Chapter Ten

DOWN THE MOUNTAIN

May all those who enter as guests leave as friends.

—Sign at the Thurmont Super 8

ONE OF THE certainties of an assignment at Camp David is that you’ll drive up and down the mountain literally hundreds of times during your tour. Especially if you have kids, which all of the commanders I spoke with did. It’s a strange juxtaposition between the elevated seclusion of Camp David and the small-town Americana that greets you in Thurmont. Camp David doesn’t have an actual address, and the name it’s officially listed under, Naval Support Facility Thurmont, also doesn’t have an address because it’s Camp David. If you’re confused, you’re not the only one. When we first arrived and registered Briana in school, Michele gave Naval Support Facility Thurmont as our address, only to receive a call from the principal, who could find no such location. “Where do you live?” she asked a bit suspiciously.

The town itself, however, is very real. I wasn’t familiar with Thurmont before I came to Camp David, but it would become a touchstone of ordinary life while we were at camp. It’s where we had a post office box for mail delivery. It’s where my daughters went to school. It’s where the military housing was. It’s where Michele brought the girls to play with their friends in military housing. And it’s where we shopped at the local Food Lion, got gas at Sheetz, and could have an ordinary dinner out at the Mountain Gate Family Restaurant or get fried chicken at the Cozy Restaurant. And like most people who have served at Camp David, I became very comfortable at the Super 8 in Thurmont. It’s the humble lodging where I stayed before my first visit and interview in 1998 and where my extended family stayed during my change-of-command ceremony. The night before, we gathered to eat at Jennifer’s Restaurant in nearby Frederick, known for hearty meals—pasta, steak, and burgers. Jennifer Dougherty, the proprietor, was elected Frederick’s first female mayor in 2001. At dinner we made toasts and offered our thanks. Michele spoke of my career, my dreams of command, and read a poem from her mom on success. It meant a lot to me. Everyone felt completely at ease down the mountain—and a little nervous though excited about what awaited us above.

And so, in a book about Camp David, I wanted to step aside and credit this place that is not Camp David for the role it plays in the life of the camp.

Mike Berry’s wife, Dee, kept a diary while Berry was CO. A notable feature in it is the dizzying descriptions of her many trips up and down the mountain. Not only was she the mother of two teenagers, but she also took a part-time job as a fifth-grade language arts teacher in the Frederick County School District. Back and forth she went, dropping off the kids and picking them up from sports, gymnastics, playdates, and jobs, not to mention going grocery shopping at the Food Lion and visiting the library. A trip up or down the mountain can take twenty minutes, depending on the weather, and that’s not including the process of getting in and out of the gate, so you don’t want to be in a position of realizing you forgot to buy milk on your return. But working and living at Camp David means becoming an honorary citizen of Thurmont and the surrounding towns.

In many ways Thurmont is the foundation of all that goes on above. Yet with the exception of those who live in military housing, few people there will ever see inside Camp David. They might raise their eyes to the sky at the sound of helicopters or stop and watch when a motorcade turns up Park Central Road to enter Catoctin Mountain Park, but otherwise, the inhabitants go about their lives with barely a passing thought for Camp David—unless there’s a big summit, when the commotion can be a bit tough to miss.

Over breakfast at the Mountain Gate, the locals mostly stick to discussing neighborly gossip, town government, and goings-on at the senior center, the Thurmont Lions Club, and the farmers’ market. The annual Colorfest, a big fall event, has been a highlight of the year since 1963. There’s an abundance of local activity, as in most American towns.

Just as Camp David is not a luxury resort, Thurmont does not try to be an elegant vacation destination. It wears its history and proximity to greatness casually; walking around town, you’ll see little overt evidence of the role it plays in what goes on up the mountain. Yet Thurmont is a destination of its own. Just twenty-one miles from Gettysburg, it is part of a historic corridor named by the Federal Highway Administration the Catoctin Mountain Scenic Byway. Sleepy in winter, it springs to life in the summer as a popular destination for campers, hikers, fishermen, history buffs, and antique hunters. There is much history to be found here, including the historic Catoctin Furnace, in which slaves and European immigrants made bombshells during the Revolutionary War and which also supplied the area with iron products—an early example of American industry. Until the twentieth century, Catoctin Furnace was a company town, with iron-ore pits, houses, slave quarters, an Episcopal church, a school, and a company store. Today it is a tourist site maintained by the Catoctin Furnace Historical Society. There’s the original structure, Isabelle, the second furnace, and buildings from the early village. Visitors might be able to sample old-time johnnycakes along with their history lesson.

