Lee Geiger

You know what the difference is between Ronald Reagan and Donald Trump? Reagan got the girl. Trump bought the girl.

Lee Geiger

I know, I know. It’s been awhile since you last heard from me. I don’t really have a good excuse, so I won’t try to make one up. But I’m back.

Dear Republican Party,

I bet you’re surprised to hear from me. I know it’s been a long time since we last communicated, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about you. I mean, we once cared for each other, didn’t we?

Do you remember the first time we met? I do, and it seems like yesterday. It was a sweltering Monday morning in October 1980, just three short weeks shy of Election Day. I was a dopy 20-year old sophomore grinding my way towards an Economics degree at Claremont Men’s College, an academic incubator of conservative thought. I was standing atop a concrete wall in front of Honnold Library, observing a rowdy horde of 3,000-plus college students swarming the grassy quad between the library and a large temporary stage. Most of the students had ditched their morning classes to hear a presidential campaign speech delivered by former California Governor Ronald Reagan, your party’s official nominee. One scene from that day stands out in my dusty memory bank; a student had dressed up as a tree fastened with a large sign proclaiming “STOP ME BEFORE I KILL,” apparently in reference to something Reagan had said about trees causing more air pollution than cars. I remember laughing out loud, though I can’t remember if it because of the costume or what Reagan had said.

Nineteen-Eighty was my first presidential scrimmage, and at this point I still hadn’t made up my mind as to whom I wanted to vote for. President Jimmy Carter was the incumbent Democratic nominee, and I was torn as to how I really felt about him. President Carter seemed like a really nice guy and all, and he sounded super-intelligent when he spoke, but I found his leadership skills lacking, especially after he delivered his curious “Crisis of Confidence” speech the year before. Afterwards, any time I heard him on television addressing issues such as long gas lines, the gloomy economy or the frustrating Iranian hostage crisis, I waited for a cartoonish “wah-wah” sound made by a muted trombone. This is my president? As for Reagan, who was leading in the polls at the time, I didn’t really know much about him, and his smarmy “Morning in America” commercials did nothing for me. Plus Reagan’s background was as an actor, and who in their right mind would ever vote for a former thesbian to become their president? I mean, let’s get real. Lastly, Running as a popular third-party candidate was John Anderson, a Republican congressman from Illinois. But no way was I going to vote for an independent. That’s like throwing your vote away, I thought.

Reagan arrived to much fanfare, most of it piped-in from the super-sized speakers next to the stage. Glued to Reagan’s hip was CMC President Jack Stark, the head of my collegiate Republican Petri Dish, making sure his picture made the evening newscasts. I don’t remember much of what Reagan said that day, though I do recall him repeating his campaign’s mantra of “are you better off today than you were four years ago?” Nonetheless, the tone of his message wasn’t “America is a mess, and I’m going to make it great again.” To me it was more like “America IS great, and here’s what we’re going to do to make it even greater.”

However, midway through his speech a vociferous band of students began heckling him with full-throated chats of “Heil Reagan,” accompanied by outstretched right arms pointed toward the sky at a 45-degree angle. Reagan continued, though he was difficult to hear. Truth be told, I thought the student protest was rude, obnoxious and disrespectful. I came to listen to Reagan, not them.

That’s when the magic happened. Reagan, his face turning beet red and looking as though he was ready to spit a first-strike slew of nuclear missiles, stopped his speech in mid-sentence and pointed directly toward the protestors. “I take a little pride,” he said with a scolding tone that rivaled anything my mother could have delivered, “that if it wasn’t for our generation they’d be saying ‘HEIL SOMEBODY.’” The audience roared.

Game. Set. Match. To my mind, that was how a leader should act. Politically, it was love at first sight.

Bitten by the Republican bug, I voted for Reagan, and for the next eight years of my formative growth, which included an internship in Washington, D.C., graduation, marriage, graduate school and a new job on Wall Street, I was influenced heavily by Reagan and his conservative platform. He simply looked, acted, and behaved like someone who should be President of the United States. Though I didn’t always agree (he opposed the creation of the Martin Luther King holiday), understand (what exactly is supply-side economics?), or even like him (see: Iran Contra), Reagan led. Personally, I don’t want a president who thinks exactly the same as I do, who checks off all the boxes as to my way of thinking. To be perfectly frank, I’m not that smart or informed. The ability to lead, I’ve always believed, is the quality I value most in a president. That’s why I voted for Reagan. And Clinton. And Bush. And Obama.

Which brings me to why I decided I had to write. Donald Trump? Really? This guys is more bizarre than President Frank Underwood on “House of Cards.” Are you even remotely implying that come Election Day, this mean-spirited, fear-mongering megaphone who has moved the Republican vision so far to the right that it is virtually unrecognizable, is going to be the party’s nominee? He’s the best you can come up with? Please tell me you’re joking, and that his presidential campaign up to this point has been nothing more than a neo-conservative nightmare. Trump is not leader, he’s bad for conservatism, and I’d be embarrassed to call him my president.

If, come November, Trump is the choice you’re giving me to go up against Hillary or Bernie, I’ve got three words for you; He. Can’t. Win. On second thought, I’ve got three more words for you, three words I never thought I’d say back in October 1980.

Run. Bloomberg. Run.