The Burning Tree Club is a prestigious, all-male private golf course located at 8600 Burdette Road in Bethesda, Maryland, founded in 1922 and known for its 224-acre championship layout designed by Charles Hugh Alison, its roster of presidential members, and its controversial policy that absolutely prohibits women from entering the property.
The club maintains approximately 600 invitation-only members, charges a $75,000 initiation fee plus $500 monthly dues, and famously pays $1 million annually in property taxes rather than admit women—a decision that has shaped its identity and sparked decades of legal battles.
Keep reading to discover the fascinating history, golf course details, membership access, and the cultural significance of one of America's most exclusive and controversial clubs.
Location, History, and the Origins of an All-Male Sanctuary
You'll find the Burning Tree Club at 8600 Burdette Road in Bethesda, Maryland 20817, nestled within Montgomery County on 224 acres of wooded, rolling terrain.
The property sits just steps from the Capital Beltway, yet the dense forest creates a remarkably secluded retreat from Washington D.C.'s constant motion.
If you need to reach the club directly, the phone number is (301) 365-1200, though don't expect much help unless you know a member.
The club's founding story in 1922 stems from a moment of frustration that would shape its entire identity.
A foursome of male golfers from the nearby Chevy Chase Club found themselves stuck behind a slow-playing group of female golfers.
Rather than simply complain about the pace of play, they decided to establish their own sanctuary where they could play uninterrupted—a place where women would never set foot on the course.
The club opened for play in 1923, and that founding philosophy has remained unchanged for over a century.
The name “Burning Tree” comes from something far more poetic than its controversial origins might suggest.
A particularly large oak tree once stood on the property, and during autumn, its vivid colors seemed to glow like fire against the Maryland landscape.
That tree gave the club its memorable name, even though the tree itself no longer stands.
Walter Tuckerman played a pivotal role in bringing the vision to life.
He contributed land to the project and helped establish the club's initial board, ensuring the sanctuary could actually open its doors. But the early years weren't easy.
During the Great Depression, the club teetered on the edge of collapse and reportedly came within one day of foreclosure before somehow surviving.
That near-death experience became part of the club's lore, a reminder that even exclusive institutions aren't immune to economic reality.
What makes the location particularly appealing is the contrast it offers.
You're essentially minutes from the nation's capital, close enough to return to political meetings or business obligations quickly, yet once you step onto the property, the surrounding forest makes the outside world feel distant.
This balance between accessibility and seclusion has made Burning Tree especially attractive to Washington's power players over the decades.
The Golf Course: Design Legacy, Layout, and Championship Pedigree
Charles Hugh Alison from the prestigious London firm Colt, Mackenzie & Alison designed the original layout, bringing European design sensibilities to the Maryland terrain.
Toomey & Flynn Contracting Engineers handled construction, though William Flynn himself returned after opening to perform additional work on the back nine.
This collaborative approach gave the course a layered quality that later architects would continue to refine.
The course has seen several significant modifications over the decades.
Robert Trent Jones Sr. made changes in 1963 and again in 1977, while Arthur Hills worked on the layout in 1998. Rich Mandell and Ed Ault also contributed adjustments in 1963.
Most recently, Gil Hanse completed a restoration that critics have praised for enhancing the course's strategic subtleties while respecting Alison's original vision—a delicate balance that many restoration projects fail to achieve.
Course Specifications:
The layout plays to a par 71 with an unusual quirk—no par 5s exist on the course because one founding member reportedly disliked them.
Length varies depending on which tees you play, ranging from 6,400 yards at the member tees to 6,748 yards from the championship markers.
The course rating sits between 70.8 and 72.5, with slopes ranging from 122 to 130.
Both greens and fairways feature Bermuda grass, which handles the Maryland climate well and provides excellent playing surfaces.
The course has a distinctive characteristic you'll notice immediately: all but one hole doglegs from left to right.
This pattern might sound repetitive, but Alison created variety through intricate bunker placements and green complexes that demand different approaches.
The rolling terrain emphasizes aerial play, with numerous fronting bunkers and false fronts that punish ground-game attempts.
