At nine o’clock on the evening of January 20, 1977, Walter Mondale and his wife Joan walked through the front door of a red-brick Queen Anne house on the grounds of the United States Naval Observatory in Washington, D. C. They were not the first people to sleep there, but they were the first to do so as the official, full-time residents of the Vice President of the United States. The house had waited eighty-four years for this moment, and for three of those years it had sat almost empty, a grand residence with no one to call its own.
As Mondale would later recall, the place felt like a dream—except that its every corner had to be made livable for a family that had just inherited the second-most demanding job in American government. The story of that house began long before any vice president ever considered it a home. In 1893, the United States Navy completed construction of a new residence for the superintendent of the Naval Observatory, which at the time occupied the same sprawling property in northwest Washington. The architect was Leon E.
Dessez, and he designed the house in the Queen Anne style that was then all the rage—an asymmetric façade, turret rooms, and a broad encircling veranda that invited long afternoons in the shade. Built of red brick and set amid the lush, overgrown grounds of what had once been a private estate called Northview, the house cost about twenty thousand dollars to erect, roughly seven hundred thousand in today’s money. The Navy regarded the expense as an investment in its growing observatory, and the superintendent who moved in found himself a quiet sanctuary—far enough from the city to feel removed, close enough to remain connected to the capital’s pulse. For nearly three decades, the house served its original purpose.
Then, in the early 1920s, the Chief of Naval Operations—one of the highest offices in the Navy—claimed it as his official residence. The house was renamed Admiral’s House, and for the next fifty years it became a home for the Navy’s most senior officers. Over those five decades, some of the most celebrated figures in American naval history lived within its walls, including Admiral Chester Nimitz and Admiral Elmo Zumwalt. For them, the house was both a private retreat and a stage for official gatherings, a place where the ceremonial life of the Navy unfolded in quiet evenings and formal receptions.
It became, in effect, a shrine to naval tradition. But the house was about to be called to a higher purpose, because American vice presidents had a problem that had grown more acute with every passing decade. For most of American history, the vice presidency had no official residence at all. The men who occupied the office made do with their own homes or with suites in hotels, and every time a new vice president took office, the Secret Service was forced to secure an entirely new location.
The cost was enormous, the logistics exhausting, and the arrangement was never stable. President Calvin Coolidge had once observed that the office ought to have a “stable and permanent home” befitting its growing importance. For nearly half a century, nothing was done about it. By the 1970s, the situation had become untenable.
The expense of securing private homes had skyrocketed, and the need for a stable, secure residence was undeniable. In 1974, Congress designated Admiral’s House as the official residence of the Vice President of the United States. The decision met with resistance from Admiral Elmo Zumwalt, the very man who then occupied the house. Zumwalt was so opposed to the plan that in 1976 he ran for the U.
S. Senate from Virginia—partly as a protest against losing his home. But the decision stood, and once Congress confirmed the transition, work began in earnest to adapt the house to its new role. Major renovations and extensive security upgrades transformed the property, yet even then, an odd formality persisted: the official documents continued to describe the residence as “temporary.
” That designation remains on the books to this day. The house was ready, but its first intended tenants never came. Vice President Gerald Ford was in place when the residence was designated, but before he ever had the chance to move in, Richard Nixon resigned and Ford became president. His successor, Nelson Rockefeller, chose instead to remain in his own luxurious residence nearby, using Admiral’s House only for entertainment purposes.
For nearly three years, the grand house sat waiting, its rooms prepared for a family that had not yet arrived. Then came Walter Mondale. When Jimmy Carter was elected president in 1976, the new vice president made a decision that would change the house forever. Rather than continue the old pattern of makeshift arrangements, Mondale committed to moving his family into the official residence.
On that January evening in 1977, the house finally received its first full-time residents. With each family that followed, the house gained a new identity. The Mondales embraced its potential for comfort and modernity, filling the rooms with rich colors, contemporary art, and Asian antiques—an aesthetic that complemented the house’s storied past. When George H.
W. Bush succeeded Mondale, he and his wife Barbara took a different approach, choosing a classic palette of light colors and softer tones. The Bushes loved the outdoors, and they added a jogging track and a horseshoe pit to the grounds, turning the residence into a place of active family life. Dan Quayle made the house more family-friendly still, installing a putting green on the lawn and converting attic space into additional third-floor bedrooms.
Some of these projects were funded by private donations, and each reflected the lifestyle of the family that lived there, while preserving the warm, welcoming atmosphere of the house itself. No family left a deeper mark than Al Gore’s. Gore delayed his move into the residence to allow for one of the most extensive renovations in the house’s history: the removal of asbestos, the complete updating of plumbing and electrical wiring, and the installation of more efficient heating and ventilation systems. For the Gores, the challenge was to modernize the old house while respecting its traditional charm.
Tipper Gore took on a task that would benefit every family to follow: she created a catalog of household items, tracking the furniture, artwork, and historical artifacts, so that future residents would know exactly what belonged to the house and what had been brought in by its occupants. Over the years, the changes continued, subtler but no less personal. During Dick Cheney’s tenure, the interiors were updated with neutral tones to suit the family’s needs. Joe Biden celebrated family heritage by adding a tree swing on the grounds and creating a heritage garden, a space that memorialized previous residents and their loved ones.
Mike Pence contributed a beehive and a basketball court. Kamala Harris and Doug Emhoff continued the tradition of making the space their own. Each gesture, each renovation, each personal touch reinforced the house’s dual character: a private refuge and a stage for public life. Number One Observatory Circle sits behind the secure gates of the Naval Observatory, closed to the public in a way the White House never is.
Its location provides a kind of freedom that no president could ever know. Here, the vice president can host foreign dignitaries, holiday gatherings, and diplomatic events in rooms that feel like a home—because they are a home. The privacy of the grounds allows each family to reshape the residence into a space that feels both personal and welcoming, blending the pressures of high office with the comforts of family life. The house has come a long way from its origins as the home of an observatory superintendent.
For a century, it has evolved in quiet, unforeseen ways, from naval residence to national symbol, from Admiral’s House to the official home of the second-highest office in the land. It has waited through presidents who never came, welcomed those who did, and absorbed the personalities of every family that passed through its doors. It remains, on paper, a “temporary” residence.
In practice, it has become something far more permanent: a home where the story of American democracy unfolds, one family at a time.
