The Marketing of Place

Leavenworth, Washington, is located about three hours northeast of Seattle on Highway 2 near the base of the Cascade Mountains’ eastern slopes. Formerly a thriving logging town, Leavenworth’s economy crashed when the timber company left town. Leavenworth entered in a slow death spiral until the mid-60’s, when, to attract tourists, local business owners decided to reinvent the town around a Bavarian theme. They were successful, and for nearly 40 years Leavenworth has continued to be a popular year-round destination.

Leavenworth is not a typical model town—it’s not politically correct, it’s not hip, it has no larger-than-itself visions of grandeur. And yet, its story is a genuine planning success, one that grew not from celebrity architects or huge federal grants, but out of a community’s grassroots effort to remake itself. The commitment of Leavenworth’s citizens to rebuild their town is visible to all but the most jaded and has contributed not only to a thriving tourist economy, but to the development of a community still deeply involved in enacting a collective vision for the town. 

The History of Leavenworth

White settlers first came to the Leavenworth area in the 1860s, and a railroad running along the present Highway 2 route increased the town’s prominence in the region. The Davis-Lamb lumber company built a sawmill in Leavenworth in 1904, and the population and the economy exploded almost overnight. Around the turn of the previous century, Leavenworth was a wild frontier boomtown of about 5,500 people, more than twice what it is today.

Twenty years later the boom went bust and both the railroad and the lumber company left. The Great Depression further cemented Leavenworth’s economic fate, and for the next 30 years a small agricultural economy just barely sustained the town. By 1960, Leavenworth’s population had dwindled to around 1500 people. With no industry to speak of and a downtown replete with boarded-up buildings, there was no reason to stop or stay there. The town seemed headed for extinction.

In the early 1960s, local residents began to consider a plan to re-create their town as a Bavarian village to attract tourists. Exactly where the Bavarian theme came from isn’t certain, although the most widely recited story is that two owners of a Bavarian-themed restaurant outside of town first suggested it. Leavenworth’s residents had no particular Bavarian heritage, but the theme did fit the town’s dramatic alpine setting. As part of a larger visioning process led by the University of Washington, Leavenworth had already toyed with the idea of attracting more tourists. The Autumn Leaf Festival, first held in 1964, drew thousands of visitors before any renovations had even begun. There was, however, some resistance to this approach from factions within the city that preferred more traditional industries, but few other options offered the sliver of hope that tourism did.

Tourism held some other appeal: instead of bringing in another polluting industry—one that could, like the timber industry, leave without warning—tourism offered the opportunity to enhance local control of Leavenworth’s economy. It was also a way to beautify the town. The idea of a Bavarian village piqued the imagination of some key downtown business owners who became major boosters of the idea, and in 1965, agreed to “go Alpine.”

At first, the transformation was piecemeal. Individual business owners bore the bulk of the renovation costs, often going deeply into debt to complete them. Some would buy, renovate, and get a business going only to sell it and buy another building. Private donors provided some funds, and many individuals provided expertise on the cheap, but no government money eased the transition.

By 1966, six key buildings downtown had been remodeled and six more had begun renovations. That same year, Leavenworth held the first Christmas Lighting Festival, now its most popular event. Two years later, in 1968, Leavenworth won LOOK magazine’s All-America City award, given to cities that had been turned around by citizen involvement. Many of the renovations were complete by the mid-1970s. The Bavarian Village has been thriving ever since.

“When people think of Leavenworth,” says Ken Kohnhurst, Marketing Director at the Leavenworth Chamber of Commerce, “we want them to think of the Bavarian Village.” The town is not trying to be Bavaria, he says, but a synthesis of Bavaria and America. And indeed, Leavenworth is a fascinating combination of Bavarian architecture and American car culture. Highway 2 bisects the town, lined with gas stations, fast food restaurants, and motels (all Bavarian-themed, of course), all with big parking lots out in front. Mammoth American vehicles parked along the streets obstruct the subtle signage and the carefully constructed facades.

