As it would turn out, Trump was easy to talk to and incredibly generous. He would say yes to every single item on Dave’s list, which, by the end of the meeting, had grown to include foursomes at his Trump National Bedminster, Trump National Westchester, Trump International West Palm Beach, a day on the set of The Apprentice for four people, a dinner for six with the Donald himself at Jean-Georges, the famous Manhattan restaurant, and a $5,000 donation from Mr. Trump to Children’s National Medical Center.
Over the years, Mr. Trump has also been more than gracious to Griffin, who has grown into a healthy, grand slam–slugging fourteen-year-old golf enthusiast. Whenever the two of them see each other, they talk golf and baseball. Not many people know this, but Trump was a pretty good ballplayer himself back in high school. Sometimes during the campaign to come, Dave would hear him talk about it, usually during long rides in the car or the private airplane. But hardly ever to a crowd. Mr. Trump was also thoughtful and gracious to Dave’s girls. He knew they played tennis and one day he called Dave and said Serena Williams was going to be at Trump National to open his tennis facility. He told Dave to bring the girls.
Still, there was a point in that first meeting when Dave thought he might have ruined the whole deal.
“Steve Wynn suggested that I ask you for the golf course for free,” he said.
Trump’s benevolent smile faded.
“Oh, Steve’s a good friend,” Trump muttered finally. The real estate mogul’s eyes began to narrow. In the coming years, Dave would grow to know that look well. It was his “tough as nails” look, a New York real estate killer look. Sometimes, before Trump did interviews on shows like O’Reilly or Hannity, he’d turn to Hope Hicks or Keith Schiller, his longtime bodyguard, Jason Miller, or Corey or Dave to ask if the stare was up to par that day.
“How’s the look?” he’d say, looking straight through the camera.
But this was the first time that Dave had ever seen the iron girder stare. Behind it, he could practically see Mr. Trump imagining Steve Wynn chuckling, feet up on his desk in Sin City. He could also see Trump plotting how he was going to get even.
But just as fast as “the look” came, it disappeared. Trump explained to Dave that he had golf courses all over the world, and had friends who ran fantastic charity tournaments on just about every one of them.
“If I set a precedent with you, then how could I say no to anyone else?” he asked. “My manager wouldn’t be able to make it work. But I will do something nice for you. Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”
He then invited Dave to lunch at the Trump Grill in the atrium of Trump Tower. At the table, Trump began to take his end of the deal.
Though Dave knew the topic of politics would come up, he didn’t go to see Trump with any other motive besides making a connection for his golf tournament. In fact, he was hoping to sidestep an in-depth political discussion. Like everyone else, he knew Trump’s reputation for false political starts. Donald Trump had been considering running for president as far back as 1987, when a “Draft Trump” movement caught fire and blazed through the press. It was way back then when he gave perhaps his first political speech at a restaurant in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. His appearance packed the place and cameras televised the event. It was a harbinger of things to come.
After lunch, Trump told Dave that he would be in touch. It was a promise he kept. The day of the tournament, Dave kept his phone on in case anyone had a problem. It rang when he was playing the sixth hole. Mr. Trump wanted to know how he liked the golf course, the food, and the staff.
During 2011, Dave and Trump spoke on the phone often. In June 2011 in New Hampshire, Mitt Romney announced he was running for the presidency in 2012, and soon Trump was telling Dave that Mitt was a terrible candidate, an opinion that was widely shared among Republican political pros and, ultimately, with good old Republican voters alike. Finally, during one conversation, Dave asked the question that had been hanging in the air.
“Do you want to run?”
“I don’t know,” Trump said. “I want to, but…”
Despite Donald Trump’s past political performance, it was a substantial enough maybe for Dave to put in some work on a little exploratory operation.
“Let’s see what we come up with,” he said.
That year, Dave commissioned a poll, just to test the waters, with questions like: “Would you like to see Donald Trump get in the race?” “Do you think Donald Trump would make a good president?” and “Do we need a businessperson as president?”
