Trump was 45 minutes late onstage, and stood at Jeff Van Drew's right shoulder, a little back, in his first communion suit and tie, politely acknowledging the little scoundrel's fawning intro.
And then lies followed upon lies and applause followed upon applause and various chants upon various chants. Yes, the wall is actually being built (except for the part that blew over). Yes, the Trump health plan – ?? – will make us all well and happy, even those with pre-existing conditions, and the topper was when he said straight-faced that the Trump campaign has been “probably the greatest movement in history.”
There was a whole cadre of women right behind Trump frantically waving “Women For Trump” signs. Most of them you'd see at a Jerry Blavat concert like the ones they had in Wildwood for the Chamber of Commerce's “Fabulous Fifties Weekend” before he was banned by the Chamber for campaigning for the Republicans onstage a couple years ago and two busloads of black people walked out.
Anyhow, the Trump crowd I saw on the live Youtube stream seemed to me to be in a mass fugue state; their individuality had been lost – or at least suspended – as they followed his every word in a cheerful, cheering rapture that obviously was strong enough to spur many of them to huddle in the cold for literally days in some cases to see this fugue master.
And master he is: his voice lowers to a confidential whisper, then flares like a Bic, he points to no one and everyone, he pauses significantly, confidentially, everyone is invited to love him. They do. They watch him luxuriate in it and they too luxuriate. Fugue is also a musical state. Trump is the Bach of this fugue.
I ran into my friend Wes in the Acme the next day. Wes has made a good living on the Boardwalk for a long time and he is that kind of realist. He couldn't wait to whip out his phone and show me a picture he took about fifteen feet from Trump.
“I was right up to the rail,” he said proudly. He said he'd waited 28 hours to get in. “Love him or hate him, it was history,” he said. Maybe a little of the fugue had worn off.
The Trump fugue state has people alarmed. My friend is a practicing Christian. We had breakfast the day after the Trump rally and she said she wasn't going to church as often because she knows that among the congregation are Trump supporters. “How can they be Christians?” she asked. She is even thinking about no longer calling herself a Christian, but a “Christ follower” or something to that effect.
The front page of the Press of Atlantic City the next day ran a four-column photo of the trash piles at the Convention Center with the headline: “The Things They Left Behind.”
It didn't mention all the minds and consciences left behind in the trash of the Trump fugue.
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