The front nine asks you to think strategically, emphasizing shotmaking and finesse over raw power.
The back nine flips that script entirely, demanding boldness and aggression if you want to score well.
This shift in playing style keeps the round interesting and tests different aspects of your game.
Several holes stand out for their challenge.
The 7th features a creek that comes into play and creates genuine anxiety over club selection.
The short 13th looks innocent but features severe slopes that make par feel like a victory.
The course delivers strong finishing stretches at holes 4-6, 10-12, and 15-18, meaning you can't coast at any point during the round.
Golf Digest has ranked Burning Tree as the 4th best course in Maryland from 2019 through 2026.
The course previously held top 5 rankings from 1987 to 1991 and has consistently appeared in the top 10 through various years.
The greens represent the course's greatest strength, featuring subtle contours that reveal themselves only after multiple rounds.
The conditioning is exceptional, with perfectly manicured surfaces and excellent caddie service enhancing the playing experience.
One remarkable piece of history speaks to the club's political connections.
When engineers designed the Washington Beltway in 1961, their original plans would have bisected the back nine.
Politically connected members successfully lobbied to have the highway rerouted, preserving the course's integrity.
That kind of influence is hard to imagine today, but it demonstrates the club's power during its mid-century heyday.
Members have historically enjoyed relaxed dress codes, including the ability to play shirtless during hot weather—a small detail that reflects the club's commitment to creating a comfortable, all-male environment where traditional country club formality takes a backseat to pure golf enjoyment.
Membership Structure, Costs, and Presidential Power Players
The club caps membership at approximately 600 people, and you can't simply apply—you need an invitation from an existing member.
The initiation fee officially sits at $75,000, though some sources suggest the actual cost reaches into the millions depending on circumstances.
Monthly dues run $500, which works out to roughly $6,000 annually. These figures don't include the burden members have collectively shouldered since 1989, when the club chose to forfeit its open-space tax exemption rather than admit women.
That decision costs approximately $1 million in annual property taxes on property assessed between $15 and $20 million, a financial commitment that speaks volumes about members' dedication to preserving the club's character.
The member roster remains strictly private, but historically it has drawn from Washington's power corridors—lawyers, lobbyists, Fortune 500 executives, businessmen, and policymakers who valued the club's proximity to the capital and its no-business-talk philosophy.
Presidents Who Held Honorary Membership:
Eight U.S. presidents received honorary membership at Burning Tree, turning the club into a genuine power center during American politics' most consequential decades.
Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry S. Truman, Dwight D. Eisenhower (who was particularly active), John F. Kennedy, Lyndon B. Johnson, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, and George H.W. Bush (who carried an 11-handicap) all spent time on these fairways.
The club's heyday ran from the 1940s through the 1960s, when a round of golf here could influence policy as much as any formal meeting downtown.
The contrast with recent administrations is stark. George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Donald Trump, and Joe Biden have all either declined membership or avoided the club entirely due to its discriminatory policy. This shift reflects changing attitudes about public association with exclusionary institutions, even private ones.
Beyond presidents, the roster reads like a who's who of American power. Chief Justice Warren Burger and Justice Antonin Scalia both belonged. House Speaker Tip O'Neill played alongside Senator Robert A. Taft.
Journalist Edward R. Murrow was on the 10th hole when he learned about the Pearl Harbor attack.
Media mogul William Randolph Hearst, television personality Bryant Gumbel, CBS newsman Robert Schieffer, and Fox News anchor Bret Baier have all walked these fairways.
The club witnessed significant historical moments beyond presidential rounds.
Watergate-related meetings took place here, and Gordon Liddy famously tracked down U.S. Attorney General Richard Kleindienst at the club the day after the break-in—an episode that captures both the club's political centrality and the casual way power operated in that era.
When Sandra Day O'Connor became the first female Supreme Court Justice in 1981, she inadvertently broke a longstanding tradition.
The club had previously extended honorary memberships to all Supreme Court Justices, but despite her 12-handicap—better than many members—O'Connor never received an invitation.
The tradition simply ended rather than accommodate a woman, even one serving on the nation's highest court.