Thurmont, which celebrated its 265th anniversary in 2016, was called Mechanicstown when it was originally incorporated in the early 1700s. In addition to iron ore, there were many industries, especially after the Western Maryland Railway came through. One example of an inventive spirit was Jacob Weller, a blacksmith, who created the first strike matchsticks, originally called lucifers, in the early 1800s. (His home and workshop, called the Old Match House, is still standing.) Weller never believed his invention was worth patenting, so he didn’t make the fortune that was surely his due. But he earned a place in history.

The railroad opened the area to a thriving tourist population, as people sought to escape the hot, humid cities for the cool mountain air. But as the local historian George Wireman told the story, the name Mechanicstown became confusing with the arrival of the railroad. As Wireman explained, up the road from Mechanicstown was Mechanicsville, and then Mechanicsburg, and unless you were listening closely when the train conductor called out your stop, you might be left stranded in the wrong town—a pretty serious problem in the 1800s. In 1894, the town fathers decided to change the name. There were two finalists: Blue Mountain City and Thurmont. The townsmen voted for Blue Mountain City, but the choice was rejected by the U.S. Post Office as too cumbersome, so Thurmont it was. Thurmont, a combination of German and French root words, meant “gateway to the mountains.” The name change was made official on January 18, 1894, by the Maryland legislature.

To this day, the town of Thurmont proudly bears the moniker Gateway to the Mountains. But the second choice got some credit in a 2014 documentary called Almost Blue Mountain City: The History of Thurmont, Maryland. The film, produced by Chris Haugh, traced the town’s roots from the early German settlers, and it features colorful interviews with longtime Thurmont residents, including George Wireman. Until his death in 2012 at ninety-one, Wireman was the epitome of a local sage, his wiry energetic posture defying age. He was a fixture in Thurmont, and he wrote a book called Gateway to the Mountains, which is alive with the history of Thurmont. In Gateway he takes readers inside an essential American story where patriotism, industry, determination, and faith fueled a revolution and then a humble prosperity. “Gateway to the Mountains is a true story of achievement and invention as well as a story of marked progress by the many citizens who helped to build this historic little community, nestled in the foothills of the beautiful Catoctin Mountains of Western Maryland,” he wrote in the introduction.

Sadly, Wireman didn’t live to see the finished film. Other residents were featured as well. One, an elder named Louise Rover, reminisced about the days when Jackie Kennedy came down to Thurmont if she needed something at the drugstore. “Of course,” Rover said, laughing, “she wouldn’t have been interested in a dress shop.”

Jackie Kennedy helped bring one piece of Thurmont history to the White House, something Wireman described in colorful detail in the film and also in his book. It had to do with scenic wallpaper. In 1961, during the first year of the Kennedy administration, Gertrude Rowser Stoner, the widow of the former mayor William Stoner and part of a prominent Thurmont family, decided to sell the family home, which dated back to 1838. It was set to be razed, and as the demolition began, a Washington, DC, antique dealer named Peter Hill visited the house and was struck by the unique and stunning wallpaper from France, called Scenic America, that had hung in the hallway for a hundred and twenty-five years. The panoramic wallpaper was printed from multiple woodblocks and featured scenes of Boston Harbor, West Point, Niagara Falls, and other classic American settings. Hill purchased the wallpaper for fifty dollars. The question was how to remove it in the three days before the house came down. Hill brought a putty knife, a razor blade, and a sprayer filled with water and went to work. He removed the paper slowly and carefully, strip by strip. Then he took the paper to a friend of his at the Smithsonian and found out it was a very rare pattern. His friend, who knew of Mrs. Kennedy’s restoration plans for the White House, sent Hill to the White House curator, who showed it to the First Lady. She loved it and envisioned it providing a dramatic backdrop in the Diplomatic Reception Room. The National Society of Interior Designers purchased the paper from Hill for $12,500 and presented it to the White House as a gift. Today, guests at state dinners can look at this beautiful piece of art, which dominates the room.

Until it closed in 2015, the Cozy Inn, which was opened in 1929 by Thurmont native Wilbur Freeze, was the most significant point of connection between the town and Camp David. It began as a three-cabin lodging for those passing through and was the original housing for the Secret Service who protected President Roosevelt while he was at Shangri-La. In 1933 Freeze added a lunch counter and then a dining room. (The Cozy Restaurant closed in 2014, a year before the inn.)

The presidential retreat put Cozy on the map, as it began to play host to impressive dignitaries—not only Winston Churchill, as previously mentioned, but European royalty, presidential aides, cabinet members, and famous reporters.

