Camps Strive for a Delicate Balance

Summer Programs Try to Attract Students in Tight Economic Times

In a rear aisle of the Bullis School's auditorium last week, a group of children spun plates in wobbly orbits atop sticks. Onstage, others tentatively threw balls into the air as they learned to juggle. One child looped wildly around the rest on a bicycle that looked like it was designed for a Chihuahua.

The students, who were learning the basics of circus performing during a week-long summer camp at the Potomac campus, were taking part in what for some is a Washington area ritual: a season of fun at private schools.

The programs have traditionally drawn from a wide pool of students, but during the recession, private schools have expanded their marketing efforts and offerings to pull in parents for whom every dollar has become more dear. Officials at many schools say that parents waited until the last minute to sign up for programs, not knowing whether their finances would hold.

At Bullis, a 650-student school for grades 3 to 12, the 80-acre campus swarms with activity -- here a lacrosse camp, there a robotics class. Last year, the school hired someone to work on its summer programs full time throughout the year. It added the circus camp, a magic camp and a few other offerings, and school officials peppered every address within five miles of the campus with a glossy catalogue.

Those moves helped boost enrollment this summer to 1,927 campers, with each child spending an average of three weeks in the programs.

Still, the effort didn't pay off until relatively late.

"It seems that many families waited until late spring or early summer to sign up for our camps," said Todd McCreight, the school's business officer.

At the week-long circus camp, which costs $285 and runs from 9 a.m. until 2 p.m., students last week learned the finer points of juggling, gag-writing and pie-throwing ("Three steps: Hand on shoulder, eye contact, push!" said Michael Rosman, who runs the camp).

Bullis brings in $900,000 in revenue from the programs, about a third of which is profit. And although the school prides itself on the diversity of its student body during the academic year, the summer programs don't offer financial aid, nor do most camps at other independent area schools. (Current Bullis students taking academic classes are an exception.)

At Sidwell Friends School in the District, overall enrollment in summer programs has been flat compared with last year, although the school added several camps, said Ellis Turner, the associate head of school. He said that he had also seen a surge in late enrollments.

At St. Albans School, a 570-student independent campus for boys in grades 4 through 12, financial aid is available for most summer programs. The District school's co-ed School of Public Service, essentially a sleep-away camp for policy wonks, is open to rising high school seniors nationwide and takes advantage of the city's political amenities.

The 37 students in this year's program studied education reform, visiting ambassadors and think tanks, and modeling political crises (this year a rogue Indian missile struck Pakistan). More than half of the students received some financial aid for the four-week camp, which cost $4,800. St. Albans also runs a summer school and several sports camps.

Not all private schools charge tuition for camps. Some camps are intended to give low-income students from public schools a private-school experience. The District's Maret School, which has 600 K-12 students, opens to 150 D.C. public elementary and middle school students in the Horizons program.

The six weeks of classes are intended to boost confidence and academic performance and also include daily swimming lessons at the Swiss Embassy, which is next the Woodley Park campus. The program has been expanding, and directors say they hope to add a second campus next year.

Although parents might worry about the impact of the camps on their wallets, most of the children remain free to concentrate on more immediate problems.

At Bullis last week, campers were focusing on the arc and momentum of shaving-cream pies.

"Take that!" said Emily Cyrway, 8, moments before she smashed a pie into 11-year-old Matthew Lowinger's face. The aluminum tin crinkled upon impact.