The club even penetrated pop culture.
A Seinfeld episode called “The Bottle Deposit” featured Elaine bidding on golf clubs supposedly used by President Kennedy at Burning Tree on the morning of the Bay of Pigs Invasion—a fictional moment that nonetheless captured the club's place in American consciousness as a venue where history happened between shots.
The All-Male Policy: Founding Philosophy and Club Culture
The prohibition on women at Burning Tree is absolute in a way that few modern institutions can claim.
Women cannot be members, guests, or employees.
The property doesn't include women's locker rooms or bathrooms because, quite simply, women aren't supposed to be there.
The club was founded explicitly to provide uninterrupted golf for men, and that founding principle has survived a century of social change with remarkable consistency.
The few exceptions prove how rigid the rule really is. Since the 1990s, members' wives can book appointments at the pro shop in December—but only on Saturdays during restrictive hours—to shop for holiday gifts.
A spring cocktail party occasionally permits women onto the grounds.
That's essentially it. Female U.S. Secret Service agents and Army EOD personnel have been turned away when attempting security reviews for presidential visits, a decision that prioritizes policy over practical safety concerns.
Club lore mentions only one woman who ever touched the course: a pilot who made an emergency landing near the 18th hole in the 1950s and was immediately escorted off the property once her plane was dealt with.
What makes this policy particularly interesting is how it shapes the entire club culture.
The bylaws prohibit professional or business discussions, focusing solely on golf and camaraderie.
This isn't just a rule posted on a wall—the physical space enforces it.
The grill room features long communal benches rather than individual tables, encouraging members of different political affiliations to sit together regardless of whether they'd normally socialize.
This tradition dates back to an era when Richard Nixon sponsored John F. Kennedy for membership, and the club held annual Republican versus Democrat tournaments.
The forced proximity created unlikely friendships and reminded powerful men that they could disagree on policy while sharing a meal after a round.
The clubhouse itself feels like a museum of golf history.
Antique clubs from famous members hang on the walls, while flags honoring distinguished members decorate the locker room.
Caricatures celebrate members who have belonged for 10 or more years.
The atmosphere has what one observer described as a “faded, sepia-tinged tone”—a deliberate connection to a different era that the club sees no reason to update or apologize for.
Privacy remains paramount. Club officials maintain a “longstanding policy of refraining from public comment” on virtually any topic.
Most public mentions of membership now appear only in obituaries, when the information becomes part of someone's permanent record.
This silence has become part of the mystique, a refusal to engage with critics or defend choices to people who wouldn't understand anyway.
The context makes Burning Tree's stance even more striking. It's one of only about eight remaining all-male golf clubs in the United States.
No other golf club in the Washington D.C. region or Maryland maintains such an exclusionary policy.
Even Augusta National Golf Club, perhaps the most famous example of golf exclusivity, admitted female members in 2012.
Burning Tree watched Augusta change, watched social pressure mount, and decided to stay exactly where it's always been.
That decision defines the club more than any championship pedigree or presidential connection ever could.
Legal Battles and the Million-Dollar Stand for Tradition
The legal pressure on Burning Tree built gradually over 15 years, starting with broad policy changes and eventually narrowing to target the club specifically.
In 1974, Maryland's legislature ruled that discriminatory private clubs couldn't qualify for open-space tax breaks—a decision that threatened Burning Tree's favorable tax status.
The club caught a break in 1978 when the State Attorney General ruled the law didn't apply to them due to an exception for same-sex clubs, a loophole that bought them nearly a decade of breathing room.
That reprieve ended in 1983 when Stewart Bainum Jr.—who would later found The Baltimore Banner—and his sister Barbara Bainum Renschler filed a civil suit arguing the club's policy violated Maryland's Equal Rights Amendment.
Judge Irma Raker initially ruled in their favor, but the club prevailed on appeal.
The victory was temporary. Maryland's General Assembly was watching, and in 1986 they passed legislation specifically conditioning open-space tax exemptions on nondiscrimination in membership.
The target was obvious, even if lawmakers didn't name Burning Tree directly.
