Judging by the morose and hysterical rhetoric that has emanated from the Democratic Party and its ideological allies during the past couple of days, one might have thought that President Trump had announced his intention to send a squadron of B-2 bombers across the Potomac to completely level Washington, D.C. Having shared a carefully cropped photograph of construction at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, California’s governor, Gavin Newsom, complained yesterday evening that, by making his well-publicized changes to the East Wing, Donald Trump is “literally destroying the White House.” In no less an indignant tone, former First Lady Hillary Clinton agreed, griping that “it’s not his house. It’s your house. And he’s destroying it.” Elsewhere, Kennedy scion Maria Shriver confessed that the project “breaks my heart and it infuriates me,” while The Bulwark’s Jonathan V. Last insisted that “razing the Trump ballroom and restoring the White House to pre-Trump status is non-negotiable.” In the usual circles, the usual suspects were thrilled to agree.
Of all the reasons to criticize President Trump, this must count as the silliest. Often, Trump deserves the opprobrium that is cast his way. Here, he most decidedly does not. This, to put it plainly, is a non-story, a freakout, a fiction spun from whole cloth. There is not a grain of truth here, but a vacuum. Trump is replacing a handful of office buildings with a ballroom. That’s it. No more, and no less.
As a general matter, there is nothing intrinsically wrong with a president making changes to the White House. Nor, for that matter, is there anything sinister about his approving complicated construction projects that involve the temporary removal of one of its walls.
Over the years, presidents of both parties and of all leadership styles have done precisely this, and nobody has cared one whit. Some of those presidents, such as Harry Truman and Theodore Roosevelt, used public money to pay for their modifications. Some, such as John F. Kennedy, Dwight Eisenhower, and Gerald Ford, raised private funds. In all cases, they left the White House in a different state than they found it; in no cases did that decision imply incipient fascism, betray an inappropriate sense of permanent ownership, or justify tears and outrage from the president’s political critics.
The history of the White House is one of frequent revision. Started in 1792, the project was completed in 1800, at the tail end of John Adams’s sole term. In 1814, during the War of 1812, it was so badly damaged by British soldiers after the Battle of Bladensburg that it required substantial rebuilding — a project that began in 1815 and ended in 1817, during the first Monroe administration. The South Portico was added in 1824, for James Monroe, and a balcony was added to it in 1948, for Harry Truman. The North Portico was added in 1830, for John Quincy Adams. Since then, various ancillary elements have been added or amended, either to make it more useful to the modern presidency or to satisfy the whims of the current occupant.
The famous West Wing of the building was constructed in 1902, during the administration of President Theodore Roosevelt, so that the executive offices that he and his staff used could be properly separated from the mansion’s residential quarters. The Oval Office was added in 1909, during the administration of William Howard Taft, and then renovated and moved in 1934, during Franklin D. Roosevelt’s first term. The East Wing was added in 1902, at the same time as the West Wing, and modernized during the Second World War to add a second story of offices and to help conceal the Presidential Emergency Operations Center/PEOC that had been built under it. The Executive Residence was completely gutted and reconstructed by President Truman between 1948 and 1952, after an architectural report found that it was unfit for purpose.
The Family Theater was added in 1942, remodeled in 1982, and refurbished again in 2004. In 1933, President Roosevelt added an indoor swimming pool, which, in 1970, President Nixon filled in and transmuted into the current Press Briefing Room. In 1975, President Ford added an outdoor swimming pool on the South Grounds, which remains there to this day.
President Truman added a bowling alley in 1947, which President Eisenhower moved to the Old Executive Office Building in 1955. In 1969, President Nixon abandoned that innovation and built a new bowling alley under the North Portico. In 1902, President Theodore Roosevelt added a tennis court, which President Taft moved to the South Lawn in 1911, and which President George H. W. Bush enlarged in 1989. In 2009, President Obama retrofitted that tennis court so that it could also be used for basketball. In 2020, President Trump added a pavilion to the tennis facilities. In 1954, President Eisenhower had a putting green installed on the South Lawn. This was removed by President Richard Nixon, reinstalled in 1991 by President George H. W. Bush, and then moved by Bill Clinton a couple of years later.
There is nothing different — or even particularly interesting — about President Trump’s decision to replace a bunch of 1940s-era East Wing office buildings with a ballroom. Nor is it unusual for this alteration to have been paid for with private funds. Certainly, one may quibble with President Trump’s often gaudy design preferences. But, objectively, the White House lacks entertainment spaces, and the addition of a new facility will clearly help to alleviate that problem. The capacity of the State Dining Room is 140, and the capacity of the East Room is 200 (perhaps 250 if guests are seated cheek by jowl), which means that, at present, it is common for large White House functions to be held in temporary tents that have been erected at great cost on the South Lawn. When complete, the new ballroom will hold 999 guests. The justification for this is so obvious that the idea was first proposed by President Harrison — back in 1891.
Adding a ballroom is not akin to “destroying” the White House. Using mechanical diggers to prepare for renovations is not moving or scary or poignant or worthy of elevated emotions. Altering a modern part of the executive branch’s headquarters is not in any sense sullying “your house.” Good grief, people. Pull yourselves together.