April 10, 2019--My Roy Cohn

As so many things have continued to close in on Trump, it is no surprise that he might be pining for, as he put it, "his" Roy Cohn.

Cohn, as you likely recall, is best known for having been Senator Joseph McCarthy's chief counsel during the years McCarthy had Washington and the rest of the country in thrall as he pursued, by mainly nefarious means, communists who, without verifiable evidence, the senator claimed had infiltrated the highest echelons of our government. 

Communists who did so, he alleged, included the Secretary of State as well as President Truman and even the beloved Republican President Eisenhower. They were suspicious and in this unhinged way McCarthy was decidedly bipartisan--communists and their sympathizers were everywhere. 

As difficult as it may be to imagine more than 60 years later, considering the preposterousness of the senator's claims, McCarthy was trusted by nearly half the population and some feel, if he had run for president, might very well have been elected.

Roy Cohn was McCarthy's go-to person when it came to engaging in the most slanderous of activities. He was McCarthy's enabler, pressing him to up the ante, to probe deeper into the government, to make things up if that were necessary, which it generally was since the hundreds, perhaps thousands McCarthy maligned and whose lives were shattered were innocent, including one of my uncles who was purged from his teaching job at Weequahic High School in Newark because his parents were Russian immigrants.

After McCarthy fell, drinking himself to death, Cohn returned to New York City where he became the fixer for many prominent and wealthy New Yorkers, particularly members of the high-end real estate community.

This included the young and flamboyant Donald J. Trump, who was engaged at the time in so many nefarious activities, including being in bed with members of the Mafia, that he needed a virtual full-time lawyer to defend him from literally hundreds of lawsuits.

When hauled before the court, Cohn famously advised Trump that rather than play defense or cop a plea, he should turn things on their head, and relentlessly, in return, attack, attack, attack. And when he wanted something, he should relentlessly sue everyone and everything that could be included in the litigation. 

It is difficult to quantify just how many times Trump was sued and in return countersued, but surely over the years it has been thousands of times.  

Any of this sounding familiar?

What we are seeing today comes right out of the Roy Cohn playbook. But with Cohn no longer around, he died of AIDS in 1986, we can understand, considering the many-faceted pressures Trump is experiencing, that he would plaintively ask, "Where is my Roy Cohn?"

But, with Cohn gone he has little choice but to rely on the increasingly ridiculous Rudy Giuliani to represent him to the media, and, for help with strategic thinking, such as it is, his youthful policy aide, Stephen Miller. 

A Roy Cohn clone, even in appearance, if ever there was one.

Trump and Miller share one policy obsession--immigration. And so when he learned of Miler's views about the borders, it was love at first sight since building the  wall that Mexico would pay for was essentially what Trump's 2016 campaign was all about. 

Before coming to the White House, Miller was Senator Jeff Sessions' chief of staff and while working for the Alabaman, who saw nothing but evil in all forms of immigration--legal as well as illegal--Trump realized he was just the person, after all else failed (including declaring a national emergency which is currently stalled in the courts), to turn the mess over to.

Miller also represents what is dearest to Trump: his views about the limitlessness of presidential power.

Disturbingly, in February 2017, Miller said, "The powers of the president will not be questioned." 

Note the totalitarian syntax. The only thing missing is a German accent.

In Miller, Trump has finally found his Roy Cohn.

August 20, 2018--George Lindberg's Nightmare: The Donald J. Trump Presidential Library

I received this email from my good friend George Lindberg--

Dear Steven

When you get in a slump because of insomnia, remember you at least have control of how you spend your awake time.  You can change the channel or shut it off at whim.  I on the other hand have no trouble falling asleep or staying asleep.  My problem is what happens while I am asleep.  

The other day you and Rona set some wheels in motion.  It all started the evening following your musings about the numerous presidential libraries you two have visited.  I have never been to any so I can only wonder what would be on display.

As I drifted into slumberland, I made the mistake of wondering what the Donald J. Trump Presidential Library would be like.  Steven, I can’t shut him off . . .