When the numbers came in, they showed that Trump’s name recognition was off the charts, but Dave already knew that. They also revealed that Mr. Trump’s business credentials registered higher with prospective voters than Romney’s did. But that wasn’t such big news. What did surprise Dave was that the poll said that Trump would beat Romney head-to-head in some important primary states.
There was only one real negative, but it was a big one. The prospective voters didn’t believe he would run. Still, the poll was perhaps the first documented evidence that Donald J. Trump would be a formidable candidate for the Republican nomination.
Trump ended up endorsing Romney on February 2, 2012, from the event stage of the Trump International Hotel in Las Vegas, just a few hundred feet from the floor of Steve Wynn’s casino.
“There are some things that you can’t imagine happening in your life,” Romney said, standing next to Trump the day he received his support. “And this is one of them.”
There’s no way for us to know for sure if Mitt was trying to be sarcastic or not. If he was, he changed his tune when the endorsement began to translate to votes in Michigan, Ohio, and other prominent Republican states. Just after he endorsed Romney, during the tight final weeks of the election, Trump recorded a few robocalls—political-speak for those prerecorded phone messages that always seem to come as you’re sitting down to dinner—raving about Mitt Romney and running down some of the other candidates. Just about every night, voters in individual battleground towns would get a one-minute phone call from Donald Trump himself, all smooth and earnest and fired up about Mitt.
“I support Mitt Romney because he’s the outsider in the race,” he’d say. “He’s a good man; he’s working hard. We’ve gotta get him elected because he’s the one man who’ll beat President Obama. He will win. You’ve gotta give him that chance.”
Friendly, casual, and honest—just like the straight-to-camera Facebook monologues that’d go viral in 2016 and help him win his campaign.
Unfortunately, Mitt didn’t end up being very lucky. Yet his loss to Barack Obama in 2012 turned out to be most fortunate for the billionaire builder and Vegas casino owner who had endorsed him. In hindsight, the turn of events shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. Ask any seasoned gambler on the Strip, and they’ll tell you.
The house always wins.
CHAPTER 3
NEW HAMPSHIRE
While I won’t be running for Governor of New York State, a race I would have won, I have much bigger plans in mind—stay tuned, will happen!
—@REALDONALDTRUMP, MARCH 14, 2014, 5:27 P.M.
Stop pretending—Donald Trump is not running for president.
—KYLE SMITH, NEW YORK POST, MAY 30, 2015
IT’S HARD TO SAY what makes a person want to run for president. All the scrutiny, the travel, the time and money you have to spend—it’s a physical, mental, and emotional gauntlet. Some people do it because others want them to, and some run just to spite the ones who don’t. The press came up with all sorts of reasons why Donald Trump was running: “He’s just building his brand,” they wrote. “He’s got a new TV deal,” they said. “It’s all ego-driven,” they opined.
But it wasn’t ego, because it was never about him. One night, he was talking to Keith Schiller, a guy who’s known him longer than any of us. Before he had signed on as Mr. Trump’s bodyguard in 1999, Keith had been an NYPD narcotics detective in the Thirty-Fourth Precinct in Manhattan, an area then known fo
r intense drug trafficking. During drug raids, it was Keith’s job to break down the doors with a battering ram. Fiercely loyal, once Keith started working for Mr. Trump he wanted no other job. Whether the boss was doing a quality check on a new property or making his way through a throng of fans who wouldn’t stop pawing at him, Keith was there. Keith has been such a constant in Mr. Trump’s life, the Trump kids think of him as an uncle—an uncle who would take a bullet for their father. On this night, early in the campaign, they were in the limo, looking out at a crowd that had gathered in the street.
“You and me, Keith, we’re hotter than we’ve ever been,” Trump said. “This is big shit.”
“Yes, sir,” Keith said. “Running for president of the United States, sir. Leader of the free world, sir.”
“Yep, you and me.”
By 2013, Dave started working with a young lawyer named Sam Nunberg who was helping Trump with scheduling, writing some political speeches, and navigating the political landscape. Roger Stone, a longtime Trump associate, had introduced Nunberg to Trump. Still, it seemed that whenever Trump had a question about politics, whether it be new poll numbers or policy positions, one of the people he would call was Dave. In time, Dave learned to stick close to the phone; calls from Trump could come at any time.
