I’ve been on the ground here. What I know is that no matter what the polls tell you, Donald Trump is winning in Pennsylvania. I’m not saying it’s over, but this is more than momentum.
Perry is a hell of a nice guy from North Carolina who I met in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. He’s in his 30s and is a consultant who has walked the Appalachian Trail. He thinks Vice President Kamala Harris is losing.
“I wish she would just be clearer about who she is,” he told me. And he likes her, he even likes her better than he liked President Biden, but he’s not an idiot and he sees the wheels are falling off of her campaign.
I appreciated Perry talking to me because, honestly, it’s been harder and harder to get Democrats to talk of late. Like sad New York Mets fans, they are licking their wounds, and not in a particularly chatty mood.
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Two months ago, this was not the case. High off of the dispatching of Biden and the anointing of Harris as the nominee, Democrats were on a sugar high and eager to chat.
But Perry was willing to tell me, with his charming Southern twang, that “the Democrats are just closer to my values.” He has friends voting for former President Trump, and, thankfully, has not had many relationships broken up over it.
I pressed Perry a bit, because he really was such a nice guy, and I said, “Why? What is it about Harris that inspires you?”
What followed was a familiar faraway look in the eyes, like an eager hand, grasping for something that doesn’t exist, “She gives me hope,” he said, and honestly it was the best pitch for Harris that I have heard in three months on the road.
Later in the evening, I met Ryan, ex-military, in his early 40s and all in for Trump. Ryan didn’t hit a lot of talking points or make a stump speech, he just thinks Trump is solid, and he has no idea who Harris is.
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Turns out, he went to West Point with my much more impressive cousin Joey. Texts ensued, and I realized how small Pennsylvania really is, for all its vast forest and mountains of autumnal awe and grace. We all kind of know each other.
And what I know is that no matter what the polls tell you, Trump is winning in Pennsylvania. I’m not saying it’s over, but this is more than momentum. It is starting to feel like destiny.
Nicole, who is a housekeeper at my hotel and a Harris supporter, told me over a morning cigarette that she likes the vice president. I said, “If I gave you a hundred bucks right now and you had to put it on one or the other, what do ya do?”
“Trump,” she said, gesturing to a sign across the ancient Carlisle road. There wasn’t much doubt in her voice.
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It brought to mind a guy I spoke to the previous evening. His family has owned Pennsylvania coal mines for a century, and I said, “So, do you go in those little tunnels? I don’t think I could.”
He said, “It’s not so bad, I could take you some time.” I might take him up on that, once the unpleasantness is all over.
“We sell our coal to China,” he told me. “We’d like to sell it in the U.S., but we can’t.”
“You think that changes if Trump gets elected?,” I asked him.
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“I hope so,” he said. And there was that word again. Hope.
Harris needs Perry and the housekeeper, and she has them. Well, that’s not quite right — the Democratic Party has them, not Harris, and that is the problem.
Love him, hate him or ignore him, Trump is who he is, and the voters know what they would be getting. Harris remains an enigma, a vague promise full of high and haughty words, almost a ghost.
Ghosts don’t win elections, and that is exactly why Kamala Harris is losing in Pennsylvania, and poised to fall to Trump.
Harris, or the Party, or Nancy Pelosi, or former President Obama, or whoever is in charge needs to decide who she really is. Right now. Today.
Perry wants something and someone to vote for. I heard it in his voice, and he deserves that.
Whether or not he gets it remains to be seen.