The dream always starts the same way.  I'm driving down I-95, heading toward Queens, the birthplace of Donald, where from a sign I notice that the name of the Throgs Neck Bridge has been changed to the Thongs Neck Bridge. When I get to Jamaica Estates, his boyhood home, I find myself at the new Donald J. Trump Presidential Library. Built on an old swamp that wasn't drained but filled in.

There was some talk of locating it on the campus of Trump University, but no one could locate it and the Wharton School people said, “No way."

In keeping with Trump tradition, the library has been set in a hot-sheet motel. In my dream it is always a pay by the hour place.  I park in a new seven story parking garage.  Funny thing is mine is the only car there.  A welcome sign tells me the place was built on land that was cleared after evicting 5,000 immigrants. 

As I enter I am required to show proof of citizenship.  Lucky for me (it’s a dream remember) I have my birth certificate with me.  Stepping in the foyer a holograph of Ivanka appears, suggesting I genuflect as I pass the life size (both height and width) portrait of The Donald.   “But,” she says, “By no means should you take a knee.”

Behind me is a gentleman who is apparently of foreign decent.  When he apologetically states he has no identification, Poof, the holograph disappears and the booming voice of Donald descends from the heavens, proclaiming --“OUT, OUT, GET THE S.O.B. OUT.  YOU'RE FIRED.”

I had to move on as I was being charged by the hour.

My recollection is that all the walls were painted a brilliant lily white.  Ivanka is back suggesting I follow the main corridor and at the end not to miss what's at the far right. She also urges me to look around in the High Tariff gift shop and purchase an official DJT gift with the presidential seal made by our good friends in China. She adds, “Please be sure to buy something in the apparel closeout section."

As I walk down the main corridor a screeching sound is heard and a golf cart comes careening around the corner from the alt-right.  It has been customized to look like the original clown car from the 2016 campaign.  At the wheel is Steve Bannon.  Except his hair is combed and bleached blond.  He says, “Get in.  I’ll show you around."    

Room after room passes by but I’m able to read the name plates on each door.

There is the Insults room, with dozens of printed tweets posted on the walls. The first one I see is about Rosie O'Donnell.

The Fake News room has an old teletype machine clacking away.  Lots of stuff is coming in from Fox News.

The Immigration room. On quick glance there are several pictures of families being reunited.  Including dates showing reunions occurring some five years after separation.

The Military Parade room has photos of veterans groups taking a knee.  I notice as a veteran I was in one of the pictures.  Head bowed, fist in the air.

There is the crowded Wives room.

The Promises Made room includes an audio introduction by Jon Luvitz.

The Apprentice room has Meatloaf songs piped in.

In the Law Suits room where there is a life-sized portrait of Roy Cohn.

The Miss Universe room has a for sale sign on the door.

A Space Force room includes mock ups of the first space warriors Trump wants to send to the moon.

There is a wax museum of many of the most prominent players from Trump World --Giuliani, Sessions, Bannon, Kellyanne, Hope Hicks, Anthony Scaramucci, and many more.

Right next to it is the Robert Mueller room and next door to that the Pardon room.

There is the Ladies room with wax likenesses of Stormy Daniels, Karen McDougal, a couple of Russian working girls, and even Rosie and Megyn.

The Putin room contains memorabilia from all their good times together.  With a newly-released video. I need to get back there to watch it.

I pass the Rocket Man room.

Steven, in my dream I asked Steve Bannon to show me the basement, but he said it was closed.  Something having to do with the base crumbling.

When we get to the end of the first floor hall, I see broom closets that are devoted to black people.  One is for NFL and NBA players, including LeBron James, and another for Maxie Waters and someone named Omarosa.  That name is crossed off and "Low Life Dog" is spray painted in its place.

Bannon tells me there is a wall half built around the library but contractors walked off the job when the residents in Queens refused to pay for it.

There are several floors just like this but the sun is coming up and so I rush to get out.

Sitting out front in a lawn chair I see former CIA director, John Brennan.  He told me they won’t let him in without a security clearance.

