Chapter Eleven

CHANGING OF THE GUARD

Remember, change is our friend.

—CO Joe Camp to the Camp David crew

THE PRESIDENCY IS a transient job. As the saying goes, you’re a tenant, not an owner. You come into office with years ahead of you to accomplish your goals. But in what seems like the blink of an eye, it’s over, and you’re passing the torch to the next leader.

The same is true, albeit on a much smaller scale, for those who serve at Camp David. Unlike the civilian support staff at the White House, a military crew runs Camp David, and members rotate in and out on a regular basis. Military personnel are accustomed to change. In fact, we welcome it because it’s how we grow in our careers. But that doesn’t mean that saying good-bye doesn’t tug at our heartstrings.

And so, when I became CO at Camp David, I knew that in two years my term would be over and I’d be off to another assignment. The end came faster than I expected, and I’ve often thought about the lasting impact those two short years had on me and my family.

The speed of coming and going can be dizzying. CO Reuning marveled that one minute he was at Camp David, and two weeks later he was riding the Metro to the Navy Yard in Washington, DC. We all feel that shock of change, especially since Camp David is so special. Even when we’re ready to go, a part of us wants to linger.

Leaving is like closing a book in the middle of the story. Since our terms don’t coincide with the presidents’, we don’t get the clean break that administrations experience. We’re left to look on from the outside to see how “our” presidents are doing—and when we’re lucky, we get to see them again. Michele, the girls, and I saw the Bushes twice after we left camp, the first time in Hawaii, when we were invited to the reviewing line at Hickam Air Force Base as they were returning from an overseas trip. Similar to Bob Reuning’s stark reality, we were at one moment on the flight line with the Bushes, catching up on things and posing for a family photo, and twenty minutes later we were in the food court on base ordering chicken nuggets for the kids. The second meeting was more memorable, and serious. On August 30, 2005, Bush came to Coronado to give a speech at Naval Air Station North Island commemorating the sixtieth anniversary of victory over Japan. Michele and I met the Bushes behind the stage for a brief chat and photo after his speech. The first thing they asked us, true to form, was “Where are the girls?” But after the pleasantries, the discussion turned more serious. The day before, Hurricane Katrina had hit the Gulf Coast, and Bush was extremely worried. He told me, “Mike, it was devastating, and the death and damage is significant.”

In his remarks at the ceremony, Bush said, “This morning our hearts and prayers are with our fellow citizens along the Gulf Coast who have suffered so much from Hurricane Katrina.” Later, looking at the photo we took with him, I was struck by how the presidency had aged him since our time at Camp David—before 9/11, the launch of the war in Iraq, and now Hurricane Katrina.

The Bushes were extremely thoughtful in remembering former commanders. After we left Camp David and while they were in office, we always received a Christmas card. The year they left the White House, Laura Bush sent us lithographed copies of all the new paintings and drawings she had placed in the cabins at Camp David. The cabin Red Oak had a picture of a red oak tree and birds. The lithographs came from the White House in a nice bound envelope.

After leaving camp, Mike Berry felt privileged to attend, along with other officers in his wardroom, the commissioning of the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan in 2003 and the commissioning of the aircraft carrier USS George H. W. Bush in 2009. When Barbara Bush saw them at the latter event, she exclaimed, “Look, George, it’s the guys from Camp David!” Their chaplain Jon Frusti, who was with them, told the president that they wanted to challenge him and his family to another wallyball game. President Bush was limping and using a cane after some surgery, but he looked at them and said, “We’d beat the socks off of you!” Still as competitive as always.

