By Michelle Goldberg
Nov. 19, 2018 667
The Trump name being removed in 2014 from the facade of the Trump Plaza casino in Atlantic City, which had gone out of business.
“The Trump name being removed in 2014 from the facade of the Trump Plaza casino in Atlantic City, which had gone out of business.CreditCreditMark Makela/Reuters
Donald Trump has failed at most things he’s tried to do in life, with the crucial exception of selling himself as a success.
Consider his business record over the past thirty years. In 1988, he bought Manhattan’s Plaza Hotel for over $400 million — at the time “an unprecedented sum for a hotel,” according to The New York Times. A few years later it was in bankruptcy protection. His casino company went bust, dragging the economy of Atlantic City down with it. Trump Airlines failed; the president defaulted on the loans he took out to buy it. Trump University was a con; he settled a lawsuit over it for $25 million.
But as a self-marketer, Trump is peerless. He convinced people that he was a self-made tycoon despite receiving at least $413 million in today’s dollars from his father, much of it, as The Times has reported, through legally dubious tax dodges. He was cast a paragon of business acumen on “The Apprentice” when most banks refused to lend to him. And then, to America’s enduring disgrace, he was able to use his fictional reality-TV persona as a steppingstone to the White House.”
“On Saturday night, at the end of a hideous week in American politics, there was an unfamiliar feeling in Austin, Tex.: hope. More than 50,000 people streamed into a city park to hear music legend Willie Nelson perform at a rally with Beto O’Rourke, the Democratic congressman from El Paso who is running a strikingly competitive race against oleaginous ghoul Ted Cruz. Many were young — Nelson’s set started after 10 p.m. — wearing Beto T-shirts and waving Beto flags. Nearby, a packed restaurant advertised “Beto beer.” In the air was that slightly delirious energy you feel when a political campaign becomes a movement.
Shortly before the rally, I watched Evan Smith, chief executive and co-founder of The Texas Tribune, interview O’Rourke onstage at a nearby auditorium. It was uncanny how much the candidate recalled Barack Obama circa 2008, and not just because of his gawky magnetism. Like Obama, O’Rourke is unapologetically progressive but offers a vision of post-partisan national unity. He treats his audience as too savvy for political clichés. When Smith asked him if he planned to go negative against Cruz, he mocked attack ads with distorted pictures and ominous music. “We’re sick of that stuff,” he said, except he used a saltier term than “stuff.”
Like Obama, O’Rourke is running on hope over fear; he exudes compassion and speaks about “power and joy.” Christine Allison, a Republican-turned-independent, is president of the company that publishes D Magazine, a city magazine for Dallas, and one of O’Rourke’s ardent supporters. “He listens,” she told me, saying that he has what Christians sometimes call a “servant-leader approach to politics.” “