That February, Donald Trump—at that time, a very famous TV star but still something of a political unknown—attended the annual Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) with Dave. There, Trump opened the second day with a speech that received mixed reviews from the audience. Though always self-confident, the future president wasn’t nearly as persuasive from the podium as he would become. Maybe with a trained eye one would recognize the sparks of electricity he generated then weren’t all that different from the nova he would become in front of fan-filled stadiums two years later. But there weren’t many eyes trained on Donald Trump in those days—not the right eyes, anyway.
“You have to start donating to the Republicans,” Dave told him one day. “You can’t be Republican nominee if the only people you give to are Chuck Schumer, Harry Reid, and Nancy Pelosi.”
Trump bristled. “I’m a businessman,” he said. “I give to everyone.”
But Dave had done the research. “Yes, you’re a businessman,” he said. “But no, you’re not giving to everyone. You’re giving to mostly Democrats.”
Dave made a list of Republican members of Congress and senators running campaigns across the country, and then suggested a budget of $500,000. He recommended that he start writing checks for each of the names on his list for the maximum allowed by the FEC—$2,600 per election, and he began introducing Trump to some of the bigger names to whom he donated. Rick Santorum, the winner of the 2012 Iowa caucuses, visited Trump’s office with his daughter, Sarah Maria, to express his thanks.
Once Mr. Trump aligned his political donations with his politics, Dave set out to see how the candidate would do on the road.
Around this time, Dave and J. T. Mastanadi, Citizens United’s political director, came up with an idea of putting together events that would host presidential hopefuls in the first primary states: New Hampshire, Iowa, and South Carolina. These events would be a who’s who of conservative politics, all-day-long political events held for die-hard conservative and libertarian audiences—people who lived for politics. The “Freedom Summits,” as Dave and the Citizens United team had decided to call them, would be the earliest events in the presidential election cycle. And they would set the stage for the stampede of Republican presidential contenders that would follow.
While Dave was busy refining the concept for the first Freedom Summit, to be held in New Hampshire in April 2014, Corey Lewandowski was working as the national director of voter registration for Americans for Prosperity (AFP). The advocacy group was part of the vast network of David and Charles Koch, the two richest and most politically active libertarians in the country.
Corey’s role at AFP required him to oversee all voter registration efforts throughout the country and to run recruitment campaigns that would champion certain conservative and libertarian causes. He and his wife, Alison, then had four kids, one girl and three boys. After a few years running several hectic statewide campaigns, Corey seemed to have finally settled into a calm, structured job in an office.
The office happened to be in Londonderry, New Hampshire, a quiet town on the state’s southern border that consisted mostly of apple orchards and small, tight-knit neighborhoods. It was located just a few miles down the road from the Courtyard Manchester, the hotel where it was decided to hold the first Freedom Summit. Locals just called the hotel “the Yard.”
We knew each other only by reputation. At least mostly. We had met briefly and had talked on the phone. But Dave had heard plenty about Donald Trump’s future campaign manager. On National Tax Day in 2010, Corey had helped organize a Tea Party tax revolt on the lawn of the New Hampshire State House in Concord, and managed to draw thousands of people to the event. Later that day, he took to the stage in Manchester and debated a life-size cardboard cutout of New Hampshire’s Democratic governor, John Lynch. He took a few swings at Lynch for being a short guy, then slapped a “big spender” sticker right on his flat cardboard lapel. The crowd, mostly angry, tax-loathing conservatives, laughed and cheered. Two weeks later, with his wife, Alison, about to give birth, Corey hosted the presidential hopefuls Mitt Romney, Tim Pawlenty, Michele Bachmann, and Herman Cain at a dinner held by Americans for Prosperity—no small feat, considering it was nine months until the beginning of the primary season, a long way out for most big-name candidates.
It was clear that Corey knew New Hampshire politics cold. If there was anyone with whom Dave could partner to stage a Freedom Summit there, it was Corey.
