, Thomas Edison, Carl Sandburg, Joan Crawford and Princess Margaret, among others.

The hotel's greatest claim to fame came at the end of World War II. On July 1, 1944, more than 700 delegates and attendees representing 44 countries--the most respected thinkers in the global financial community--arrived in Bretton Woods. Twenty-two days later, the foundation was laid for the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank.

In the years following the war, the hotel survived a slew of out-of-state owners, some more successful than others. Gradually, though, Stickney's spectacular creation lost its luster. During the late 1980s, loyal employees and longtime guests hung on bravely for what seemed certain to be the final chapter in the story of the Mount Washington. Finally, on August 15, 1991, the failing hotel was put up for auction by the FDIC. Toeveryone's astonishment, the $3.15-million winning bid came from a group of North Country locals.

"I think everyone was skeptical when they bought it," says Cindy Foster, director of sales at the hotel. Foster, who was working in Maine at the time, recalls the buzz in the tourism industry when word got out about the purchase. "People thought they were crazy. They took a huge financial and emotional risk."

For Joel and Cathy Corey Bedor '74, who share a passion for old houses, the motivation was simple. "We didn't want to see it torn down," says Joel, president of the Mount Washington Hotel Preservation Partnership. Driven by this single-minded vision, the Bedors joined forces with four others: Joel Presby, Bob Clements, and John and Jere Eames. Pooling their resources, the partners went to work on the banks. "None of us are extremely wealthy people," says Joel. "We were investing most of our available funds in this project."

Despite plenty of well-meaning advice to abandon the whole undertaking, the partnership persisted, securing the financing needed to close the deal. Suddenly, Joel and Cathy were the proud owners of a National Historic Landmark--the biggest old house in New England. For these high school sweethearts, who grew up in nearby Littleton, purchasing the hotel was more than a business undertaking. It was an emotional commitment to the region.

"It's been in my backyard all my life, but we never drove up here when we were kids," says Cathy, who remembers a time when the hotel driveway was gated and you had to pay to come in. "Locals didn't feel welcome. We want to say to everyone, 'Please come into my home.' It's grand and glorious--and now people can come see it." Many also work here. In summer, the hotel employs about 500 people; in winter, when the adjoining ski areas are open, that number nearly doubles.

Not that resort ownership and local celebrity had ever been in the Bedors' plans. "We both thought we'd be teachers," says Joel, "which we did for a while in Massachusetts. Then we came back here, and I got interested in business." Joel, who had studied accounting at UNH before transferring to Plymouth State College, opened his own CPA firm. Cathy, who had studied entomology and physical education at UNH, and then taught Latin for a year, donned yet another hat and went to work for her husband. They've been a team ever since.

"We complement each other," says Cathy, who, until recently, was the hotel's marketing dynamo. "I love to launch off in many directions at once and get all excited about the possibilities. Joel is logical, practical. He's kept us in line all along." Both Bedors, as well as the other partners, brought a roll-up-your-sleeves approach to their hotel adventure. Which was a good thing, because old houses tend to need a lot of work. And this one was no exception.

Frank Angelini is standing with his head thrown back, hands on his hips. He is squinting at a hole in the ballroom ceiling. It is precisely one week before my wedding and I am visiting the Mount Washington Hotel to finalize details. And there it is, a leak--a big one--directly over the stage floor, right where our band is supposed to play.

I take a break from pondering table arrangements to watch Mr. Angelini at work on the scaffolding, plaster bucket in hand. "My great uncle worked here back when they first built it," he says proudly, pointing to some of the ornate plasterwork and hand-leaded Tiffany glass that still adorns the ballroom and much of the hotel. He is adroit with the trowel, quick and smooth, a master tradesman. The band, it seems, will be able to play safely after all.

In the first years after the partners purchased the hotel, leaks were rampant. Some appeared with dramatic timing. Joel recalls the day he was standing in the lobby with former New Hampshire Governor Hugh Gregg. "Suddenly water was just pouring from the ceiling. 'Joel,' Gregg said, turning to me, 'I don't know how you do this.'" The partners have had plenty of occasions to wonder this very thing.

"I used to walk through the hotel with visitors, trying to carry on a coherent conversation," says Cathy. "I could hardly concentrate, because I'd see a hundred things in about 20 feet that needed to be fixed immediately."

The owners had to be very selective in what they did, according to Joel, who has kept a close eye on the books from the beginning. "Our whole approach was to reinvest money and borrow according to what our business levels would permit."

Over the past decade, the partnership has poured four or five times the purchase price of the hotel into its restoration. They worked slowly and carefully, tackling one project after another, transforming Stickney's dream for a new century: 7,000 square feet of new tile in the bathrooms, 2,000 feet of cast-iron pipes, 3,000 feet of domestic water lines, 6,000 feet of electrical wiring, 14,000 square feet of insulation, and on and on.

Through the years, some guests got fed up and left, tired of rusty tubs, clogged showers and other "old house" problems. But most visitors have been supportive, tolerating the gradual improvements the way you would if you were restoring your own home. "People love coming back to see what we did during the previous year," says Cathy.