The Industry of Identity

Leavenworth’s conversion to tourism is not entirely unique. In the U.S., many small towns that once relied on resource extraction as their main industry now exploit their scenic settings and small town charm for tourists. The idea of a theme town is not particularly unusual either—the West and Midwest are full of them. In one unusual example, the streets of Mount Hored, Wisconsin, “Mustard Capital of the World,” are lined with huge trolls carved out of tree stumps. “Wild West” towns abound (Winthrop, Washington, Red Lodge, Montana, and Fort Dodge, Iowa), as do German or Bavarian (Kellogg, Idaho and Helen, Georgia), Dutch (Lynden, Washington and Pella, Iowa), Swedish, Danish, and Norwegian towns (Solvang and Temecula, California and Elk Horn, Iowa). Theme towns occupy a special niche in the tourism industry, a “second tier” of homespun, low-budget, auto-oriented destinations.

In America, identity has become a precious commodity, sought out more obsessively as our senses become dulled by generic housing developments and big box stores. It’s difficult enough to articulate what gives a place a unique identity, much less fabricate one from scratch. And like putting the proverbial cart before the horse, it would seem impossible for a place’s identity to pre-empt the place itself. But, to the chagrin of their University of Washington advisors, Leavenworth did exactly that, choosing Bavarian over other themes, such as “Wild West” or “Gay 90s” that might be more reflective of its actual history and residents’ heritage. When survival is at stake, economic considerations often end up trumping authenticity.

Much of the literature about theme towns rails against this kind of wholesale adoption of identity, encouraging towns instead to develop tourism industries that reflects their actual history. The problem, however, is that identities and histories are complex—too complex to be digested by busy vacationers. Theme towns function almost as urban Cliff’s Notes, reducing stories and identities to kitschy sound bites worthy of short attention spans. Theme towns, not surprisingly, are also easy to do wrong. The results can be fraught with unintended consequences. It is surprising, then, that Leavenworth’s adopted identity works, but it does.

Adopted Authenticity

Despite the admitted inauthenticity of the Bavarian theme, business owners recognized the importance of authentic Bavarian architecture and design early on in Leavenworth’s transformation. The first remodelings were especially sophisticated, emphasizing traditional materials, methods, and architecture even though it increased costs. Other theme towns—specifically Solvang, a Danish town in California—served as inspiration, as did occasional trips to Europe. Designers, builders, and craftspeople familiar with Bavarian architecture, carving, and murals were hired for much of the work.

As tourism began producing economic results, maintaining and enhancing the Bavarian Village evolved from reliance on the efforts of individual business owners to city-mandated standards. By 1970, Leavenworth had adopted a Design Review Board, design standards, and sign regulations to ensure compliance. Since then, both the design standards and the Design Review Board have evolved. Formerly an advisory body to the city council, the five-person board has served a quasi-judicial role since the 1990s. Although the board is composed of volunteers, criteria for service are stringent, calling for periodic travel to those regions in Bavaria on which the standards are based.

The review process enables Leavenworth to realize authentic Bavarian design. Whether the applicant is Howard Johnson’s, McDonalds, or Chevron, Brand Leavenworth trumps all. This may befuddle big corporations, but the Design Review Board advises, educates, and pulls them along until the designs are acceptable. Ultimately, applicants recognize that it is in everyone’s best interest to perpetuate the Bavarian theme.

Marketing Place

Leavenworth also learned early the benefits of marketing and good press. In the 60’s, articles in Seattle, Spokane, and Wenatchee papers brought visitors to witness the makeover before the first buildings were even finished. The Leavenworth Chamber of Commerce, involved in the town’s tourism efforts from the very beginning, functions much like the marketing department at a more traditional company—surveying tourists, looking for angles to promote the town, and watching for changes and industry trends.

Although the marketing continues to emphasize the Bavarian Village and Bavarian festivals, like any other industry, Leavenworth must evolve—and diversify—if it is to continue to attract tourists. Despite the fact that most visitors come to shop, in the last several years, the Chamber has noticed more interest in interaction and participation, which they encourage with local winery and orchard tours, otherwise known as “ag-tourism.” One group of residents formed Project Bavaria (Projekt Bayern) to promote more authentic Bavarian culture and events. The Chamber is organizing the town’s first bird watching weekend in May, and many companies in town now offer kayaking, skiing, and other outdoor activities.

