Newall: Crabby fries at the end of the world
The first person I met at the Trump inaugural party at Chickie's & Pete's in South Philadelphia was Santa Claus.
The first person I met at the Trump inaugural party at Chickie's & Pete's in South Philadelphia was Santa Claus.
Not really Santa, but real close: Mark Murdy, who with his perfect paunch, rose-colored cheeks, and full white beard plays Saint Nick every year at his local American Legion. To mark the swearing-in of our 45th president, Murdy, who is 62 and from Hainesport, Burlington County, wore his Make Christmas Great Again hat. His wife, Deanna (Mrs. Claus), wore her Make Christmas Great Again sweatshirt. They were jolly with joy.
At the crowded bar sat Jane Keenan, who lives in Michigan but was visiting family in Bristol. Back home, she and her husband run a company that makes, what else, American flags. And flagpoles to fly them. "Heart to God," Jane said, sipping her Bloody Mary.
Over at her high-top, Mary from South Jersey, proudly talked of raising three daughters all wise enough to vote for Donald Trump, but requested her last name not be printed. Why? Because I'd just take her words and twist them.
"You voted for Hillary," she had said when I broke that news. "I feel sorry for you."
I wanted nothing more than to look away Friday. To bury my head. But there is no looking away anymore. Our country, our presidency, this man. If we look away, we abide. We cannot abide. There's no good in shouting from the bleachers. So I went to Chickie's & Pete's, where a few hundred Trump supporters could tell me how much of an idiot I am.
Crabby fries at the end of the world.
Democracy was falling, but the bar was full. The event was sponsored by the radio station 1210 WPHT. Chickie's sits in the 26th Ward. Trump won it in November, one of only three wards he took in the city. All three had gone for Barack Obama in 2012.
But the crowd came from all over.
People like Joe Adomitis and his wife, Debi. They drove in from Mantua, Gloucester County, and nabbed seats at the bar. Joe works manufacturing, a tool-and-die man. He's lost three jobs in recent years, he said, as companies moved away. "The landing spots are getting harder and harder to find," Joe said, while Debi lustily booed Chuck Schumer. Joe was confident Trump will bring those jobs back.
That was how it was in Chickie's: lots of faith.
Trump will put America first, they said. With jobs. (He's a businessman.) With immigrants. (He just doesn't like the illegal ones.) With ISIS. (Radical Islamic terrorism, thank you very much.)
Those frightening appointees? (Give them time.)
They are tired of being labeled as racists.
And don't even bother asking Mike DeLuca, a chef instructor from Northeast Philly, about the Russians.
"Please, no proof," Mike said, wiping off his tracksuit jacket, throwing in a "lock her up" for good measure.
Even Santa.
When he's not dressing up for the holidays, Murdy works with disabled kids. Wait. Trump mocks the disabled.
"You need to see the other side of it," Murdy said, explaining that Trump always speaks with his hands and was only taken out of context when he famously mocked a disabled New York Times reporter.
Oh, Santa.
Everyone was polite enough. No one called me an idiot - at least not to my face - except Mary from South Jersey.
"He's for us," she said.
Exactly, Mary. But what about all the rest of "us"? All the immigrants, minorities, LGBT, disabled people, and everyone else who do not have a place in a Trump America.
"Oh, that's B.S.," she said.
The party wore on.
When it was time for Trump to place his hand on the Lincoln Bible, I did not look away.
None of us should. Not for the next four years. Not until this nightmare is over.
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