Before people had hot tubs in their backyards . . . before beauty salons advertised “day spa” facilities . . . even before many people had indoor plumbing . . . the only way to sit and soak in hot water was to go to a hot spring. So that’s what people did.
As Europeans settled across what became the United States, they began utilizing the hot springs used by Native Americans. Doctors sent their patients to bathe in the hot springs and drink the mineral water known to cure everything from psoriasis to dyspepsia. Hot springs were curative. Hydrotherapy—still used today for stiff muscles—was very popular.
By the second half of the 1800s, however, the springs became recreational as well as medicinal as resorts sprung up. While many Pennsylvanians have heard of Bedford Springs, probably few are familiar with Cambridge Springs, a small town on Route 6 between Erie and Meadville in the northwest corner of the state. At its peak Cambridge Springs had “more than 40 hotels, spring houses, and rooming houses” serving the masses coming to bathe and recreate. At the height of the fad “eight trains a day” brought visitors to the town.
As Mary the Photographer and I drove across the metal bridge over French Creek and into town it was hard to imagine that this little town was once so bustling. Our destination was the Riverside Inn, the last operating vestige of Cambridge Springs’ resort heyday. Most of the old hotels are gone, victims of fire or the Great Depression. The Riverside continues on as a hotel, restaurant, and dinner theater.
We found the Riverside just off the main drag. This great Victorian lady sits among trees near the creek, its wraparound porch stretching leisurely on either side of the front entrance. It was easy to picture women in big hats, sitting in rockers on that porch, fanning themselves on a hot summer day. Mary and I walked inside to the large lobby, past the sweet Victorian touches such as a fainting couch and love seat, looking for the restaurant for lunch.
Once we were seated by the lace-covered window I looked around the room we were in—the dining room is very large, just like one would expect in a resort. We were having a late lunch so there weren’t many people there. I could just imagine the waiters running back and forth between the kitchen and the guests, trying to serve the hot, hungry crowds. Our server, however, had the freedom to relax with us and we had a nice conversation about the history of the Riverside.
With its warm décor it was harder for me to imagine this building as any sort of a medical facility but they had doctors on staff and did offer what they called “electrical treatments” in addition to the springs. Obviously trying to quell anyone’s concerns about the medical side (or maybe just to reel more guests in), a doctor employed at the resort assured potential guests that “there is nothing at all at the Riverside to remind one of the unpleasant features of a sanitarium." With that I would agree.
After lunch we had a good opportunity to look around the inn. Down the hallway from the dining room was a large glass case with Victorian costumes. On the level beneath us was the dinner theater, where a bus group was watching a comedy—we could hear them laughing, which I understand, is the best medicine. The dinner theater operates all year, with a wide range of plays and holiday events bringing visitors to town.
We drove out of town looking for other signs of the Cambridge Springs of 1900. Our server had said that a few other structures had been hotels but they don’t stand out among the buildings. The town was also home to Alliance College, which welcomed President William Howard Taft at its dedication in 1912 and closed in the 1980s. In 1904 Cambridge Springs hosted a chess tournament at the Rider Hotel (lost to a fire in 1931), which led to a chess move being named for the town.
Today Cambridge Springs is a quiet little place where presidents and chess players are just memories. But the Riverside Inn can still remind visitors of the glory days.
Photo by Mary Brenner
