Fetch, Lee | Private Eye | Salt Lake City | Salt Lake City Weekly
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News » Private Eye

Fetch, Lee



When this newspaper hits the street on Wednesday, there will be only six days remaining to cast your ballot for the Nov. 3, 2020, elections. If you are one of the 48 remaining undecided voters, continue reading. I figure at this point, it's not up to me to tell you what to do, and I'm just going to tell a story. If you fall into the "everyone else" category, turn the pages, pick a favorite place to grab a beer and some nachos from one of the advertisers in the dining and nightlife sections of this paper, and drink till the cows come home.

It's all you can do. I've already done all I can do. I've voted. I hit the boxes of every Democrat on the card except for two, and I'll leave those two to your imagination. You aren't the Amazing Kreskin if you think one of those was Donald J. Trump. I didn't vote for him and, for the record, I won't vote for Don Jr. come 2024. He's a bad apple, that kid. Not everyone agrees with me that the Trump family is the worst group of hucksters to ever benefit from America's private education system, but I will not be shaken from that tree. Some people like to be suckered, I guess.

I'm always amazed at the attraction some men and women have for creepy guys. It's a real phenomenon. When I was in junior high and high school, there were three types of guys who got nowhere with the girls or were bullied by the guys. They were the smart guys, the shy guys and the creepy guys. I was shy and smart (so was the claim, although my report cards invalidated that), meaning it would not be until my senior year that I went on an official date.

By that senior year, I finally noticed that while the shy and smart guys—me being an exception—were still hanging out at the punch and cookie table at school dances, some of the creepy guys were gathering packs of new friends. They were early adopters of guitars, motorcycles, fast cars, forbidden music, cigarettes, sluffing school, Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill (which is still only $3.56 online; we used to pay 2 bucks, I think. Amazing!) and, of course, the new kid on the block: marijuana. Not everyone partook of all the above, and I profess guilt to all of them except fast cars and motorcycles. It's just that the creeps were the pioneers and even the goody two-shoe types slid along. Keeping secrets begins at a young age in Utah.

I was 21 when I began tending bar at one of the hottest clubs in the city, Club 39. One of the first things I noticed was that there were lots of pretty girls hanging out and nearly all of them had older boyfriends who flashed lots of money. A subset were the guys who spilled out lots of cocaine, and they, too, attracted lots of pretty girls. Nearly a decade after becoming a teenager, it became crystal clear to me what some men and women used to attract friends: money or drugs. Sex, too, but even shy guys get lucky.

It also became obvious that wherever there were guys, girls, money and drugs, a whole new species of persons could be found—the groupies and the hangers-on. Those guys were easily swayed and impressed by power—"Hey, grab my Vette and pull it out front"—and once hooked into that orbit are forever owned. Just as easily owned were the girls who knew the correct answer to "wanna go for a ride in my Vette?"

I knew lots of Donald Trump types and not all were creeps. They flourished in the clubs here same as Donald flourished in the clubs of New York City. That's the world in which Donald Trump thrived first. It's where he learned to attract the willing and how to take advantage of his creepy attributes. It takes more than just being handed a bunch of money. Anybody can be an awful landlord, and anybody can get lucky at both craps and real estate. It takes a special persuasion to morph from creepy to evil, though. Trump learned to enjoy being a creep, he learned to like belittling and hurting people. (See Little Marco Rubio and COVID-19)

Yes, I think he's evil. Not because I'm susceptible to conspiracies or that I'm a Trump hater. Nope. I have always hated all men like Donald Trump. He had every advantage I didn't—other than looks, of course. My reckoning came in a very basic way. A couple of girls I'd taken a fancy to were not swayed by my golf swing. However, they were swayed by golf trips to Mexico. I had male friends that got those same golf trips. They were the caddie, the gofers.

Put faces on all of that. Melania, Ivana and Marla are easy. I met them all with different names decades ago. Pompeo pulled up the Vette. Mike Lee is a caddie, lower tier. Lee would be nothing without a Trump to pecker him along. He spent his life and the first of his Senate years looking for the ride that would get someone to pay attention to him. Now he's aboard, and he can't let go. He's sunk every bit of morality he ever claimed to have into the waste bucket of Trumpism. Like any good caddie, all he has to do is please the boss. When the remaining 48 of you decide to vote, think of that. Trump has converted and trained the next level of creeps to do what he does.

Smile and cheat. And hurt. And enjoy doing so. CW

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