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Tuesday 18 August 2015
The Donald Trump show: 24 hours with the Republican frontrunner
Donald Trump
sits behind his desk on the 26th floor of Trump Tower in Manhattan. It
is 2pm, and he has just got off the phone with America’s most famous
football player, Tom Brady.
Into the office walks Ernie Boch Jr, a billionaire car salesman with
shoulder-length hair and black leather pants. “Holy shit,” Boch says.
“It’s Donald Trump!”
So begins one 24-hour episode of the Donald Trump Show, a political
satire about a billionaire celebrity who runs for president, breaks
every rule in the manual, and becomes the frontrunner in the Republican
race for the White House, beating all the senators and governors running
for the Republican nomination by double digits in the polls.
Now Boch Jr is in his office, explaining that he wants to host a
fundraiser for Trump at his 16,000-square foot mansion in Massachusetts.
The fellow plutocrat, who has made a fortune selling cars in New
England, is awestruck by Trump. “He has you shaking in your boots before
you even meet him,” he says after the meeting. “When that elevator
opens, you can feel the power.”
He decided to lend Trump his support a few weeks ago, when he was at
home, flipping through TV channels in search for something to watch. He
noticed Trump was on every channel. “I stopped and I said to myself:
man, this guy is running for president,” he says. “How great would it be
to get him to my house?”
Roger Stone, a longtime political adviser to Trump until he parted ways with the campaign a week ago, argues that television, and a unique celebrity persona, is central to Trump’s success as a presidential candidate.
“Fifteen series of The Apprentice has made Trump a polished
television performer,” Stone says. “If you look at the show he looks
like a decisive, tough leader, in the high-back chair, perfectly lit,
perfectly made-up, making decisions.”
Stone, who used to work for Ronald Reagan, recalls how in 1980 a
reporter asked the then presidential candidate how an actor could
possibly occupy the White House. Reagan replied: “How can a president
not be an actor?”
Stone adds: “The voters don’t distinguish between reality TV and politics.”
Ernie Boch Jr, a billionaire car salesman, with Donald Trump. Photograph: Peggy Rose Public Relations
7.27pm, Hampton, New Hampshire
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The voters are packed into Winnacunnet high school auditorium for a live performance of the Donald Trump Show.
“And now, without further ado,” says a voice over a loudspeaker.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, the next president of the United
States … Donald J Trump!”
Trump emerges from behind the curtain, walks on to the stage and juts out his arms out as if to say “and here I am”.
The TV showman begins the rambling, stream-of-consciousness monologue that will constitute his 58-minute speech.
To the extent to which it can be summarised into a coherent
narrative, it is that America is in decline, losing jobs and industry to
China and Mexico, and losing oil to the Middle East. Barack Obama is
stupid. The other presidential candidates are also stupid, or boring.
They’re all controlled by wealthy donors who pay for their campaigns
and are the dark forces pulling the strings. Money is the real
puppet-master in America, and Trump knows this because he’s rolling in
it, and he’s been controlling politicians all his life.
Now only Donald Trump, a smart, successful, property tycoon and TV
celebrity so rich he is beholden to no one, can fix the problem. He will
bring jobs, take care of veterans and the elderly, and be the most
militaristic person in the room.
The audience loves every second of it, especially those parts that
parody the political establishment, such as when Trump does an
impression of a stiff politician. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, in
the mock drone of a monotone politician. His shoulders are hunched, his
eyes squinting at an imaginary script near the podium. “Hello,” he says.
There are howls of laughter.
“You
don’t want a scripted president!” he tells them, as people rise to
their feet for a standing ovation and the loudest applause of the night.
As the crescendo builds, he adds: “And you don’t want a politically
correct president!”
Later, Trump treats the audience to another skit. Now he’s in the
Oval Office, taking a call from the chief executive of Ford, who wants
to build a factory in Mexico. President Trump tells him he will not
permit that to happen.
The auto manufacturer protests, so Trump tells him he’ll slap a 35%
tax on every Ford car and truck brought to America. The CEO gives in and
the crowd cheers wildly. “It’s that simple,” Trump tells them. “Believe
me.”
Toward the end of his speech, Trump stops, mid-sentence, apparently lost in thought. He points to the back of the auditorium.
“Look at all the cameras blazing there,” he says. “This is live, all over the place. We’re on Fox, CNN.”
He picks up an invisible script from the podium. “Look,” he adds, “there’s nothing.”
People line up to hear Donald Trump speak at a campaign rally at
Winnacunnet high school in Hampton, New Hampshire, on Friday.
Photograph: Rick Friedman/Corbis
8.51pm
Trump walks along a high school corridor, camera crews in tow, and
into a huge sports gymnasium filled with thousands more people.
This is the overflow room, for people who were unable to get into the
main event, and the moment they see Trump they surge forward,
screaming. “Can you sit down?” Trump says. “I guess you can’t, right? Do
you even have seats?”
Outside, Trump steps out into the another crowd. These are the people
who could not get into main event or the overflow room. They have been
waiting outside for hours and now they are being held back by Trump’s
private security guards, who are playing the part of secret service
agents.
Someone throws a bunch of flowers that hit Trump in the face. He
smiles, waves, and gets into a presidential-style motorcade of SUVs with
blacked-out windows.
“Thank you Mr Trump,” shrieks a woman as the car door slams shut. “For giving us hope.”
