Everything I know about parenting, and whatever successes I’ve had in life, I owe to my mom and dad. They have modeled the virtues of integrity, faithfulness, reliability, perseverance, and trustworthiness that I aspire to in my professional and personal callings. Their devotion—to each other, to their children, and to the Lord—has set an example for which I will be forever grateful. Every child should be so fortunate as to be raised by parents who encourage their every endeavor, commiserate with their every struggle, forgive their every failure, and celebrate their every triumph. Mom and Dad, thank you for everything.
To my three brothers, who collectively showed minimal interest in this project and seemed largely unimpressed with my landing a book deal, thank you for keeping your little brother grounded. The fact that you respect me less for being an author than for being a family man—and for being a better athlete than all of you—speaks volumes about our shared priorities. Chris, J.J., Brian: The next round’s on me.
I want to send love to my nieces and nephews (Alexis, Norah, Henry, Madison, Gabriel, Tyler, Isaac, Miles) and my sisters-in-law (Kristi, Steph). And I want to give a special shout-out to Rudy and Kinjal, my bhai and bhen, for always being here for us and the boys.
There are three people to whom I’m deeply indebted for getting this colossus on wheels. Matt Latimer and Keith Urbahn, my agents at Javelin, went all-in despite having bigger clients and more lucrative projects to pursue. Their guidance was essential from start to finish. And Jonathan Jao, my editor at HarperCollins, could see my vision for telling this story—one not just about Trump, but about the culture that produced him—when many others could not. He also helped whittle down a manuscript that came in 100,000 words long while keeping its soul intact, never losing patience with his author even when he had every right to. Matt, Keith, Jonathan: All three of you guys have been loyal advisers and confidants throughout a process that was daunting and entirely foreign to me. I cannot imagine having smarter, savvier, more responsive people by my side.
Bringing this book to life, particularly on a crash production schedule, would not have been possible without some of the other brilliant minds at HarperCollins. Sarah Haugen deserves special accolades for her capability and good cheer throughout. But even before the manuscript was submitted, the heaviest lifting was done by two people: Derek Robertson, my assistant (and fellow Michigander), who was tireless in his fact checking and researching; and Jim O’Sullivan, my dear friend and dedicated sounding board, who provided real-time feedback on things big and small. Derek and Jim, the peace of mind you provided me was truly invaluable. Please know that I’m exceptionally grateful to the both of you.
Choosing HarperCollins to publish this work came on the advice of a number of industry veterans, all of whom told me some variation of the same thing: There is no better publicity team in the business. Having worked with Tina Andreadis and Theresa Dooley, I cannot overstate just how right they were. While my list of rookie concerns grew longer by the day since signing on that dotted line, I can honestly say that the marketing of this book never concerned me for a moment. Tina and Theresa, you have exuded competence and professionalism every step of the way. I’m so glad to have you in my corner.
Long before I sold myself as someone capable of writing a definitive account of the modern political era, I was a part-time janitor, full-time waiter, and struggling community college student with no real direction in life. It was only after transferring to Michigan State and coming under the tutelage of two men in particular—Eric Freedman and Bill McWhirter—that I realized a love not just for journalism but for political storytelling. Having once believed that no career could be more satisfying than that of a baseball beat writer, Eric and Bill helped me see the thrill of covering a far more important game. I’m not sure where life would have taken me had I not come under their influence—but it certainly wouldn’t have been Washington.
It was the work in Eric’s program, the Capital News Service, that led to my big break: an internship at the D.C. bureau of the Wall Street Journal. For that opportunity I must first thank the late Terry Michael, whose program, the Washington Center for Politics and Journalism, opened the door to a career in the capital. At the Journal, it was Mary Lu Carnevale, the eminently gifted (and exceptionally patient) news editor who held this wide-eyed intern’s hand when others justifiably wondered what the hell he was doing in her newsroom. Thank you, Mary Lu, for your grace and your kindness.
At that point, I was a penniless intern renting a closet for $400 a month in the not-yet-renovated Petworth neighborhood, driving an Oldsmobile with two plastic-​wrapped windows and selling CDs to a pawn shop on 14th Street NW for two dollars apiece to buy ramen noodles. In the decade since, I’ve outworked a lot of reporters who are smarter and better pedigreed. But I’ve also benefited tremendously from the risks taken on me by people who could have played it safe: Jim VandeHei, John Harris, Danielle Jones, Mike Allen, and Ben Smith at Politico; Reid Wilson, Josh Kraushaar, Ron Fournier, and Charlie Green at National Journal; Rich Lowry and Jack Fowler at National Review; and, in my second tour at Politico, the amazing Carrie Budoff Brown.
It’s imperative at this point that I stop to thank the four colleagues and friends who have meant the most to me in this journey: Kristin Roberts, my erstwhile editor at National Journal, who pushed me to maximize my abilities as a source reporter and brought out the best in my stories, though I hated some of her edits; Shane Goldmacher, my old office mate in the NJ “locker room,” whose polish and precision rubbed off on me every single day, and whose dramatically different background made us an odd yet perfect pairing; Eliana Johnson, who lobbied to bring me aboard National Review even as it threatened her status as the publication’s top news reporter, and who secured us the autonomy to produce some powerhouse reporting from an opinion journal not traditionally known for it; and Blake Hounshell, the mad tweeter, whose quick-twitch social media instincts belie a storytelling guru whose stewardship of Politico Magazine took my feature writing to another level.
All four of you—Kristin, Shane, Eliana, and Blake—have been crucial to the advancement of my career and the refining of my talents, all the while allowing me to remain true to myself. I could ask for nothing more.
As for remaining true to myself, allow me to recognize my original supporting cast—a group of guys who helped make me the man I am today. To Jim Nelson, Bill Duffey, A. J. Lear, Kyle Lamanen, Sean Taylor, Garrett Chapman, Jason Olinik, Joe Powell, Phil Clark, and all my other boys from back home, thanks for having my back. (Honorable mention to the out-of-towners: Andy Geyer, Anthony “Zags” Zagajewski, and the UVA crew that adopted me in Arlington.) And to those mentors who steered me away from trouble as an unruly youth—Sean Carleton, Joe Mackle—I hope you guys take a special satisfaction in seeing that your efforts paid off.
It’s also important that I recognize the friendships I’ve forged along the way—not the D.C. cocktail circuit chums who traffic in mutually beneficial relationships, but the buddies with whom I’ll be drinking beers longer after we’ve escaped the Beltway: Alex Roarty, Scott Bland, Steve Shepard, Raphael Esparza, Sean Sullivan, Patrick Reis, Jim Oliphant, Ben Terris, Charlie Szold, Jonathan Swan, Adam Wollner, Josh Dawsey. You guys have made it much easier to tolerate living and working in the world’s most insufferable city. Thanks for the good times, one and all.