So, as much as Camp David is about the experience, it is an encounter with the bittersweet reality of endings. From the sidelines, the crews share the ups and downs of presidential comings and goings. When a president doesn’t win reelection or chooses not to seek a second term, there’s an especially poignant mood around the camp. CO Joe Camp remembered how downcast people were when President Bush 41 was defeated by Bill Clinton. The Bushes were much loved, and it was hard for some people to accept that they’d be leaving. However, the Bushes maintained a very positive attitude right to the end, although they couldn’t help feeling sentimental. In her memoir, Barbara Bush described their last weekend at the camp as “very touching—and very hard.” CO Camp organized a surprise farewell ceremony at the hangar that drew five hundred crew members and their families. He detoured the Bushes there on their way to the helicopter, and when they entered and saw the huge cheering crowd, they lost it. Camp gave a speech thanking the president and First Lady for all they’d done and how much they’d meant to the camp. When it was time for the president to say a few words, he was very emotional and choked up as he told the crew, “We Bushes have never considered you as troops. You are family… friends.”

Aware of how sad the crew was, Camp told them, “We’re going to have a new commander in chief. Remember, change is our friend. We embrace change.”

A similar mood undoubtedly accompanied Lyndon Johnson’s final days at the camp. According to Lady Bird Johnson, their last visit, on October 24, 1968, was “a gray and cheerless autumn day.” But she added that the flight in had been beautiful, and “we looked down on the Catoctin Mountains—a magnificent show of gold and bronze and green, and every now and then the scarlet of maples.” That was her final memory of the camp. Weeks later Richard Nixon would be elected president.

It would be a sad end for the Fords as well. Less than four years into his abbreviated administration, Ford was already out the door, having lost the election to Jimmy Carter. In The President Is at Camp David, W. Dale Nelson recounted Ford’s final moments at Camp David: “The Fords made one more visit on January 15. The record for that final weekend closes with a telling vignette. As he waited for the last helicopter ride back to Washington, the thirty-eighth president of the United States stood in an empty field house near the helipad, practicing his golf swing.”

Jimmy Carter’s one term came to an end not only amid disappointment but also while he was immersed in the drama of the final days of the Iran hostage crisis. He never stopped pushing for their release, right up to the last second. Still working the phones, the president and Mrs. Carter nevertheless flew to Camp David on his last weekend in office. “I was torn about going,” Rosalynn Carter wrote. “I had loved it so and anticipated great difficulty in going through the weekend, knowing that never again would we enjoy the solitude, the beauty, the relief, it had given us for four years. But this was not to be just like any other weekend.” Carter was on the phone constantly, conferring with the State Department and the situation room. And by Sunday, the news was good—the hostages would be released. As they boarded the helicopter to return to Washington, the Carters were elated. “Instead of leaving for the last time with sadness, we left with happiness and the highest hopes,” Mrs. Carter wrote. On the helicopter, the president leaned over and kissed her. Although it was disappointing that the hostages weren’t officially released until moments after Reagan took the oath of office, nothing could take away from the Carters’ satisfaction.

On rare occasions, through death (Roosevelt and Kennedy) or resignation (Nixon), presidencies end very suddenly, and this is as traumatic for the crews that serve them as it is for the rest of the nation. I’ve been told that the camp crews throughout the Nixon presidency were very fond of the First Family, and they must have felt rattled at the end, especially since Nixon’s visits to the camp were more frequent during his final year. On the weekend before his resignation—before anyone, possibly even the president himself, knew he was resigning—Nixon came to the camp accompanied by Mrs. Nixon, Tricia and Ed Cox, Julie and David Eisenhower, and the president’s close friend Bebe Rebozo. Four years later, in his memoir RN, Nixon described the mood as those gathered experienced “the history and tragedy that lay behind our weekend together in this setting.” The Fords, when they arrived, went out of their way to establish good relationships, but it was a tough transition.

When a president leaves office after eight years, the ending can feel dramatic for the nation, yet even more so for Camp David. During that time the camp will have been through several commanders and turnovers of Navy crew. Even so, hitting the eight-year mark is a bittersweet time for the presidential family, especially those who have loved Camp David. The Reagans, with their record-setting attendance at the camp, had an emotional farewell the weekend before Bush’s inauguration. A large gathering in the hangar included the Navy and Marine crew, as well as personnel from the communication agency, WHMO, and Catoctin Mountain Park. It was at this gathering that President Reagan dubbed the camp “the good ship Camp David,” and said, “Of all the things about the presidency, we will miss Camp David the most.” Fighting tears, Mrs. Reagan was unable to speak.

