By the first week of October, the Republican nominee’s lack of support from the establishment media, including its most conservative elements, came into sharp focus. Trump was the first presidential nominee in history to receive no major newspaper endorsements. The traditionally conservative editorial pages of the Dallas Morning News, the Arizona Republic, the Houston Chronicle, and the Cincinnati Enquirer backed Clinton; others, including the Detroit News, the New Hampshire Union-Leader, and the Richmond Times-Dispatch supported the Libertarian Party’s nominee, Gary Johnson. USA Today, which had never endorsed in its history, threw its weight behind Clinton, calling Trump “a serial liar” who was “unfit for the presidency.”23
The poll numbers were no more encouraging. As of early October, Trump still trailed Clinton by 9 points in Pennsylvania, according to the RCP average; by 7 points in Michigan; by 6 points in Wisconsin; and by 3 points in both Florida and North Carolina.
With the writing on the wall, and the post–Election Day repercussions to consider, some of Trump’s frenemies in the GOP began circling the wagons. Cruz finally offered an endorsement in late September. And Ryan, who had gone out of his way never to be photographed with Trump, fearful that it would be used to tarnish his image, invited the nominee to join him at “Fall Fest,” an annual rally in his Wisconsin district on October 8.
There would be a reckoning among Trump’s supporters after he lost in November, and his Republican rivals were acting preemptively to avoid any blame.
Chapter Sixteen
October 2016
“Mother is not going to like this.”
ONE BY ONE, THEY HAD TRICKLED OUT OF THE CONFERENCE ROOM ON the twenty-fifth floor of Trump Tower. It was Friday, October 7, two days before the second presidential debate, and the Republican nominee’s brain trust had spent the morning running a carefully simulated rehearsal session. Chris Christie, playing the role of Hillary Clinton, was seated adjacent to his opponent at a conference table; Reince Priebus, acting as the moderator, was positioned directly across from Trump. The rest of the observers—Hope Hicks, Steve Bannon, Kellyanne Conway, David Bossie, Jared Kushner, and the nominee’s children, among a few others—listened critically, offering occasional feedback.
Hicks had left the room first. The others, more glued to their smartphones than usual, began taking turns excusing themselves. Priebus, Christie, and Trump pushed onward with the debate prep. Finally, looking up and realizing that it was only the three of them remaining, Priebus paused the proceedings. “Okay,” he told Trump. “When the entire staff leaves the room, something’s up.”
Trump hadn’t noticed, either. Now he glanced from side to side. To his right, through the glass-plated doors, he could see the members of his team huddled outside the conference room, arguing in hushed tones. “Yeah,” Trump said, breaking from his practiced debate cadence and barking toward the glass. “What the hell’s going on out there?”
A few agonizing moments passed before the door opened. In walked Hicks, carrying a stapled packet of papers. She handed them silently to Trump. A former Ralph Lauren model known for her sharp looks and confident mien, Hicks was now ashen-faced. Trump eyed the top sheet and began reading. “Uh huh,” he said, flipping to the next page. “Mmm hmmm.”
Priebus was growing impatient—and fearful. “What is it?” he said. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Trump ignored him. Turning to a new page, he scanned the print and then stopped suddenly, his expression and tone shifting at once. He looked up at Hicks. “This doesn’t sound like me.”
Priebus raised his voice in uncharacteristic fashion. “Someone tell me something, please!”
Trump looked at him, put the packet on the table, and slid it across. The party chairman began to read, the room now filling around him with the rest of the team. They had all seen it: an email exchange with Washington Post reporter David Farenthold, who claimed to have an old audio recording of Trump making exceedingly lewd remarks about women and boasting of his ability to get away with sexual assault. Farenthold had sent over the alleged quotes and was requesting comment from the campaign for a story that would run later that day.
“Wow, this isn’t good,” Priebus said, his eyes fixed on a single line. “This is really, really bad.”
The group was paralyzed with silence. Finally, Kushner piped up. “You know, I don’t think it’s all that bad.”
“Jared, what are you talking about?” Priebus said, burying his head in his hands. “This is as bad as it gets.”
Trump, talking to no one in particular, repeated himself. “This doesn’t sound like me.”
Two of the nominee’s advisers spoke up in support of that theory. Conway and Bossie vouched for Trump, saying they had never heard him use any such language to describe women. This wasn’t his style.
Priebus was struck by an impossible bolt of optimism. He told Trump that maybe it was all a mistake; he recalled the time he was misquoted after a speech, when the chairman had used the phrase “hates us” and a reporter wrote that he had said “racist.” Tape recordings were tricky things, Priebus said. Maybe this entire situation was a foul-up.
Just then, Bossie pulled out his iPad. Farenthold, the Post reporter, had sent the audio file. With the nominee’s team clustered around him, Bossie pressed play. They listened. And then, Trump spoke up. “Well,” he said, “that’s me.”
The room fell hushed. “It was a moment of humility and vulnerability,” Conway recalls. “He legitimately did not remember saying that.”
IT WAS JUST BEFORE 4:00 P.M. IN THE NATION’S CAPITAL WHEN THE Washington Post published an “October surprise” for the ages.
Farenthold’s story told of an exclusively obtained audio recording of Trump, eleven years earlier and newly married, boasting of his sexual exploits to television host Billy Bush. The two were riding together on a bus, preparing to shoot a segment for the NBC show Access Hollywood, when Trump recalled how he’d once tried to sleep with Bush’s cohost, Nancy O’Dell.
“I moved on her and I failed. I’ll admit it. I did try and fuck her. She was married. And I moved on her very heavily,” Trump said on the tape.1 “In fact, I took her out furniture shopping. She wanted to get some furniture. I said, ‘I’ll show you where they have some nice furniture.’ I took her out furniture—I moved on her like a bitch. But I couldn’t get there. And she was married.”
Then, when the two men on the tape spotted a young woman awaiting them outside the bus—actress Arianne Zucker—Trump told Bush, “I’ve got to use some Tic Tacs just in case I start kissing her. You know, I’m automatically attracted to beautiful—I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait.”
Trump added, “And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.”
The fallout was apocalyptic.
Paul Ryan had been scheduled to make his first joint appearance with Trump the next morning at Fall Fest, the annual beer-and-bratwurst political rally in his district. Preparing to speak at a fund-raiser for a congressman in Cleveland, Ryan was pulled aside by his longtime aide, Kevin Seifert, who showed him the story. Ryan, the Boy Scout, burst into a fit of cursing just outside a roomful of wealthy donors.