Op-Ed: Imagining a female Camp David: Less tetherball, more SoulCycle

There’s a spectacular summer getaway in rural Maryland that, by federal decree, doesn’t show up on maps. Appointed with a gleaming fitness center and a chapel, and manned by a congenial if armed security force, this woodsy hideout has historically offered bowling, skeet-shooting, sledding, horseshoes and tennis. It sits on a mountain near Thurmont, about an hour’s drive from Washington, DC, which makes it an easy commute for the only person free to visit without an invitation: the president of the United States.

Right. This is Camp David, first adapted as a retreat by FDR, who called it Shangri-La. Since everyone’s getting baldly likened to Hitler these days, it’s worth noting that Shangri-La was long suspected to be FDR’s American answer to Berchtesgaden, the skiing town in the Bavarian Alps that was home to Hitler’s lavish hideaway. But in October, 1945, The Southeast Missourian debunked that story, revealing Shangri-La to be an oaken, unpretentious place full of “cast-off furniture” and mosquitos.

Not exactly a yin palace, then, or a feminist redoubt or a Women-Who-Glamp Hotel and Spa. Camp David is cartoonishly boyish in the way of Webelos and obsolete preppies — and it’s hard to imagine what a woman president (say, Hillary Clinton) might make of it.

Camp David turns out to be a library of rich commentary on who the American president is expected to be — and what his leisure time is expected to entail. Curiously, Shangri-La was originally not styled as a place to relax after the stress of presidential life, but rather an antidote to the “tedium” of that post, according to the 1945 article. Judging from the pictures, stimulation meant rocking chairs, S’Mores and tetherball. Amid the scent of Citronella.

To whom is this pleasure? To FDR, presumably, who liked it so much he brought Winston Churchill there. They sat awkwardly together, smoking, on a rickety bench. Midcentury bros. Or to Jimmy Carter, who thought the rustic getaway was the perfect place to hang with Egyptian President Anwar al-Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin. They huddled around an exceedingly low table, in frugal patio furniture, to plan the Camp David Accords.

How will Hillary Clinton fare in these environs? Should she get elected — the woman who, right-leaning pundits complain, works too hard and never has fun — will she have to pretend to like skeet-shooting and billiards? And grilling? The reason “happy camper” has broad application becomes clear every summer: You really are either a happy camper—overjoyed in bunks, cabins and mucky swimming holes — or you’re not. I suspect Clinton is an unhappy camper, which may be among the best things about her.

But that doesn’t mean, as David Brooks charged last spring, that Clinton does nothing for fun. It’s rather that women’s leisure time is largely opaque to men. The activities that are mysteriously laudable as “hobbies” — throwing horseshoes, for crying out loud — are pastimes that many women would demand a high six-figure salary to do on anything like a regular basis.

So what might an HRC Camp David look like? Well, first off, she’d be free to rename it. Eisenhower changed its name from Shangri-La to honor his grandson David. Following suit, Clinton could call it Charlotte — and to change the vibe she might drop the “Camp” entirely. Clinton might consider the word Retreat, which has a nice ring of thread-count and Netflix to it. If necessary, Clinton’s many friends — or Angela Merkel — could also do yoga or SoulCycle at a place called Charlotte’s Retreat.

The indoor pool at Camp David looks decent, and bug-free, but it’s an Olympic pool set up for laps; this would have to change. That pool cries out for wider margins, kitted out with upholstered pool chaises with side-tables for green juice and cold beer, and plenty of space for playing Words with Friends, or reading Emma Straub, Us Weekly and Foreign Affairs. Naturally, spa services would abound.

The billiards room could stay, but as Clinton plays both Chinese and Puerto Rican dominoes, that table might be sidelined to make dominoes the main event. For visiting dignitaries who are newcomers to these pastimes, a manual of gameplay might be sent in advance, along with the menu of spa services, so that facialists trained in a visitor’s skin type (Netanyahu’s rosacea, Hollande’s large pores) could be at the ready.

I’m further seeing, for visiting millennials, a spot for nail art at Charlotte’s Retreat, as well as Guinness on tap for everyone, and three dining rooms — overseen by Eric Ripert, Thomas Keller and Joël Robuchon. I also see an “Orange Is The New Black”-themed rec room with password-free access to every bingeable show. And of course an endless closet with Celine in all sizes. (Plenty of fleece will be on hand for men.)

In the various wings for overnight guests — no cabins anymore — would be dreamy and giant bedrooms. Last, throughout the joint would be secure laptops and an Apple Store-sized room of chargers, phones and tablets so Hillary Clinton could enjoy what will be, and ought to be, her absolute favorite two hobbies: Getting things done and running the country. Without a rifle or bobsled in sight.

Virginia Heffernan is filling in for Doyle McManus. Her new book is “Magic and Loss: The Internet as Art.”

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