 And now, part 2 of the helicopter assault of poor little Shattuck, Oklahoma in August 2015. And, yes, I now know that Shattuck has only one cop, one cop car (see below). Enjoy!
When we left off yesterday, I was about to board the Trump’s luxuriously outfitted Sikorsky helicopter in Des Moines, Iowa for a trip back to somewhere in Northwest Oklahoma so the Trump could make another of his appearances. The Trump barely acknowledged my presence as I boarded the helicopter. To say the inside is plush would be an understatement. It was like a flying executive office. The thing that struck me though was how quiet it was inside. In my years of helo flights in the military (and believe me, it was far too many) I could barely hear myself think, there was always a high pitched whine in the background while in-flight. But this was much different. A person could speak in a normal voice and be heard across the cabin. As we lifted off, the Trump sat at a table that folded out from one of the bulkheads. His ready assistant, Hector (the guy who had called me at 4AM that morning), sat next to him feeding folders that contained documents for the Trump’s signature. After he signed the last document, he handed the folder back to Hector who then disappeared into the back. “Sorry, I can’t let a presidential campaign interrupt my usual business dealings. Thanks for making the effort to get up to Iowa so quickly,” he said. “Now, what is it you want from me?” I must have had a completely stunned look on my face, because he gave me a wry smile and continued. “I’ve read the stuff you write about me in your blog. For the most part you have it all wrong. I’m just a very rich working guy pursuing the all-American dream of becoming president.” I blinked a few times and then said, “Well, you have to admit Mr. Trump, your approach to campaigning has been unusual and barely a day goes by that you don’t offend someone somewhere. Is that purposeful on your part…?” I didn’t finish the rest of the sentence which would have gone something like, “…or are you just that stupid?” He looked at me, squinting his eyes slightly and responded, “Let me tell you something there, blogger boy. I’ve spent my entire life doing things the unconventional way. It’s what made me a rich success. I know what’s best for America and plan to give it to the American people when I’m elected.” He paused and then raised his hand above his head, “I mean, look at this helicopter. With this, I can get into the small towns where no presidential candidate goes. The media finds out I was there, it pisses them off that no one notified them, but so what? They report it, I get some attention, and the little people in the little towns love me even more. It’s win-win.” I asked a series of policy questions, hoping to find some evidence of substance, but he always responded the same way… “I’m not going to answer that now. Next question.” Finally, I asked him exactly where he was planning to set down in Northwest Oklahoma, he responded, “Shattuck”…though he pronounced it sha-took. That led to me teaching him how to properly pronounce the name of the place he had chosen to invade. I mentioned that I didn’t realize there was an airport in Shattuck and that the nearest I knew of was outside of Gage some eight miles away. He told me then that they were planning to set down in the parking lot of the Venture Foods store on the south end of Main. He said they planned to buzz the town right down Main Street before landing so he could attract the biggest crowd. When I asked why he had chosen Shattuck, he informed me that there was almost no media around for miles to ask tough, stupid questions. At that point, he handed me a Bluetooth headset and told me that we would be able to communicate with one another and the pilot through the headsets. With headsets on, he said, “We plan to come in low from the north with the sun at our back and about a mile out, we’ll put on the music.” Idiot that I am, I asked, “Music?” “Yeah, I use Wagner. Scares the hell out of the little people and gets them out of their homes and businesses to see what’s going on. I love it!” He spoke into the microphone of his headset, “Put on psy-war op. Make it loud. It’s romeo foxtrot, shall we dance?” As strains of Ride of Valkyries began to boom from somewhere outside the aircraft, he leaned over the table toward me and said, “When we get down, my boys will set up a horseshoe pit. These people love that stuff!” I looked out the window next to me and saw that we were, in fact, low over Main Street Shattuck. As we approached the supermarket parking lot, the helo slowed and pitched up slightly for descent. I could see people standing in the parking lot, their bags of groceries blowing across the pavement from the rotor wash. People were turning away and cowering to protect their eyes from the flying dirt and debris. The helicopter no sooner landed than the Trump was out of his seat and descending the steps onto the parking lot (with me right behind him). He glanced around at the smallish crowd and the throng of vehicles now coming down Main Street to see the spectacle. He gestured to Hector and pointed to a small patch of grass on the north end of the lot. Hector and one other individual whom I hadn’t met began hammering in stakes for the horseshoe pit. The Trump next picked up a bullhorn and announced, “I am Trump! I am your next president. Thank you for coming out here today to meet with me. Please remain calm. There will be plenty of time for you meet me. No questions please. I’m not here to do that today.” The next sound we heard was that of three police cars (figure it was the entire force of Shattuck) and a few fire engines. The police got out with their weapons drawn, telling the crowd to get back. The Trump, unimpressed with a sudden small town show of force, hollered into the bullhorn, “Attention, little people. We have set up a horseshoe pit right over there.” He gestured toward the area where Hector and the other guy were working to get things set. People whose groceries had been blown away on landing or their skirts blown up around their necks were shouting at us and shaking their fists. I tugged at the Trump’s flight suit and said, “Mr. Trump, don’t you think it’s a bit risky to be playing horseshoes? Those police look as though they mean business.” He whirled on me and screamed, “If I say it’s safe to pitch horseshoes, blogger boy, it’s safe to pitch horseshoes! Now you either pitch horseshoes or start passing out brochures!” He sniffed at the air and then said, “Smell that? Do you smell that? I love the smell of angry voters in the afternoon! The smell, that smell of a mix of anger and fear. Smells like…victory!” He paused, much calmer and said, “Someday this campaign is gonna be over. Someday.” With that he walked off into the throng of people. “Now, who wants a helicopter ride with Uncle Trump?” Comments are closed.
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