After Wilbur Freeze died, in 1961, his son Jerry took over and began expanding the site, promoting its history and connection with Camp David. In 1967 a rustic waterwheel and covered bridge were added to the outside grounds. A beautiful mural by artist Andrew Charles Colley interpreted the colorful history of the Cozy, depicting characters from the Freeze family and the presidents going off to vacation at Camp David. At its peak, the Cozy Inn had seventeen rooms and five cottages, some featuring fireplaces and hot tubs and some named in honor of the presidents, with reproduction furniture and artifacts. The Roosevelt Room included hangings purchased from the Roosevelt Museum in Hyde Park. The Eisenhower Room was decorated in Mamie’s favorite colors, pink and green. The Kennedy Room contained a canopy bed, a reproduction of JFK’s rocker, and a bidet—a French item Jackie Kennedy introduced to America. The Johnson Room was in a western style, with a large spindle bed similar to the bed at Johnson’s ranch. The Nixon Room contained artifacts from the Richard Nixon Presidential Library. The Carter Room had a Georgian theme. The Reagan Cottage, which had a western theme but some luxurious accoutrements, was one of the most popular.

The Cozy Restaurant, where my family and I dined on occasion, had seating for two hundred and fifty people—a far cry from the original lunch counter. A huge bearskin rug on the wall was the centerpiece. The bear was said to have been shot by Herbert Hoover on a hunting trip to Alaska and given as a gift to Wilbur Freeze.

Wireman wrote that millions of people had dined at the Cozy Restaurant over the decades, eating jumbo crab cakes, fried chicken, and a full menu of comfort food, including homemade root beer. On a busy day, the restaurant might serve as many as eight hundred diners. “Through the years Cozy Restaurant has retained its homey relaxed atmosphere, quite untouched by any desire for splurge or grandeur,” Wireman wrote.

In 2005 the Freeze family introduced the Camp David Museum in the Cozy Village complex. It was open during restaurant hours and featured Freeze’s large collection of pictures and memorabilia, along with a gift shop. Jerry Freeze and his father before him had collected these items from a long list of dignitaries, reporters, presidential staff, and other visitors, making the museum a one-of-a-kind trip down memory lane of the presidential retreat.

Cozy was also distinguished as a press hangout, since it was nearly impossible for reporters to get close to Camp David. Camp David has always had an uneasy if not dismissive attitude toward the press. According to the late Helen Thomas, who was a regular at Cozy, as she staked out Camp David for many years while the First Family was at the camp, “Wire service reporters assigned the ‘body watch’ were escorted to a duck blind. It was a three-sided, wooden affair that had two telephones, and we spent many hours in all kinds of weather just watching and waiting for helicopters from Washington to land. Will someone please remind me how glamorous my job is?”

Thurmont became a central gathering spot and respite for the press, especially when big events were happening up the mountain. During the Camp David Accords in 1978, townspeople rubbed elbows with the likes of Walter Cronkite, David Brinkley, Barbara Walters, Sam Donaldson, and Helen Thomas.

Joe Reynolds, a well-known angler who claimed Hunting Creek as one of his favorite fishing locales, recalled heading there one day during the peace talks to find a CBS news team filming a segment with Walter Cronkite. “It was ‘Lights, camera, action’ right out there in the woods,” he marveled.

Daily briefings for the Camp David Accords were held at the American Legion Hall in Thurmont. Every morning reporters drove up from Washington and settled in for a vigil. On the last day, they waited eagerly for news of a signing, expecting to be ferried to Camp David or a nearby location where they could witness history being made. Late in the afternoon the word came: the signing was on, and it was to take place in ninety minutes at the White House. At that moment the principals were preparing to helicopter out of Camp David.

“Everyone made a mad dash to their cars,” wrote reporter Thea Rosenbaum. “We got out of that little town as fast as we could. On the highway we hit speeds of 90 miles an hour so we could report on the signing in the East Room.”

Because of the town’s proximity to history, Thurmont’s citizens felt a certain closeness to the brokers of Middle East peace. After the assassination of Anwar Sadat, Robert Kinniard of Kinniard Memorials took a stone from Hunting Creek, carved it into a smooth rectangle with lettering referencing Camp David, and sent it to Egypt.

For those Camp David residents and guests who are in danger of getting swelled heads from being so close to the power of the presidency, Thurmont offers a solid counterbalance. With Cozy gone, the Super 8 remains the main hotel in town. This is where potential commanders being vetted up the mountain will park their bags, where visiting families will stay during change-of-command weekends, where overflow guests will find themselves when the cabins at the camp are filled, where presidential aides will bunk down for the night, where members of the press will register while chasing a story. Like many before them, they’ll find themselves sitting down to a hearty country meal at the Mountain Gate, their thoughts straying up the mountain but their feet firmly planted in a real American town.