It was September 2013 when the communications director of Citizens United introduced us. Jeff Marschner had worked for Dave for four years by then and had known Corey when they both worked in the US Senate in the early 2000s. They both used to work for the senator of New Hampshire, Bob Smith; Marschner as the senator’s deputy press secretary, and Corey as his campaign manager. Right off the bat, we formed a strong team.
Around this time, Dave commissioned a poll by Kellyanne Conway testing Mr. Trump in an election for the governor of New York against the incumbent, Andrew Cuomo. Dave, JT, and Jeff traveled to Trump Tower to review the first night’s results with Mr. Trump. Trump suggested that we add this question to the poll: “Would you rather see Donald J. Trump run for governor of New York or president of the United States?”
The New Hampshire Freedom Summit was an unqualified success. Dave was able to lure big Republican names such as former Speaker Newt Gingrich, Governor Mike Huckabee, Senator Ted Cruz, and Senator Rand Paul, while Corey brought in New Hampshire senator Kelly Ayotte; Arthur C. Brooks, a leading conservative voice and the president of the American Enterprise Institute; New Hampshire House Speaker Bill O’Brien; and tax fighter Tom Thomson, the son of the famous New Hampshire governor Meldrim “Ax the Tax” Thomson. The event also drew Tennessee congresswoman Marsha Blackburn, Utah senator Mike Lee, the radio host Laura Ingraham, and the Iowa Republican heavyweight congressman Steve King. The speakers needed no introduction for the Freedom Summit crowd. It was an all-star cast playing before a full house.
Going into the event, Paul and Cruz were the biggest stars, and both delivered strong speeches. In that faraway time, Rand Paul was the early front-runner for the nomination, and he roused the crowd with signature issues such as civil liberties and pushing back against the National Security Administration and the blanket surveillance of everyday Americans by the Obama administration.
Cruz displayed his talent as an orator by talking about growing the Republican brand and reaching out to Hispanics and others most affected by the stagnant economy.
But as good as Cruz and Paul were, the event was Trump’s.
A crowd of about a thousand packed the conference center at the Yard. These were limited-government conservatives and libertarians. Mr.
Trump walked out onto the stage with Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” playing on the sound system. He talked off the cuff about things like trade and the economy—not quite the orthodoxy to which the room typically ascribed. But he had them in the palm of his hand. The biggest applause line was for what he was then calling the border fence.
Then he indulged in a half hilarious, half serious, eight-minute riff on why politicians shouldn’t be allowed to use teleprompters. But the most memorable thing he said that day went almost unnoticed. Though he had used the phrase before, it was the first time he had used the words as a rallying cry.
“There is something we have to do, and we have to do it fast,” he said. “We have to make America great again.”
Only looking back can we see the moment for what it was: a turning point in American campaigning. From a messenger, the likes of which had never appeared in American politics, came a complete repudiation of the status quo. Donald Trump was about to start throwing lightning bolts at the ruling elite. And no one—not the government, the media, the Catholic Church or the Republican Party (never mind the Democrats)—would be safe.
Hunter S. Thompson once wrote, “Probably the rarest form of life in American politics is the man who can turn on a crowd and still keep his head straight.” Onstage, Donald Trump was like a machine that learns as it goes. As his audiences grew, he seemed to grow with them, feeding off their energy. Manchester that day might not have been the first time Mr. Trump showed such talent in a political setting populated with serious presidential candidates. He had spoken at CPAC all the way back in 2013. But at the Freedom Summit in Manchester, he showed a glimpse of what he would perfect on the campaign trail, a combination of Teddy Roosevelt’s love of verbal combat, the charm and celebrity of Ronald Reagan, and the pure brashness of Donald J. Trump. In Manchester, Trump the candidate began to emerge. Even at that early moment, he was head and shoulders above any of the other speakers. He went way beyond his allotted time to speak. Nothing new. We had to cancel a video that was supposed to play during lunch. But we didn’t care, nor did the people in the audience; nearly all of them had their cell phones out, recording the speech in photographs and on video—a phenomenon that would continue at events throughout his campaign. Nor did the press, which included a live feed by C-SPAN. They were all under Trump’s spell.
Let Trump Be Trump Page 3