I need not agree with something to be entertained. After all, I have been to three Wayne Newton concerts.
So when I read this week’s piece in The Village Voice that serves Donald Trump a soft serve with sprinkles I must say there was a smile on my face. This might be the best current political writing I have read this year.
You wouldn’t normally put the words “Hamptons” and “Trump” together unless you were wagering on the guest list for a fundraiser at, say, Howard Stern’s East Hampton estate. But these aren’t normal times, and our man Trump is not a normal candidate. And the people supporting him are not to be found out there on the grassy expanses of Hamptons lawn parties. No, you are far more likely to find them, as I have, downtown in Sag Harbor at the LT or the Corner Bar. Trump’s people out here aren’t in the bought-and-paid-for, outright racist 25 percent who responded to his early campaign dog whistles like Labradors in a duck blind. His Hamptonites are by and large male and middle-aged or older, and they work with their hands for a living: They run machines in the factory on the Turnpike, or they paint houses and they repair plumbing; some of them work for the big landscaping companies that trim the Gin Lane hedges and mow Sagaponack lawns. They tend to occupy the next 25 percent, in other words — the people a suddenly gentler Trump is working to win over now, those who feel left out and left behind economically, whose thirst was supposed to be quenched by Reagan’s trickle-down economics but who have been waiting nearly forty years for the first drop to fall.