All Hail the Once and Future President, Donald Trump
The medium of television has confirmed that nothing transcends like success. After decades of Donald Trump banking his triumphs via TV, it was a mere random and unplanned television moment this week that transformed celebrity into consequence.
New technologies appear like puffball mushrooms on a dewy lawn and seem as quickly superseded by others. Our culture has whizzed through Modernism and Post-Modernism and the Machine Age and the Nuclear Age and the Computer Age with a rapidity that could induce whiplash. Yet one legitimate “Age” will persist — the Television Age. The term was used back when tiny screens encased in bulky furniture were watched through an arrangement of cathode-ray tubes and mirrors. Now, of course, there are hand-held little screens and computers that present technical “tele-visions,” and our lives revolve around their images, sounds, entertainment, and information. Nomenclature aside, we live in what will be the Television Age for a long time to come.
Television has shaped the news and our perceptions, far beyond the pervasive presence of propaganda and persuasion. From commercials to biased reporting, there is a malignant underbelly to television’s hold on the course of civilization. It is a situation that will be resolved — whether through social and political disruption, or the Unseen Hand of the Market. In the meantime, we can understand our times, and ourselves, better by appreciating the effect of television. That effect is substantial, not superficial; the dispositive consequences of television are found in television’s inherent subliminal power, more than its “coverage” of events and personalities.
In 1951, the Senate hearings into organized crime were chaired by Estes Kefauver, who would be Adlai Stevenson’s running mate in the next year’s presidential election. What Milton Berle was to evening TV and the manufacturers’ sales, the Kefauver Hearings were during daytime coverage. Many people bought the new DuMont, Philco, and RCA electronic boxes to follow the crime hearings.
As only television can sort and shuffle, however, the most compelling aspect of the hearings was not the accusations and statistics, nor the heated exchanges. It was mobster Frank Costello’s refusal to be shown on TV screens; he was reluctant to have his face and expressions seen by potential millions. So the obliging cameras focused on what they could: his hands. His audio testimony, embellished by the sweaty, nervous, writhing hands of a gangster, decisively “told” viewers about the nature of organized crime in America.
Famously, the Nixon–Kennedy debates in 1960 are widely regarded as determining that year’s presidential election, at least as much as Nixon’s late-campaign detour to Alaska or Joe Kennedy’s manipulation of Illinois’s electoral votes. Again, however, it was not the issues nor debating points that carried the day; in fact, Nixon was regarded as the winner among those who listened by radio.
Thanks again to television’s silent, probing eye, Kennedy presented as fresh and handsome; Nixon had a five-o’clock shadow and nervously sweated. Worse, cameras caught Nixon during Kennedy’s answers as shiftily glancing at his opponent, glum and uncharitable. This was the effective role of television, despite enlightened discussions of a missile gap or the security of the Island of Formosa. Nixon lost to Kennedy, the first “television president.”
In the 1984 election, the Great Communicator, President Ronald Reagan, was not faring well. The economy and foreign affairs initially were not strong elements in the incumbent’s portfolio. Thanks to television, however, the question (and answer) about Reagan’s age turned the tide of the campaign.
Reagan had lain in wait for the question and quipped that he “would not exploit, for political purposes, my opponent’s youth and inexperience.” It was neither the logic of the response nor its clever humor that enabled television to alter the course of that election. It was Vice President Walter Mondale’s spontaneous, hearty, and prolonged laughter that defused the issue. A cornerstone of the Mondale campaign’s rationale crumbled as the television moment made the nation even more comfortable with Ronald Reagan — who soon carried 49 of 50 states in the election.
We have just witnessed the most important television moment of Donald Trump’s career — and he has had many — and likely of his presidency past and future; perhaps of his ultimate regard by history. Again, it was not merely the coverage of his visit to the re-dedication of the Cathedral of Notre Dame.
We may be tempted to think that the TV significance was his spotlighted arrival, or his favored seating — between French President Emmanuel Macron and his wife — and his receiving more deference than America’s current First Lady. Except for television, we might not have been fully aware of world leaders like Prince William and Volodymyr Zelenskyy rushing to Trump’s side, nor the happy embrace of Brigitte Macron and the adoring smiles of Jill Biden.
But a televised interaction that matched other unique and important “moments” in recent history occurred when the religious portion of the historical event ended. In the presence of more than 1,500 world leaders, distinguished guests, and anointed workers – and millions of viewers worldwide – the Archbishop of Paris, Laurent Ulrich, rushed to the front row of the congregation. A handshake with his own president, Emmanuel Macron, was perfunctory. But the Archbishop’s smiling, earnest handshake with Donald Trump was notable. The embrace of Timothy Cardinal Dolan would be expected; two New Yorkers greeted each other. But the world noticed the symbolism behind Trump’s reception at Notre Dame — virtually secular and spiritual consecrations.
to shake the hand of… Donald Trump. Not his own president and host, Emmanuel Macron. But Donald Trump.
Trump, formally not in office, recently was denigrated and even despised by many in the world’s leadership circles; he prominently was in the news as a possible inmate in one or more jail cells; he was a walking caricature in the eyes of many opinion-makers. But with his arrival, at that televised moment, he was the New Trump.
There is indeed a new Donald Trump, displayed on television around the world. (RELATED: Trump and the Advent of the Pax Americana)
Television presented Richard Nixon with a lesson, but he learned inexpertly. The “New Nixon” (and actually there were several), was the result of political contortions and PR packaging. In Reagan’s moment, TV provided a public reminder of what was reassuring about the man. But the New Trump has changed not at all. He has not changed as Nixon tried to do; he attempted no warm and fuzzy clues to himself. As seen on millions of TV screens, the world has come to see, more and more with favor, reality as Donald Trump sees reality. And it is regarding him differently.
If not for television, this Notre Dame moment might have been lost in fervid written accounts of the long ceremony. Its spontaneity was a further affirmation of its significance, consequential even in its seemingly casual nature. The Television Age lives on, and with its assistance, the Trump Era truly commences.
Rick Marschall is the author of 75 books including The History of Television (1986) and The Golden Age of Television (1987). He has taught on the subjects of popular culture and television history at New York’s School of Visual Arts; Rutgers University; and the Institute For the Gifted at Bryn Mawr University.
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