Bob Reuning remembered a similarly emotional farewell on George and Laura Bush’s last day at camp. But not surprisingly, there was one twist completely unique to Bush. He insisted on doing a challenging bike ride the morning of departure. Surveying the terrain, Reuning was concerned. The weather had been very cold and the trails were icy to varying degrees. They’d had to cancel a ride the previous day. But Bush wouldn’t be deterred. He wanted that ride. Slipping and sliding, they took off, Reuning holding the rear in case there was a problem with any of the riders. There were a number of spills, though not by the president. As the ground thawed it became muddy, so Reuning finished the ride covered in mud. Bush was happy although it was possibly his last ride ever at Camp David.

Reuning raced to Cedar to clean up and change into his dress uniform for the chapel service and farewell ceremony. These were very emotional; the president kept looking around, as if to capture the scene in his memory. What Reuning remembered most was the final walk to Marine One. Before Bush boarded, he gave Reuning a big bear hug and said, “You’re a good man, Bob.” Reuning replied, “God bless you, sir. We’ll miss you.” He was crying as he shook Mrs. Bush’s hand and repeated that they’d miss her. “The boss went up the steps, turned to me, and saluted. I saluted him back, but he was already gone. I saluted again and held it until he sat, and then I began my walk. As the helicopter lifted, we started to wave. I could see them waving through the window. I gave the president a thumbs-up and I thought I saw one in return.”

One of the great gifts of Camp David is the complete absence of politics. As citizens, we all have our political preferences, but as military in service of the president, we put those views aside. The party ceases to matter. It’s the president of the United States who earns and deserves our respect—and he gets it. But nearing the end of a president’s second term, when we know for sure there’s going to be a change, we’re eager to see who our new boss will be. This got a little bit complicated at camp in 2000.

At the time we were allowed to use Laurel for wardroom events when the president wasn’t there, so Michele and I hosted an election-night party for the officers and their wives. We asked all the guests to bring a special dish from their home states. In addition to our dish, Michele made a red Jell-O mold in the shape of the United States with each state outlined. We had the TV on so we could watch the returns, and as each state was called for Bush or Gore, we’d slice that state off the “map,” and someone would eat it. When Florida was called, it was cut off and eaten. And when it was uncalled, things got very messy. Most of the officers and spouses stayed well past midnight, but by around three in the morning, it was just Michele and me and the XO and his wife, John and Lisa Coronado. When it finally dawned on us that we weren’t going to know who our new president would be for some time, we quickly cleaned up the remaining items, straightened out the pillows, turned the television and lights off, and departed Laurel. It would be weeks before the election was settled in George Bush’s favor, and we went ahead with our usual planning without knowing that key detail. (In 2016, Michele sent her Jell-O mold to the camp commander for their election-night event.)

The final days of Clinton’s administration were a busy time for the camp. The Clintons visited camp for New Year’s and I had asked Mrs. Clinton if we could meet to discuss their final visit, and she suggested we spend a few minutes talking in Laurel after the service that Sunday. She was Senator-Elect Clinton now, having won her senate seat in New York, and I congratulated her. The president joined us, to my surprise, and we sat at the small table in the living room. We spent a few minutes talking about my next assignment, in Hawaii, and they said Hawaii was their favorite place—very relaxing and peaceful.

They told me that their last visit would be the weekend of January 12. They were very pleased with the idea of having a farewell ceremony in the hangar just before they flew away for the last time. And then, as we finished our meeting and stood up, they kept talking—one of those moments of not letting go. They expressed once again their pleasure with the Christmas decorations and how happy they were with the renovations we’d done at Aspen, and then some world events were discussed. Chelsea walked in and said that she and Buddy would be there for the last weekend as well.

