Missionary creep

From the outside, the Wilmington Club, a brownstone mansion in Wilmington, Delaware, looks like a place where time has stood still. It sits in an overgrown garden. The front door and windows let no light out from within. Step inside and the feeling is amplified: it is like entering a refuge from woke capitalism. At the bar are heavy ashtrays. A stag’s head is on the wall. A black-and-white photo celebrates the 105 whiskies ordered at a legendary dinner many years ago. Until recently, says Charles Elson, a corporate-governance expert formerly at the University of Delaware, terrapins were bred in the basement to be turned into stew.