Renovation, though, has meant more than saving a structure. The Bedors are intent on preserving an era. When it was time to choose new carpeting for the lobby, for example, they kept returning to a 1911 postcard that showed a luxurious carpet rolled out on a hardwood floor. The search for high-quality carpet with a Victorian design finally ended in England. Today, a Crossely Axminster carpet--15,000 square feet--covers the restored hardwood floors in the lobby, just like the postcard.

When the dining room's new sound system was installed, another historic detail was uncovered: the ornate ceiling lighting fixtures, painted white, were actually brass. After hours of scouring and scrubbing, the brass shines again. One spring, 200 mahogany-paneled guestroom doors were stripped to the bare wood, then coated with the original shade of English oak stain, followed by three coats of polyurethane. And when the decision was made to open the hotel year-round, the winterizing process began with new windows--800 of them--that match the architectural style.

"I shudder to think what would have happened if some big chain had come in and bought the hotel," says Erin Conway-Rizzo, concierge. "They might not have preserved the heritage and feel of the place." Instead, the grand hotel is embarking on its 2002 centennial celebration with the same optimism that marked its 1902 opening. The pipes are in working order, the red roofs are freshly painted, and the guests are plentiful and enthusiastic.

Celeste and John Barrett have been visiting the hotel for nearly two decades. They make two or three visits a year from their home in South Lawrence, Mass., almost always with their two grandsons in tow. Each year they settle into the same adjoining rooms--Numbers 137 and 139. In the dining room, they always sit at table Number 84 and are served by Sebastian, who has become a friend.

"I wish I could live at the Mount Washington," says Celeste, only half joking. "I don't see how anybody could make a complaint about the place." She hardly pauses for breath as she details the things she loves. "For one thing, it's immaculate. Plus the food, the service--everything. They treat us like kings and queens."

But what really sets the Mount Washington apart, hands down, is the staff. "There's nothing like the warmth you get from the people here. They always greet us by name. Our housekeeper, Bonnie, gives us a big hug each year." And then there's Jim Drummond. "He and his crew can never do enough for you," she says.

The Mount Washington runs in Jim Drummond's family. His grandfather was the hotel's property superintendent for 35 years, and his grandmother, father, brother and wife have all worked at the hotel. "There's just no better place," says the head of guest services, who started 31 years ago as a golf caddy when he was 13. He's been here ever since, hanging on through a number of owners, many managers and the tough years just before the auction. "Those were some strugglin' times," remembers Drummond, who took every prospective owner on a tour of the hotel. "I used to keep a little notebook, trying to figure out who might get it."

Like the rest of the staff, Drummond was thrilled that the hotel was purchased by locals. "We grew up here, so we didn't have a lot of pretenses about who we are or what we are," says Joel, who encourages employees with an idea or problem to knock on his door. He and Cathy can often be spotted walking through the lobby, talking with staff members or guests. And they've been known to don sneakers and work clothes and pitch in. "From our perspective, it doesn't make sense not to have a hands-on relationship with the property," says Joel. "We're too close and have too much of a love for the place and for our staff."

The effectiveness of this approach was reinforced last summer, when the partners announced that Joel would step into the corner office as general manager. "I nearly cried with relief," says Conway-Rizzo. The change followed the departure of a manager who had come to the Mount Washington from New York, bringing with him a slew of big-city hotel ideas. After a few months, it was clear, the fit just wasn't right, explains Joel, with typical forthrightness. "He had many strengths, but what was best for the local staff was what was most important to us and the hotel's future."

Joel and Cathy Bedor understand the soul of the Mount Washington Hotel. They know that a building--and the tradition that goes with it--doesn't survive on its own, that it needs people like Jim Drummond and Frank Angelini and other loyal employees--people, who, like the Bedors themselves, have caught the spirit of the place.

"I'm so proud of them and proud to be associated with this hotel," says Conway-Rizzo. "They really care about us as people and put that above everything else."

When my extended family decided to start a new holiday tradition a couple of years ago, we packed up and headed for the Mount Washington. On Christmas Eve, we gathered for dinner in the festive dining room, dancing between courses to big band versions of holiday classics. Gabe and his cousin, both just a few months old, stayed up late and fell asleep in our arms. On Christmas day, we settled in by the picture windows to gaze out at the stunning winter landscape. We sat by the fire and talked. We gave each other the most precious of gifts--time and attention.

This is what happens at the Mount Washington. You settle in. Time slows. You remember the important things. It starts as soon as you turn in at the end of the mile-long winding drive that leads to the entrance, feeling as if you've stumbled upon a small kingdom, a place apart. Each return visit is a homecoming of sorts.

Which is why so many of us keep coming back. For me, of course, no stay is complete without a walk around to the south verandah, checking as we go on the latest improvements. I wave to Jim Drummond, keep an eye out for Frank, and, now and then, I'll spot Cathy or Joel in the lobby. Outside on the verandah, our verandah, we stand, as we did on our wedding day, gazing at the mountains, watching for swallows--glad to know the grand old hotel is starting its second century in such good hands. ~

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