The 1989 decision from the Maryland Court of Appeals eliminated any remaining ambiguity.
The court upheld the law, giving Burning Tree a choice: admit women or lose the tax break, which was worth an estimated $315,000 annually at the time.
The club appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court on First Amendment freedom of association grounds, arguing that private clubs should be able to set their own membership criteria.
The Supreme Court declined to hear the case, ending the legal options.
Burning Tree's response defined its identity for the modern era.
Rather than admit women, the club chose to forfeit the tax exemption entirely.
The property, now assessed at over $15 to $20 million, costs approximately $1 million annually in property taxes.
Members absorbed this cost through increased dues without apparent dissent—a financial demonstration of just how deeply they value maintaining the club's traditional character.
That million-dollar annual payment isn't just a tax bill; it's a statement about what the membership considers worth preserving, regardless of outside pressure or changing social norms.
Visiting Today: Access, Current Status, and the Road Ahead
You can't book a tee time at Burning Tree.
The club is strictly private with no public access, no green fee players, and no outside events. If you want to play, you need an invitation from a member—and even then, you need to be male.
This isn't a club that's looking to expand its reach or accommodate curious golfers who want to see what the fuss is about.
For those fortunate enough to receive an invitation, the experience delivers on its reputation.
The conditions are perfectly manicured, and excellent caddie service enhances every round.
The layout is straightforward yet challenging, ideal for walking, and emphasizes golf purity without distractions.
There's no corporate signage, no events competing for attention, just the game itself played on a course maintained to championship standards.
The current staff maintains these high standards under the leadership of Director of Golf and General Manager Charles Briggs (PGA), Head Golf Professional Ricky Touma (PGA), and Superintendent Charles Costello.
These professionals understand they're stewarding something rare—a club that operates according to principles abandoned almost everywhere else.
The club's political capital has diminished significantly compared to its mid-20th century heyday.
Current presidents no longer play there, and high-profile figures increasingly avoid public association due to the discriminatory policy.
The club that once hosted eight presidents and influenced policy between rounds now finds itself largely excluded from the corridors of power it once dominated.
This shift isn't accidental—public figures understand that association with Burning Tree carries reputational risk that wasn't a concern in earlier decades.
Yet the club's willingness to pay approximately $1 million annually in additional taxes rather than change its membership policy suggests the current membership remains strongly committed to preserving its character.
That financial burden could disappear overnight with a simple policy change, but members continue paying it year after year.
This isn't passive acceptance of outdated rules—it's active choice that costs real money.
The future likely depends on generational shifts that haven't fully materialized yet.
Younger members and potential members may eventually find the all-male policy unsustainable or undesirable, particularly as professional advancement increasingly requires demonstrating commitment to inclusive practices.
The question isn't whether social pressure exists—it clearly does—but whether that pressure will eventually overcome the deeply held beliefs of enough members to force change from within.
The club has documented its own history extensively, publishing multiple volumes including works by Howard Westwood and others.
These books serve as both historical record and statement of institutional pride, suggesting an organization confident in its legacy even as that legacy becomes more controversial.
Most observers agree that while the course itself is very good—ranked 4th in Maryland for good reason—the club atmosphere and historical significance constitute the primary draw for those who receive invitations.
You're not just playing golf; you're walking fairways where presidents made decisions, where Watergate conspirators met, where Edward R. Murrow learned about Pearl Harbor.
That weight of history, combined with the complete privacy and the increasingly rare experience of an all-male space, is what members are actually paying for.
Whether future generations will value those things enough to maintain the status quo remains Burning Tree's central uncertainty as it moves deeper into the 21st century.
Conclusion
Burning Tree Club remains one of America's last all-male golf sanctuaries, a place where history weighs heavily on every fairway and the commitment to tradition costs roughly $1 million annually in property taxes.
Whether you view it as an admirable stand for freedom of association or an outdated relic of discrimination depends largely on your perspective, but the facts are undeniable—this club has chosen its identity and paid the price to maintain it.
For the members who still walk these 224 acres, that choice represents something worth preserving, even as the rest of the world has moved on.
