It was a weekend night. I was at one of her rallies in a high-school gym in a handsome suburb. It was well-organized—good lighting and security, a buzzy crowd. Mrs. Clinton was introduced and she bounded out—blue pantsuit, well made-up, high-energy, pointing out friends, real or imagined, in the crowd. I thought: Give it to her, she’s 60-something, she’s out in America working the room, making the speech, enacting the joy, when she could be home on a Saturday night watching TV.
Then it struck me. If she weren’t here, she’d be in an empty house in Chappaqua, N.Y., the focus of no eyes—not important, not glamorous, no aides or staffers. I thought: She needs to run, it’s this or reruns on Bravo. I thought: This is why you pick up that there is no overarching purpose, theme or mission to her candidacy—because there isn’t. There is only her need—not to be powerless, not to be away from the center. It’s not The America Project, it’s The Hillary Project.
You see that a lot in politicians, but not always those running for president. That night I think I saw it in her.Bang.
Hillary is Bobby Byrd in 206 when he was seeking his seventh or eighth term in the Senate, arms flapping like wings from his "benign tremors" as his staff called it. Actually it was his ninth term.
Noonan went on to dump on Trump. Has to. She's with the Wall Street Journal and Rupert Murdoch has not bestowed the coveted Designated Trumpkin slot upon her.
But Noonan nevertheless unveiled Hillary's unstated vulnerability on policy: she has nothing to offer the American people but her lies, greed, and fear.
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