Weeks before the final visit, President Clinton and WHMO held a farewell ceremony for the chief of staff John Podesta, and each WHMO commander was invited to offer a few words and present a gift symbolic of his unit. I headed to the gift shop in Shangri-La for mine. It was a favorite place for members of the government as well as outside guests. One of the most desired items is the Camp David bathrobe, available in white or blue terry cloth with the impressive presidential seal on the left breast pocket. I purchased a white bathrobe.

When it was my turn at the ceremony, I went onstage, said a few words, and presented Podesta with the bathrobe. People in the crowd shouted, “Try it on!” so I helped Podesta put on the bathrobe over his nice dark suit. When he took it off, his now not-so-dark suit was covered in white lint. Either he didn’t really notice or he decided to be gracious. He smiled and said thank you, and back to my seat I went, cringing.

During a period of six days, many guests of the Clintons came to the camp—the cabins were always full. Large groups of White House staff members also came for a tour—their last chance. We were definitely the most popular destination that week.

The Clintons arrived in the evening on January 12. Observers at the landing zone included many of the cabinet secretaries and crew families, including mine, and the Clintons were greeted with cheers. Clinton walked the line to shake hands, and he reached out and gave Michele a big hug. That night Phoebe Snow performed in Evergreen.

The Clintons returned to Washington early the next day, Saturday, to do some packing, but we had a full plate at the camp. It was Capitol Hill Day, and we entertained many members of Congress and their families. We had a heck of a time keeping people from taking photos. At one point, I had to stop a woman from photographing the president’s office in Laurel. This occurred as I was giving a tour to the guests, something that our seasoned petty officers do on more typical weekends. We were so pushed that all hands on deck reported for duty. The CO was no exception. In my group were Senator Patrick Leahy, his wife, Marcelle, and Senator Jon Corzine.

That evening the Clintons returned, and they invited us to dinner at Laurel, where they would be entertaining some of the congressional guests. When we arrived, we were impressed by the way the crew had transformed the Laurel conference room into a dining room with twelve round tables. The room was packed. Before we ate, I had a nice conversation with Senator Max Cleland, a highly decorated Vietnam War veteran and a triple-amputee. He was as excited as a kid to be there. I heard him call someone on his cell phone and exclaim, “I’m at Camp David!” He was incredibly gracious and appreciative, and I thought to myself, What a great attitude. There’s no way I could ever have a bad day in this assignment. Michele and I got in line at the buffet and then squeezed into our seats at the Leahys’ table. It was good to recognize a few more familiar faces from the tour earlier that day. President Clinton spoke and told some jokes, his charisma on full display, and the mood in the room was very festive. After dinner we returned to the chapel, where Don Henley gave a six-song acoustic performance.

Sunday dawned, the final day of farewell for the Clintons. After a chapel service, we had a nice event in front of the altar where we made remarks and gave gifts to the First Family. We presented them with a reproduction of the chapel bell on a piece of flagstone. Michele and Ginger Williams, our chaplain’s wife, gave Chelsea the photo of her dad talking to children that had hung in the chapel annex for almost eight years. Wayne Wold, the choir director, gave the president his choir folder and a copy of the last song he’d sung signed by all the choir members. I gave them a framed picture of the First Family in front of the USS Endicott bell. The president and First Lady each made warm remarks, and we all felt emotional.

That evening, over three hundred people gathered for the final ceremony in the hangar. It was an upbeat occasion, and the Clintons—including Buddy—mingled with the crowd and then stood for pictures with the crew. I opened with brief remarks, introduced Mel Poole, the Catoctin Mountain Park superintendent, and then President Clinton and Senator-Elect Clinton spoke. Chelsea and Buddy sat patiently on the stage to one side and took it all in. Later that evening, we assembled at the landing zone to see the Clintons off for the last time. (That’s when Chelsea gave me the stuffed animals for our girls.)

