ANDERSON, S.C. — Paulette Del Casale and a friend drove nearly three hours last week from the Atlanta suburbs to this rural, northwest corner of South Carolina to experience a Donald Trump rally — again.
It was Del Casale’s fourth Trump event in three states, and for the first time she was going to work as a volunteer for a political campaign. She cheered through the Republican presidential candidate’s hour-long speech and, afterward, posed for photos with new friends and plugged a private Facebook group she helps moderate, “Trump Defeats the Establishment.”
“I feel, for the first time in my life, that I am not invisible,” said Del Casale, who decorated her campaign T-shirt with 14 large pro-Trump buttons. “For the first time, I feel like there’s actually somebody running for president who is speaking on behalf of myself and others like me.”
Del Casale is a prime example of the superfans who flock to Trump. They drive hours to campaign events and wait in Black Friday-like lines to get a spot close to the front. Many have never attended a political rally or regularly voted. Yet they devote hours each week to pro-Trump Facebook clubs and Twitter accounts and try to convince their relatives, friends and neighbors that the bombastic billionaire should be the leader of the free world.
“He hits the sore points that everybody kind of wants to steer around,” said Brett Hevner, a newly married 25-year-old who lives in Anderson and works for Pepsi. “That’s what I like about him — he’s not afraid to get in there and take the bullet. He’s not scared of anything, and that’s what we need.”
Trump’s campaign is not like most — and neither are Trump crowds. A recent speech in North Charleston attracted a group of middle-aged moms wearing homemade pro-Trump T-shirts and carrying elaborate signs. There was also a 71-year-old woman who said she watches cable television 15 hours a day to keep up with all of Trump’s comments. An appearance in rural Massachusetts attracted a man who has wanted Trump to run since 2012, as documented in a faded T-shirt featuring a cartoon Trump telling President Obama he is fired.
At a rally in Las Vegas, Trump invited onto the stage a star-struck fan clutching a copy of People magazine featuring his face. “I love Mr. Trump!” yelled Myriam Witcher, an immigrant from Colombia who bounced with the excitement of a teenaged girl meeting a boy-band heartthrob. “I am Hispanic, and I vote for Mr. Trump!”
At the rally in Anderson, cars in the parking lot were more likely to have a bumper sticker plugging a university, sports team or honors student than a political campaign. Inside were military veterans who were given seats of honor, high school students who won’t be old enough to vote next year and a 68-year-old retiree who attends as many Trump rallies as he can wearing a black and gold sombrero.
“I wear this in support because I feel like some Mexican people do support him and everything,” said Jim Yates of Laurens, S.C., a veteran of the Vietnam War and retired toolmaker whose favorite politicians are the ones who challenge longtime incumbents. “What I like about Trump is he tells it like it is. . . . We gonna hopefully build that wall, 25 or 30 feet. I’m gonna go down there and help him.”
Trump’s operation has been trying to identify his most passionate fans and funnel their energy into traditional campaign activities. Del Casale connected with one of Trump’s organizers on Facebook and agreed to help at last week’s rally. Wearing a laminated volunteer pass, she handed out yard signs, greeted the more than 5,500 people who arrived and cheered until she was hoarse.
When Trump said Republicans haven’t done enough to confront illegal immigration, Del Casale shouted, “We’re going to build a wall!” As he promised to get rid of the Common Core education standards, she agreed: “It’s child abuse!” And as Trump acknowledged that sometimes his tone can be a bit rough, she shouted, “We don’t need nice!” As Trump left the stage and rock music blared, she began to dance.
No comments:
Post a Comment