Jason Svonavec on Why Supporting Small Rural Communities Is Personal
Jason Svonavec
If you drive through Somerset County on any given Saturday morning, you will probably pass a volunteer fire station holding a pancake breakfast, a Little League field where somebody's dad is dragging the infield, and a church parking lot full of trucks. These are not postcard scenes. This is just how small towns work. People show up for each other because if they do not, nobody else is coming.
Jason Svonavec grew up understanding this. And as a successful businessman who has built his career in the equipment industry since 1999, he has made it a point to put resources back into the communities that shaped him. Not because it looks good on a website, but because he has seen firsthand what happens when local investment disappears.
Small rural communities operate on a different economy than most people understand. There is the financial economy, sure — the jobs, the tax base, the local businesses. But there is also the social economy. The volunteer fire department that runs on donated time and hand-me-down equipment. The school that cannot afford to update its playground without outside help. The veterans memorial that only exists because a handful of families decided it should.
When Svonavec donated to help fund the Rockwood Veterans Park, it was not a PR move. It was personal. The park was built through a dollar-for-dollar community match, meaning local families put up their own money alongside the donation. That is how it should work. The community has skin in the game. The memorial means something because people sacrificed to make it happen.
The same goes for his support of local schools. When the Rockwood library needed resources and the Meyersdale Elementary playground needed upgrading, Svonavec stepped in because he knows that education is the first rung on the ladder for kids in these communities. Not every kid is going to leave for a four-year university. Some are going to stay and work in the trades, run equipment, start businesses of their own. And they deserve a school system that invests in them whether they are headed to college or to a job site.
Volunteer fire departments are another cause close to his heart. In rural areas, these are not professional departments with full-time staff and union contracts. They are your neighbors. The guy who runs the excavator on Monday is the same guy pulling on turnout gear at two in the morning when a barn catches fire. These departments run on donations, chicken dinners, and the goodwill of the community. When Svonavec invested in the New Centerville pulling track, it was partly about supporting the sport he loves but also about giving the local fire company a venue that generates revenue and brings people together.
There is a misconception in business that charitable giving is something you do once you have made it. That you wait until the balance sheet looks comfortable, then write a check and get your name on a plaque. Svonavec does not see it that way. He sees community investment as something that happens in real time, in response to real needs, because you are close enough to the ground to see what is actually needed.
That proximity matters. Big corporate philanthropy has its place, but it tends to be arm's-length. A check goes to a national organization, gets distributed through layers of administration, and maybe some fraction reaches the community that needs it. Local investment is different. You see the playground get built. You watch the fire truck pull into the station. You shake hands with the veteran who stands at the memorial on a cold November morning.
Through programs like Wreaths Across America, the Svonavec family participates in laying wreaths at veterans' graves during the holiday season. Through their support of Dogs for the Brave, they help fund service animals for veterans dealing with the invisible wounds that do not always get the attention they deserve.
None of this is complicated. It does not require a foundation or a board of directors. It just requires paying attention to what your community needs and then being willing to do something about it.
That is the version of success that actually means something. Not the number on a bank statement, but the answer to a simple question: Did you leave it better than you found it?