“And so they were gone,” I wrote in my journal. “I must admit, I felt an empty feeling of sorts, but I was also very anxious, excited and curious how our new ‘neighbor’ would be in his presidential retreat.”

Seven months later, it was my turn to leave. Because the Bushes visited so often in that short period, we felt close to them and were anticipating our final good-bye. The Bushes were scheduled to visit camp one last time on my watch in late July, but, very untrue to form, they had to cancel the visit. I was disappointed that we wouldn’t see them at the camp again. But one day I was in my office and received a call from Ashley Estes, the president’s secretary, who said, “Please hold for the president.”

President Bush greeted me very warmly, apologized for canceling the visit the previous weekend, and then invited my family to the Oval Office to say good-bye. It was a very gracious invitation. Michele, Briana, Ryanne, and I drove down to the White House and were ushered into the Oval Office. The president treated us like honored guests, spending thirty minutes showing us around the office and the Rose Garden, and he really focused on talking to the girls about his surroundings. He then wrote a few personal lines to each of my daughters, and we took a few family photos, which we later received with a handwritten note from the president. It was, needless to say, the high point of our farewell activities.

Mike O’Connor and his family were also invited to the White House for a farewell with Bush 43. The president said to eight-year-old Julia, “How’d you like to sit in my chair?” She came around and sat, dwarfed behind the large Resolute desk. He told her it was the first time he’d ever let anyone sit in his chair.

Mike Berry, who had served three years instead of the normal two, was ready when it was time to go. However, he’d be staying in town. Because his new post was in Washington, he and Dee decided to keep their daughter, Kristi, in high school in Thurmont; Ken had graduated the year before. They bought a house in Frederick and Berry planned to commute to work. “My commute took me three-plus hours a day,” he said. “But that’s what dads do.”

When his replacement, Joe Camp, reported two weeks before the change-of-command, Berry was very busy showing him the ropes, remembering well his own take on things three years earlier, when he was a newbie—“like trying to take a drink out of a fire hose.” There are so many people, agencies, staffs, and departments involved with Camp David and they’re all interconnected in many ways, and all focus on the commander. It’s no wonder a new commander can initially feel overwhelmed.

Meanwhile, he and Dee tried to have as many people over for dinner as possible so they could thank them for all the support. They often said that what they’d miss most about Camp David was the great people they’d worked with—a sentiment shared by other commanders.

The day before Berry’s change-of-command, President Bush 41 asked Berry and his wife to come down to the Oval Office, along with both sets of parents, and he surprised Berry with an award ceremony. It was overwhelming and humbling at the same time, but, Berry noted, it was so typical of President Bush to go the extra mile for someone on his staff. That night they were all invited back to the White House East Room as presidential guests for a performance of Forever Plaid.

It was perfect weather for the change-of-command ceremony the next day. When Joe Camp said, “I relieve you,” and Berry responded, “I stand relieved,” he said it felt as if a ten-ton load had been lifted off his shoulders.

But there’s no question that leaving can be very emotional. “The last time Bush was at church before we left, we felt pride and sadness,” Bob McLean said. “Change is constant, but you’re sad about every place you leave. My wife, who is very strong, held it together, but when we drove out of camp she started crying. Leaving something so special was hard, especially knowing you may never come back. We had a feeling that life was never going to be the same.”

Bob Reuning admitted that the end was not nearly as fun as the beginning change-of-command. “The most unique and memorable experience of my life was over,” he said. “But I knew it was coming and did my best to savor every remaining moment in camp. I wiped a grain of sand out of my eye when we drove off for the last time.”

“The end came up quickly,” said Russ Rang, echoing other commanders. One day, shortly before he left, he was walking to the game room with his daughter Anna, and she said—with little-girl logic—“Dad, the slower you walk, the faster you get there.” He asked her what she meant, and she repeated it: “The slower you walk, the faster you get there.” He knew one thing: the end came fast, no matter how much they tried to slow it down. On the last day, his older daughter, Lila, threw her arms around a tree and wouldn’t let go. “I had to drag her off,” he said. “We got in the car and drove out the gate for the last time, handing in our badges. I thought, I don’t work here anymore.”