Just Another Small Town

There’s another aspect to Leavenworth’s success, and although it may be the most crucial, it is also the most difficult to measure. Leavenworth attracts 1.5 million visitors a year. During peak weekends, as many as 30,000 tourists can descend on the town—fifteen times the resident population of 2,000. Such huge, peak-season crowds are typical of tourist destinations, but as great as they are for the local economy, mobs of tourists can overwhelm a town and the people who live there. This is where Leavenworth is different. The town may have its share of local/tourist tensions, but the core components of its planning effort—self-determination and local control—have held this town together.

According to Christy Osborn, Leavenworth’s Community Development Director, residents are very involved in local planning efforts—“more than in any other place I’ve been,” she says. Most of Leavenworth’s businesses and shops are locally owned, and the community is involved in all aspects of the many festivals and events. Volunteerism is high, and there is a conscious effort among residents to balance their own needs with those of the tourists. As one might suspect, affordable housing, parking, and goods and services for residents can be a problem. Currently, residents are finding ways to create more housing opportunities that will allow people to maintain ties to the local community. A grocery store, laundromat, and drugstore tentatively mingle with the souvenir shops and restaurants, allowing residents to fulfill basic needs in town. The “local bar” is right in the heart of the Bavarian Village.

Outside of the Bavarian Village, about ten blocks in either direction, Leavenworth looks like any other small town in the Northwest. Nothing fancy. Some of the houses are run-down, and only a few carry on the Bavarian theme. The Wenatchee River runs through town, and there’s a park along its banks. There is no Wal-Mart, and it’s not hard to find a place where you can look right up into the mountains. It’s no wonder people like it here.

Interestingly, Leavenworth has seen an influx of Germans and German-American residents. According to the Chamber of Commerce, nearly 25 percent of residents now have some sort of German heritage, whether first-generation German émigrés, German builders and craftspeople hired to work, or German-Americans who are interested in experiencing the culture of their ancestors. Most of Leavenworth’s other residents grew up there.

Creating Community

The theme town as tourist attraction can be traced to theme parks such as the Chicago Columbian Exposition (1893), the first New York World’s Fair (1939), and of course, Disneyland (1955). Since the mid-century decline of the industrial city, theme towns and their city cousins, urban theme neighborhoods (such as the French Quarter in New Orleans), have been spreading across the country at a rapid pace. More recently, even European cities have become more reliant on theme-based marketing to draw tourists, and with the Las Vegas Strip and Disney’s Celebration in Florida, American theme towns may have reached the pinnacle of counterfeit identity.

No matter one’s aesthetic preferences, theme towns are fascinating. Why? Perhaps we seek to reconstruct our history and our culture because we’ve run from it, or torn it all down. Maybe the prevailing hodgepodge of suburban sprawl makes us want something pure and simple, even if it’s only for a few blocks. That may, however, simplify things too much. I suspect, and I hope, that those who visit Leavenworth know and appreciate its transformation. It’s a classically American story, a frontier myth made real not only by resourcefulness and hard work in the face of adversity, but also by a country that offers fresh starts and limitless possibilities. The real lesson in Leavenworth’s story is found in the process of transformation, rather than the end result.

Leavenworth’s success story is important not only to cities or neighborhoods considering tourism as an economic-development strategy, but to any place going through a planning process. There may be talk of empowerment and community-building, but the goal of truly inspiring a community’s residents and stimulating their imaginations can be undermined by professional or bureaucratic solutions. The importance of real community-based solutions—and ultimately the wisdom of the community—can be lost. Brought together in a struggle to save their town, Leavenworth’s residents learned the value of self-determination and envisioning a better future. And they have not lost sight of those values. From an aesthetic point of view, Leavenworth looks very different from what most planners or urban designers would imagine. But it was real people, not architects or government officials, who had the vision, took the risks, and made it work. And that, rather than any pretty facade, is what makes community.