One universal theme common to all museums is the need to raise significant money to achieve the museum's mission. Most people don't enjoy raising money. Fortunately, there are large numbers of people passionate about making a difference in the world. When clearly convinced how a difference can be made, most of these people will endure the discomfort of raising money.

The core reason for raising money for any museum should be to enhance the value that it delivers to its community. This value is often difficult to articulate except in traditional, some would say elitist, terms. Thus, the history museum traditionally asserts that it collects and preserves our cultural heritage, a mission that may limit the audience to history buffs. On the other hand, if a history museum seeks to help people understand their roots, who they are and why, the museum broadens its appeal, and its value.

Because boards may struggle with the intangible notion of value, they often default to raising money for bricks and mortar. The museum can always use better facilities and most everyone supports new building projects. A building is a tangible and easy focus for attention, effort, and energy. Unfortunately, new buildings in and of themselves don't deliver value to the audience. They only make it possible to deliver value through exhibitions and programs.

Extraordinary buildings with modest exhibitions may be more of an architectural monument than a museum. When Frank Gehry, architect of the Guggenheim Museum in Spain, was asked whether the new museum building would be a good place to exhibit art. He responded: "It doesn't matter."

The building is not the purpose of the museum. Yet observe any museum team in the midst of a capital campaign. It appears that all the attention and energy are focused on the building. This tunnel-vision leads to what we call the Building Failure Syndrome.

Because energy has been directed solely toward the new building, at the opening everyone feels like the finish line has been crossed. The board and staff relax.

In fact, for a short period after opening a new museum building or major expansion, everyone can and should relax. Rest is needed and probably well-deserved.

The danger, however, is that the staff and board will lose energy, focus, and momentum. The Building Failure Syndrome is characterized by the often unarticulated assumption that the new building, by itself will be the engine for continued growth and success of the museum. But buildings don't work that way. As the novelty wears off, the museum may experience a reduction in attendance, foundation support, and membership gains. Vision narrows. Even a beautifully articulated strategic plan won't overcome a lack of strategic thinking or behavior. The institution ages prematurely.

Another outcome of the Building Failure Syndrome is that other areas of the museum are put on hold or cannibalized for the new building. Thus, just when these aspects of the museum are needed—after the opening—they are the weakest. Some museums manifest the Building Failure Syndrome when the capital funding folks fall behind schedule, but the building goes ahead as planned. This "buy now pay later" strategy crippled the Baltimore City Life Museum which is currently closed—its new building standing idle—its very existence jeopardized.

Thirty years ago, as chief instructor for the Outward Bound schools, I learned a strategy that can help overcome the Building Failure Syndrome. Outward Bound took sixteen-year-olds to climb 14,000-foot Colorado mountain peaks. They climbed in the same way museums build new facilities. All the energy gets focused on getting to the top. Once achieving the peak, everyone collapsed, rested, and enjoyed the success. Energy and motivation dropped. The commitment to climb down was low and, in fact, plummeted as the kids stood up and felt those tired muscles.

As a result, my teams of twelve Outward Bound students tended to linger on the top late into the afternoon. Anyone who knows high mountains knows this is a dangerous situation. Late afternoon thunderstorms build on mountain tops and bring rain, hail, sleet, and snow — even in midsummer. Leaving the top late may mean you'll descend in the dark. During descents, mental energy is low; accidents are most likely to occur. Descending is simply not as energizing as reaching for the summit.

Thus, managing a group of neophyte mountain climbers required what I called peak-to-peak goal setting. During the long, hard climb to the top of a 14,000 footer, the leader needed to motivate the team to the goal. About 80 percent of the way up, when the goal was attainable and the momentum would take the climbers to the top, I introduced a new goal. It was my job to broaden the focus, to begin to lead with a dual goal system. I needed to point to the next peak which might, in fact, not be a peak at all. It might sound something like this:

"When we reach the summit, we'll be able to look down in the valley and we'll see steam coming up. My friends, that's a wilderness hot spring. It's got a beautiful stone pool we can soak in tonight if we get down in time."

Now reaching the summit included real satisfaction at the achievement of the first goal and a vision of the future. In a short time the young people were enjoying being on top of the mountain, but their minds were also on the hot spring!

How can peak-to-peak goal setting overcome Building Failure Syndrome? It pushes the museum to look to the next goal even before the new building is finished. It makes it clear that after opening the new facility, there is little time to rest.

Peak-to-peak goal setting is a basic contribution of leadership. Leaders must be in front ahead of the rest of the organization. Just when goals are about to be achieved, the leader is already looking at the goal beyond the goal, the plan beyond the plan. Otherwise, once the goal is reached, once the building is opened, the institution may relax into a drift guided only by languid glances into the rear-view mirror.

Although a letdown can occur following the attainment of any goal, it is extremely common when the goal is a new facility. Facilities are tangible, like mountain summits. The museum's other goals may not be as concrete as bricks and mortar and they often suffer from a lack of resources. For this reason, leaders must articulate a vision that captures powerful and motivating values, inspiring programmatic goals and a new commitment to long-term care of the collection.

One tool to that can protect against the "buy now, pay later" thinking that often precedes the Building Failure Syndrome is for the board and staff to agree on a contingency plan and vote it into the official minutes. It may look like this:

Resolved: In order to break ground, the minimal performance requirement for capital gifts are:

• 75% of the required amount for the whole building in hand.
• 25% promised.

If these minimums are not reached ground breaking cannot occur without a unanimous vote of the board. Any modification that reduces the scope of the building due to reduced capital gifts must be a prorated reduction to match the reduction in capital gifts.

Another treatment for Building Failure Syndrome is integrated strategic thinking or balance. Just as you can't double one ingredient in a cake recipe without increasing the others, so you can't double a facility without increasing the exhibitions and programs and making adjustments in staff. Without strategic thinking and balance, you may get a bigger cake, but you wouldn't want to eat it!