Reporters' Notebook: In The Eye of the Trump Firestorm
What it's like covering Trump during the darkest days of his candidacy.
— -- It started on a Friday afternoon. The debate was two days away and Donald Trump was supposed to travel to Wisconsin the next day for an appearance at the Elkhorn Fall Fest. The press was excited for fried fair food.
But that fateful afternoon everything changed. Audio had leaked and, in it, the Republican nominee boasted about how his celebrity status gave him license to touch women's genitals and kiss them without permission. He talked about a married woman he once tried to have sex with. At the time, his wife, Melania, was pregnant.
Friday evening, Trump released a video message in which he apologized, but contended that Bill Clinton’s actions had been worse.
"I’ve said some foolish things but there’s a big difference between the words and actions of other people," Trump said in his statement. "Bill Clinton has actually abused women, and Hillary has bullied, attacked, shamed, and intimidated his victims."
Saturday, swaths of Republican lawmakers began to condemn their nominee and withdraw their support. Trump spent the day hunkered down at Trump Tower, the campaign now in crisis. We raced down there. Even outside, the scene was surreal. Trump’s loyal supporters had gathered outside as scattered rain fell. Clouds hovered over the Tower; they were dark and ominous.
Inside, Trump huddled with members of his inner circle: Campaign Chief Steve Bannon, Campaign Manager Kellyanne Conway, son Donald Jr., son-in-law, Jared Kushner, New Jersey Governor Chris Christie, and former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani. Chairman of the Republican National Committee, Reince Priebus also flew in. And Melania, Trump’s wife, also participated.
Sources told us that the mood was dire that day. Even though the debate was a day away there was very little prep. Amid the reticence of Conway and Trump’s daughter Ivanka, they settled on a plan to power through the last month of the election; plod through and leave the earth scorched in the wake.
This was evident on Sunday. A group of reporters had been invited to film Trump’s last moments of "debate prep" before the second debate in St. Louis. What they found instead were four women -- three of whom had accused Bill Clinton of sexual assault.
As we sat in the media filing center, our phones buzzed; Trump was hosting a Facebook live. And there he was, Donald Trump, flanked by Juanita Broaddrick, Paula Jones, Kathleen Willey and Kathy Shelton.
Covering this campaign has made us accustomed to all sorts of bombshells, but nothing could have prepared us for this.
We later found out that the plan was to have the women sit in the family’s box during the debate; they would have had to face Bill Clinton and shake his hand. The plan was thwarted.
By Monday, Trump had returned to the campaign trail -- his lifeblood. Speaking to the screaming crowds, he called Bill Clinton a predator and Hillary a vicious attacker of women. He touted unscientific polls and read "The Snake," an allegory he uses to warn of the dangers of unvetted refugees and immigrants. He was passed a "Mini Trump," a toddler impersonator who declared to the crowd that his choice was "Trump!"
Tuesday morning, our guidance seemed to be right: Trump was burning the house down. All he needed was the tips of his fingers. Through tweets, he called Sen. John McCain "foul-mouthed," hit Speaker of the House Paul Ryan as "weak and ineffective," and chastised "disloyal R’s."
That morning, a source emailed that Trump was reverting to his old self, telling senior staffers that he wanted to focus on his signature issues: border security and immigration. He would end this campaign as he began it -- on his own terms.
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