Demagoguery, Nelson Algren and other campaign notes

Demagoguery, Nelson Algren and other campaign notes
by David Benjamin

“I don’t want to seem racist or nothing but the black heritage has been raised in a certain way that there’s no incentive to get out and work because all of a sudden you have five kids and there are no dads around.”
— Jack Beck, at a Donald Trump rally, West Bend, Wis., 16 Aug. ‘16

MADISON, Wis. — Hillary Clinton has a $250 billion jobs program in the works. She has a $375 billion plan for college tuition. Best of all, she has plans to pay for all this beneficence without burdening middle-class taxpayers. You could look it up and read every detail. You probably won’t. I haven’t.

Of course, Donald Trump also favors jobs and education, Bigly! Who doesn’t? But don’t try to look up his plans. They’re all in his head or, more accurately, in his mouth.

This is smart politics. The last thing Trump should do is explain himself. I’ve seen him try, and it looks just awful.

Donald Trump is a demagogue. Demagogues don’t explain. They don’t announce ten-point plans, issue executive summaries or calculate budgets. Demagogues don’t use Power Point. The essence, the beauty, the joy and the appeal of the deep-dyed demagogue is dumbness. Simplicity! The demagogue boils the universe down to two words, three words, four at the most.

For William Jennings Bryan, the magic phrase was “cross of gold.” Lindbergh shouted “America First” and we’re still hearing his echoes 75 years later. Hitler simply said it’s “the Jews,” and for millions of bigots the world over, it’s still “the Jews.” Joe McCarthy fingered “the Commies” so ferociously that half the people over 70 in America are still peeking beneath the bed for phantom Bolsheviks. George Wallace kept Jim Crow alive for years beyond its expiration date by roaring the motto that has inspired white nationalists from George Lincoln Rockwell to David Duke: “Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever!”

Donald Trump has plagiarized a few of his forebears, lifting “America First” from Lindbergh, echoing Richard Nixon’s “law and order” ‘and “silent majority” dog-whistles, and even cribbing (without irony) from speeches by Abe Lincoln and FDR. But he also devised his own slogan and trained his congregation to testify at the top of their lungs whenever he snaps those tiny fingers.

“What’re we gonna build?”

“A wall! A Wall! A WAAAAAAAALL!”

The consolation in the rise of our latest two-word demagogue is that gasbags like Trump don’t thrive long in America. They fascinate some of us forever and captivate a few more for a while. But, eventually, it’s like having “Wild Thing” stuck in your head, looping over and over again. All you want to do is hear another song, any song. Even Hillary, with a ukelele, trying to sing “My Man.”

One of the riffs that killed Rudy Giuliani’s presidential bid in 2008 was that almost every sentence he uttered contained “a noun, a verb and 9/11.” Trump’s variation on this mantra is the way he tends to repeat every punchline three times followed by “Believe me.”

Which tempts me to amend Nelson Algren’s rules of life: “Never play cards with a man called Doc. Never eat at a place called Mom’s. Never sleep with a woman whose troubles are worse than your own.”
And never trust a guy who keeps saying, “Believe me.”

I recently posted a Trump-themed screed on Facebook and accompanied it with a photo of him squinching his kisser, pointing a finger. One loyal Trumpnik cried foul, because — she said — Trump’s enemies always publish his worst photos, to make him look bad.

She’s wrong. This was one of Trump’s best shots. It’s a photographer’s photograph, the sort of shot that makes you say to yourself, “Got it!” As I scoured the Web for Trump images, I was questing the grail that keeps every photographer clicking away maniacally: the shot that’s funny, startling, embarrassing, even frightening or, best of all, revealing — the gaping mouth, the bugged-out eyes, the bared fang, the fright-wig hair, the clenched fist. Photographers wait like birds of prey for these brief, naked flashes of facial candor. Editors love them. These are the prints that make page one, above the fold. It’s not about love him or hate him. It’s about the moment.

I thought it odd that the Republican campaign logo displays“TRUMP” in letters bigger than the name of vice-presidential nominee (Mike) “PENCE.” I couldn’t recall a similar type-size disparity on any previous presidential lapel button. So I looked it up. In most races, including LINCOLN-JOHNSON, McKINLEY-HOBART, KENNEDY-JOHNSON, NIXON-AGNEW, MONDALE-FERRARO, DOLE-KEMP, McCAIN-PALIN and OBAMA-BIDEN, both candidate names on posters and bumper stickers were equally tall and identically boldfaced.

However, I did uncover a few precedents for the big-TRUMP/ little-pence variation. Typographical VP diminution dates back to when big RUTHERFORD B. HAYES overshadowed little willy wheeler in 1876. Other examples of Prez belittling Veep were IKE & dick in ’52 and CARTER-mondale in ’76, followed by BUSH-quayle in ’88 and BUSH-cheney in 2000. Curiously, JON STEWART was bigger than stephen colbert in 2012.

Of course, it’s no surprise that Donald wants the biggest name on the billboard, but I wonder who talked Dick into being lower case than Dubya?

One more thought. Has anyone else noticed that Trump’s erstwhile campaign honcho Paul Manafort bears an eerie resemblance to one of those dreamboat Fifties crooners who did guest spots on Garry Moore and “Your Hit Parade,” but ended up — as they got older — on Las Vegas casino stages serenading the AARP crowd? I’m thinking Vic Damone, Jack Jones, Robert Goulet, Vaughn Monroe.

And I’m thinking that Trump’s campaign-chief-of-the-month, Stephen Bannon, is suddenly the new headliner in the posh Painted Desert Room at the Desert Inn.

Replacing handsome, debonair but faintly wrinkled and slightly over-the-hill Paul “Velvet Voice” Manafort… who’s now singing “Moon River” to the drunks and hookers in the Thunderbird lounge.

That’s showbiz.