These times we live in—they are troubled, are they not? What hath the commoners wrought upon our noble republic, with this “Trump” whose gaudy habits offendeth the senses? Whose common voice shall explain to one and all the unknowable thoughts of the peasantry?
Peggy Noonan, defender of morals, whisperer of Reaganisms, consumer of potions. A famed friend to the sorts of lower classes who are oft seen in jobs of service. With roots in our noble past, Peggy is nevertheless able to seek out and interpret the ramblings of “regular” Americans, whose knowledge of Reagan-era dinner parties may be limited or even nonexistent. We thank the humble gods that she is here. Otherwise, we would be forced to rely solely upon rap-and-roll lyrics to divine the mental state of the average savage citizen.
This Trump matter. From whence has it arisen? To answer that, Peggy must leave her airy abode and venture forth, vehicularly, in search of the wisdom that is found only in the streets of dirt, and cobblestones.
It should probably be said again that everything had to fail for Mr. Trump to rise. You know all the failures, but since we seem to be quoting Uber drivers this cycle,
I’ll offer the thoughts of one I talked to in Providence, R.I., a month ago.
For those less versed in gutter lingo than Peggy Noonan, please turn to your “urban dictionaries” in order to properly interpret the words to come.
She’s for Mr. Trump. Started out against him: Who is this guy, he’s a TV star. But she listened and thought: Yeah, I agree. She knows he has an unusual biography for a president. She said most of her friends have experienced the same arc from skepticism to support. She told me her reasons, the usual, but then said something poignant. This is from memory, not notes, but I’ll put it in quotes for easy reading: “Every four years we’re serious, we try to get it right, we do our best to choose the right guy. And nothing we do works! Bush, no, Romney, no, Obama’s a disaster. But we did our best! And now we’re thinking ‘Nothing worked. Take a chance.’ And if he’s no good we’ll fire him in four years.”
I feel as though the clouds have parted and Reagan himself has reached down a loving hand and graced me with a dose of heavenly wisdom. The words of a lowly chauffeur, filtered through the subtle grandeur of Peggy Noonan’s memory. A learning opportunity of this sort does not come along just any day.
I looked at the other passenger, and our eyes locked. We’d just heard the heart of it, the bottom-line mood.
The bottom-line mood of the American barbarian class: “Take a chance.” Etch this epithet into your moleskines, political ponderers. It shall go down as a defining piece of insight into the simplistic thoughts of your lessers.
My thanks to one Peggy Noonan for the unswervable nature of her search for truth, which led her into the darkest reaches of an “Uber” coach car, with neither footman nor butler to accompany her. I pray only that future political analysts possess courage equal to hers, that they too may find “Uber” drivers of their own to consult, as purveyors of folkloric wisdom and mythology.