Ghosts, Booze, and Mechanical Ducks

A Congressman’s Guide to Staying on the Highway of Sanity (Unlike Trump)

It was the spring of 2011. I was a new Congressman, just 32 years old, wrestling with the weight of my role and a little bit of fame—though, to be honest, the fame was much bigger in my head than in reality. One day, I was asked to appear on a well-known paranormal investigation show. I was friends with one of the guys on it, and I wanted to say yes—badly.

Now, I don’t necessarily believe in ghosts, but the idea of being on a show watched by millions sounded like fun. Thankfully, my staff was horrified. “Hell no,” they said. “Dude, you just got here.” They were right. Had I done it, who knows what would have happened? Maybe a ghost would have made me a believer. But I do know one thing: I would have been seen as someone who wasn’t serious about the job, just another guy chasing notoriety instead of doing the hard work. Looking back, I appreciate them stopping me.

There were also periods in Congress when I, and others, let’s just say, may have imbibed a little too much at after-hours parties on the Hill. Sometimes, it takes a little booze to make boring conversations more interesting. But when things got out of hand, we’d get summoned to John Boehner’s or Eric Cantor’s office, where they’d scold us like a father lecturing his son for blowing all his money downtown. Yep, it was a little embarrassing. But it worked.

Then there was the time I visited a billionaire to ask for a campaign donation. He was a pleasant guy, genuinely concerned about the country, and we had a great conversation. But when it was over, he pulled out the strangest thing I’d ever seen—a duck. Not a real duck, but a mechanical one that performed tricks. I was paralyzed for a moment, unsure if this was meant to be a joke or a serious display of eccentricity. If I laughed, I might come across as a rude kid. If I didn’t, I’d risk seeming humorless. I chose not to laugh, and, thankfully, that turned out to be the right reaction.

There’s a point to these three stories. In the first two, I was veering off the highway of life—straying outside the expectations of my role. In Congress, there’s a certain standard of behavior, an unspoken rulebook for what you should and shouldn’t do. If I were a rock star, drinking too much might be fine. If I were a Hollywood celebrity, going on that paranormal show wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows. But as a Congressman? As someone entrusted by 700,000 people to represent them? Those choices would have been reckless.

In the last story, we see what happens when no one around you is willing—or able—to correct you. That billionaire had been rich and powerful for so long that the people around him had either lost the ability or the desire to tell him when something was off. If I walked into work wearing an orange suit, my colleagues would give me a hard time. If he did, people would call it eccentric or novel. In his mind, it might have been perfectly normal, but no one dared to tell him otherwise.

We all need people around us who are willing to correct us. Some of us are better than others at accepting that correction, but it’s essential—it keeps us grounded. That doesn’t mean we can’t have our own style or personality, but we still need guardrails to keep us on the right path.

Which brings me to Donald Trump. He’s like the billionaire in my story (though, for the record, it wasn’t him—I kind of wish it was). Over time, Trump purged the GOP of good people who were in this for the right reasons. The ones who remained were those who wanted access to power—people who wouldn’t dare cross him. If Trump walked into a room wearing a duck on his head, they’d tell him he was a genius, a visionary, the first president in history to wear a duck. And behind closed doors, they’d cringe.

That kind of unchecked ego always leads to downfall. I can’t think of a single historical example where a leader—especially a dictator—insulated himself from reality and didn’t end up in failure or tragedy. Every leader, Trump included, needs people around them who will challenge their behavior, decisions, and attitudes.

Trump had that, briefly, in the first part of his presidency. By the second half, he was surrounded by yes-men, and the result was disaster. He left office isolated, flying home alone on Inauguration Day, with no one but his family at Andrews to see him off. He’s managed to claw his way back into political relevance, but even now, just a few weeks into this new administration, his actions are already hitting roadblocks and igniting opposition.

No one dares tell Trump that suggesting Gaza as a site for a new hotel is a bad idea. Instead, he says it, and when the backlash comes, he doubles down because his “advisors” tell him he did great, that he’s “owning the libs.” Meanwhile, behind the scenes, they wince. And those few who do try to tell him the truth—maybe Suzy Wiles, maybe his wife—are drowned out by sycophants desperate for one more meeting, one more moment in his orbit. It’s intoxicating, and once you get a taste, you’ll do anything for your next fix.

This doesn’t bode well for the nation, but I don’t think the damage will be permanent. A well-oiled machine determined to tear down the constitutional order would be far more dangerous, but that’s not what we have. Instead, we stand up, fight for our country, and wait for the inevitable moment when the emperor is revealed to be naked—except, perhaps, for the duck on his head.

And when that day comes, the real adults can step in, pick up the pieces, and get to work saving our democracy.