Driving home I can hear Tom Bodett saying, "Come back soon. We’ll leave the light on for ya”.

The road is smooth yet my car is rocking and bouncing.

A voice in my head says, "George, George wake up you’re having that nightmare again."

                                            *   *   *

I wrote back--"Somehow having 'library' and 'Donald Trump' in the same sentence is an oxymoron."

George said, "This is supposed to make me feel better?"

Site of the Donald J. Trump Presidential Library

March 10, 2017--Skip the Betty Ford Idea

A good friend, Lynne Roth, sent me these musings which are riffs from a series of my recent blogs. I love her sensibility and thought you might like to listen in--
Honestly, I have been sparing you by not sharing my views. I have even refrained from checking your blog first thing every day.  It is difficult.

As for rehab--skip the Betty Ford idea you and your partner in love have your own retreat in Delray Beach, the rehab capital of the country. Another perk is you do not require searching for a halfway house. 

Last night on The Last Word, Lawrence O'Donnell read a letter allegedly written by Trump's grandfather, begging not to be deported from a European country

Yesterday Dr. Carson spoke to the captive audience he now lords over. He struck a nerve when I heard him refer to slaves, upon the backs of whom this nation's lopsided economy was built, as immigrants!  As if they had a choice. Then he back-peddled more than once and said we needed to look up the definition of "immigrants." I was not the only person who took offense.

A visual of three cabinet members holding the new Executive Order on immigration was broadcast. The body language spoke volumes.

Like you, I have rationed my intake of the news but have failed. Playing bridge with a group of people, refraining from discussions of politics helps but is not long lasting.

Frustrated, I am still awaiting for citizens to use the correct term  Affordable Care Act and drop the "Obama."  The new version will soon be labeled as unaffordable and cause a few Republicans to find new jobs.

Anyone in government or the legal business knows if someone is worried about wiretapping or surveillance you have the premises swept. Parinoid attorneys I worked for had it performed frequently on a daily basis.

Your reference to geese is on point. Many folks know geese are as fierce and intimidating as ferocious dogs.  I speak from experience having been chased as a child while visiting a farm.  My father warned me, but it was too late. I was five years old and the same size as the snowy white monster waddling across the lawn. The simmering sounds of a few quacks errupted into terrifying screams from my throat as I turned and ran for safety. My short legs were reliable and I clamored up a fence, ripping my dress as the goose chomped and tore a hole in the edge of the skirt.

My second encounter was in the Dominican Republic. I drove into the parking lot of a road side stand to refill some propane tanks. A young man bounded out to my car and carried off the two tanks. He invited me to shop for fresh vegetables and eggs. We practiced our language skills as I casually gathered some eggs.  The eggs varied in color and size.  Simultaneously, as I asked about and picked up a goose egg, a gaggle of geese appeared.  I needed no warning! I left my eggs and vegetables  and jumped in the car. The gentleman placed the full tanks in the car trunk and came to collect payment.  He grinned and said, "You're a smart lady, not everyone knows geese are the best watch dogs. Many men have tried to steal from me but my geese are good workers."

When I learned the long tradition of daily briefing journalists was winnowing into a gaggle I hoped the geese would be as aggressive as those I have encountered. This tradition of maintaining democracy should not be forfeited for good ratings.

Our nation is paying a terrible price to educate an uncouth illiterate thug on the law, diplomacy, and the art of faking forgiveness. 

While Nixon drank and spoke to his demons, Nancy consulted the stars and Hillary channeled Eleanor Roosevelt, Roy Cohn is whispering in Donald's ear (as he did in Joe McCarthy's) reassuring him a job well done while his dogs lay bleeding in the west wing, exhausted from the mandatory battles, hoping one of the messages leaked to various agencies will reach the ears of some brave citizens able to end this nightmare.

The rockets are being fired at our bases in Japan. 

When the daily Trump news is interrupted by breaking news and now a word from our President,  who will appear and tell us we are at war?  But don't worry, "trust me."

Where are our leaders?

Roy Cohn & Donald Trump