Saturday, 10.45am, Des Moines airport
Trump is in his luxurious private jet with Chuck Todd, the anchor of
NBC’s Meet The Press. Todd is trying to pin down the billionaire over a soon-to-be released immigration policy,
which includes a proposal to build a giant wall to keep Mexicans out
and a plan to end to an automatic right to citizenship for people born
in the US.
This is the first time Trump will lay out a policy document since he
launched his campaign two months ago. Todd is trying, without much luck,
to unpick the details. Trump, who is supremely good at speaking without
saying anything, evades the interrogation like a bar of soap in a bath.
“Chuck, it will work out so well, you will be so happy,” he reassures
the TV anchor. “In four years you’re going to be interviewing me and
you’re gonna say ‘what a great job you’ve done, President Trump’.”
This prerecorded interview is a major coup for the Sunday morning show.
Usually, Trump just phones into TV shows and is instantly put through
to the anchor. No other candidate, from either party, is given that
luxury, but then no other candidate’s mere presence results in an
immediate spike in viewers.
“You cannot turn on the TV without seeing Donald Trump,” says Kevin
Madden, a senior adviser to both of Mitt Romney’s presidential
campaigns, who is not associated with any candidate in 2016. “It is
nearly impossible not to be at or near the top of the polls when you get
that much attention.”
Donald Trump and his private jet. Photograph: Murdo MacLeod for the Guardian
11.30am
Trump and Todd have moved to a room in the private jet terminal of the airport for the next segment of their interview.
Trump declares the Iran nuclear deal “will lead to a nuclear
holocaust”, but would seek to implement it nonetheless, and says he
would send troops back into Iraq to secure oil fields seized by Islamic
state fighters.
“You go and knock the hell out of the oil, take back the oil,” he
says. “We’re going to have so much money.” The Iraqi people will get
“something”, he adds, but “we should definitely take back money for our
soldiers”.
Todd asks Trump from whom he gets his military advice. “Well, I watch
the [TV] shows,” Trump says. “When you watch your show and all of the
other shows and you have the general and you have certain people that
you like.”
Toward the end of the interview, Todd asks the real estate mogul
about an interview he gave Playboy magazine in 1990 in which he
insinuated his life was just one big performance.
“Are we all part of a show?” Todd asks him. “You know some of the criticisms. We all feel like we are in a reality show.”
Trump smiles. “No,” he says. “This the real deal.”
12.09pm
The sky rumbles. Trump appears, first as a black speck in the clouds, then as a helicopter hovering above the Iowa State Fair, low enough for people to read the letters emblazoned across the side: TRUMP.
Hillary Clinton, the Democratic frontrunner, happens to be touring
the fair at that very moment to meet with voters. Everywhere people are
pointing to the sky. “Trump! Trump!”
Children are especially excited because the next segment of the Donald Trump Show is billed to include helicopter rides of kids.
Donald Trump’s helicopter circles the Iowa State Fair in Des Moines, Iowa, on Saturday. Photograph: Joshua Lott/Reuters
12.12pm
A customised Sikorsky S-76 helicopter lands in a parking lot one mile
from the fair, hurling a gust of cut grass, gravel and dirt into the
faces of waiting reporters. They spit and cough and laugh at the
absurdity of it all.
Trump emerges in white leather golf shoes and a red “Make America
Great Again” baseball cap. A dozen children line up behind him, like
props.
Trump has landed in a softball field, and he gets a slew of softball questions.
What does it feel like to be in Iowa? What’s your biggest challenge,
going forward? Mr Trump, what do you want to say to the kids?
There is a more sombre query from a Guardian reporter. “If you made
it to the White House can you tell us under what circumstances you would
use a nuclear weapon?”
“Well, I don’t even want to talk about that question,” Trump says.
“That’s a very serious question. Hopefully you never have to use a
nuclear weapon – hopefully. But you have to be prepared – the world
hates us.”
Another reporter asks when Trump will release more substantive
policies. “I know the press wants it,” he says. “I don’t think the
people care.”
The mothers and fathers on the sidelines clap in approval.
12.32pm
Trump is in his helicopter again. Two of the seats that were supposed to be used for children are taken up by TV anchors.
Three young boys did, however, make it on board, and one of them has a
GoPro camera strapped to his head. “Mr Trump?” asks a nine-year-old
named William Bowman, just as the helicopter is about to take-off. “Are
you Batman?”
Trump leans forward. “I am Batman,” he says.
Within hours the video will become an internet sensation, and CNN
will run the headline: ‘I am Batman, Trump tells boy on helicopter
ride’.
12.51pm
Batman arrives at the Iowa State Fair in a golf cart, escorted by local and state police.
For decades presidential contenders have been coming to the fair to
eat corn dogs and slap the backs of farmers, but veterans of the
festival will say they’ve never seen anything quite like the pandemonium
sparked when Trump turns up.
He is supposed to visit a life-sized cow carved out of butter, but
his entourage quickly realise it will be impossible to make a path
through the mob. Instead, for close to an hour, Trump and the crush of
people around him just meander through the fair in the searing heat.
People are laughing and reaching forward to shake his hand or take
his photo. They shout things like “We Love You Donald” and “Bring It
Home Donald” and “Money, Money, Money, M-o-ney”, the tune of The
Apprentice theme song.
It takes five minutes for a Guardian reporter to squeeze through the
scrum and ask a question. “You said voters don’t care about policy. Why
do you say that?”
Trump looks tickled. “The voters know I have good decision-making abilities,” he says. “They trust me.”
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