August 9, 2001, was my change-of-command date, time for me to depart and turn over the camp operation to CO Mike O’Connor. This is the reality of command in the military; one day you’re the new kid on the block, and the next day you’re packing your bags. We accept this, but sometimes it’s not easy, and Camp David was no exception.

It was a beautiful fall day on the mountain and everything was set for the momentous occasion. Most of our family members were there. Naval Academy classmates, other Navy friends, and new friends were also there to share in our special day of turning over command after a successful time in charge.

There were several unique things about the ceremony. One was that I brought Briana and Ryanne and then Michele up on the stage, to recognize and thank them for their support during an incredible time. I gave them gifts—for Michele a diamond pendant necklace, and for the girls, Camp David teddy bears.

The second thing was my farewell speech, which was my last opportunity to recognize the crew and say thank you. I read a letter to the Sailors and Marines that I had served alongside for the past two years and thanked them for their incredible service, for their endless commitment, and for their kindness and friendship to me and my family. It was honest, heartfelt, and real. Michele later told me, “There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.”

After I concluded my remarks, Mike and I saluted, faced the WHMO director, and saluted again. Mike made his remarks, we were piped ashore, and the ceremony ended. Just like that, I was no longer the CO. It was time to cut a cake, toast the crew at the reception, and enjoy the company of family and friends. During the next few days we finished packing up for our move from Cedar, Camp David, Thurmont, Maryland.

At the end of it all, the one thing that I could assure Mike O’Connor of was that the president would not be visiting that night. And for me, my hat size hadn’t changed.

LEAVING CAMP DAVID was much different from every other pack-out in my Navy career. The small truck with shipping boxes was parked in the Cedar driveway; it received its contents and went to the warehouse down the hill. We were moving to Hawaii, not a bad consolation prize for having to turn over command and relocate from the mountaintop after an extraordinary two years.

As I was shuttling in and out of the house, checking box numbers and watching everything, one of my favorite Tom Petty songs, “Learning to Fly,” came on the radio. The poignant song captured my mood; once again I was adventuring out, feeling as if I had no wings, knowing I would learn to fly, yet still concerned about the landing.

I didn’t know it then, but looking back on it from a sixteen-year vantage point, I saw how many leadership lessons and experiences came from this one tour. While I learn from every assignment, the assignment to Camp David was the most bountiful. How do you talk to a president and his family members? How do you deal with the handlers, those around the president who sometimes have separate agendas? How do you greet a head of state? How do you try to be perfect but not micromanage? How do you make the routinely mundane seem utterly exciting? How do you balance family with work, especially in this very unusual duty? How do you keep your humility? And, how do you let go when your time is over?

Finally, the last items were packed and the last crate nailed shut and banded. Security labels were fixed and I signed each one. We had already taken our car to the Port of Baltimore to be shipped, so we wouldn’t be driving out of camp in the family car. A van with a driver arrived at Cedar to pick us up. We looked around one more time, feeling sentimental, and climbed in. Somehow, being driven out of camp added an even greater feeling of finality. We were no longer in control; we no longer had the freedom to go just anywhere. Our time was over. We were being escorted off the premises. We approached the gate and sentry, where we turned in our badges—the last time I would use badge no. 1.

There weren’t tears, but there was quiet in the van and, for me, a feeling of deep thanks and appreciation for this incredible honor of serving at Camp David mixed with a deep void of How can I possibly top this? Riding down the mountain, the lush summer forest blooming around us, and the picnickers looking out from their ordinary summer pursuits, we found ourselves gradually returning to the world outside. By the time we reached Thurmont, we had been unavoidably swept away by the winds of our next adventure.