The Improvised Campaign Style Behind the Unpredictable Trump

In what passes for normal inside Donald Trump's unorthodox campaign for president, he flew from Arkansas to Iowa on his Trump-emblazoned jet on Friday, arrived the next morning at a candidate forum without any prepared remarks and, wearing a bright red tie that evoked his days on "The Apprentice," told the world exactly what he thought about Sen. John McCain's reputation as a war hero.

It was an improvised fit of pique, roundly and vigorously denounced by his rivals all weekend, that exposed the biggest vulnerability of Trump's campaign for president: It is built entirely around the instincts and grievances of its unpredictable candidate - and does not rely on a conventional political operation that protects presidential hopefuls from themselves.

In a reaction that highlighted the problem, Trump on Sunday refused to apologize for declaring that McCain is "not a war hero" because he was captured and instead boasted in an interview that his talk in Iowa aroused "the biggest standing ovation" of the day.

The remarks about McCain, the 2008 Republican presidential candidate, ended any qualms party officials had about criticizing Trump for fear of alienating his supporters and might normally have led to days of backpedaling and extended explanations. Even as Trump insisted that no one was troubled by his comments, his small group of aides emailed one another about how to respond to the growing criticism.

But the word "sorry" is not in Trump's lexicon, and apologizing was not an option that was discussed, people privy to the internal debate said.

In a sign of the seat-of-the-pants nature of his campaign, it sent out a series of dissonant messages, some trying to tamp down the controversy (by showing support from veterans) and others going on the attack (especially of the media).

It remains to be seen whether Trump's standing in public opinion surveys will suffer from the episode with McCain. But recent national and early-primary state polls put Trump in the top tier of candidates.

If nothing else, the weekend reaffirmed that Trump is running a presidential campaign on his own unique terms.

Never mind that his top rivals for the Republican nomination treat campaigning like a full-time job. For Trump, the task of seeking the White House occupies about half his time, he estimated in an interview. ("It's probably 50-50," he said.)

The rest of the Republican field's top tier has cast a wide net to find experienced political aides. But Trump has plucked much of his team from inside his own corporate empire. (The résumé of his Iowa co-chairwoman: She was a contestant on "The Apprentice.")

While his competitors may be busy working through thick stacks of books on world affairs to prove their qualifications, Trump says he has little use for such. ("One of the problems with foreign policy," he explained, "is that it changes on a daily basis." As a busy man, he added, he prefers newspapers.)

There is no real policy shop churning out position papers, or for that matter a well-staffed central headquarters plotting his long-term message, or speechwriters drafting - or modulating - his words. And there is a circular, interoffice quality to what the campaign does with its money.

But the dangers of Trump's approach are now being laid bare. Bare-bones improvisation, which seemed sufficient to fuel his ascent in the polls, is starting to backfire.

Trump faces a moment of real reckoning. Is the man known for the catchphrase "You're fired!" willing to soften his caustic language? Will he actually slog through the grueling rituals of a long campaign? And, above all, will his message keep resonating - or will his own outlandishness undermine his candidacy, turning it into his latest exercise in brand-building?

So far, tellingly, he is continuing to criticize McCain, and has shown little interest in building a conventional campaign.

"I'm not trying to arm the country," he said in a lengthy interview last week, emphasizing that he does have staffs in the first three states in the nominating process: Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina.

The reality is that Trump is pulling off something that, for now, requires little planning, spending or organization: He is giving voice to a profound rage in the Republican electorate - over economic displacement, illegal immigration and America's diminished place in the world.

"I have a pulse to the ground," he added. "I think I know what's wrong with the country, and I think I've been able to portray that in a way that people agree with."

Unlike his past presidential musings, Trump is actually putting a team on the ground as well. He has hired at least four workers in New Hampshire, for example, and has visited Iowa nearly a dozen times. He hired a campaign manager, Corey Lewandowski, a New Hampshire resident who has previously worked for Americans for Prosperity, a political action committee financed by the conservative billionaire Koch brothers.

Overall, he has spent $1.4 million on his campaign, most of it out of his own pocket, and less than half of what top rivals Jeb Bush and Marco Rubio have spent.

Exasperated aides, who said they were tired of making the case to skeptical reporters that Trump is really running, called those moves evidence enough that a legitimate campaign is taking shape.
"Nobody's asking Jeb Bush if he's serious about running," Lewandowski said last week, adding that his candidate's place in recent polling spoke for itself. "I don't know what to do; I don't know which metric you want to measure it by."

The unorthodox tenor of Trump's campaign may flow from its unusual origins. He has, of course, flirted with running for office before, as early as 2000 as an independent presidential candidate (he did not do it) and then 2011, when he talked about mounting a bid for the White House. (Again, he did not.) In 2013, he floated the idea of running for governor of New York. (He ultimately decided not to.)

This time he actually declared a candidacy. And despite questions about his sincerity, his commitment seemed to grow as his business deals became imperiled by the remarks he made about Mexican immigrants during his announcement speech last month. In that speech - an hourlong riff, delivered without a teleprompter - he said that Mexico sent the United States "criminals" and "rapists."

Those close to him said he was surprised that, in the uproar that followed, NBC severed ties with him, ending his run as the star of "The Apprentice," the long-running show that made him a television star, not just a developer. Soon, Macy's, the PGA and a prominent chef who was developing a restaurant inside a new Trump hotel in Washington followed suit.

Without his hit show as an option, Trump has little left to lose by staying in the race and conducting an increasingly provocative campaign. In fact, he may have something to reclaim - a brand that firmly identifies with the working Americans who are flocking to his events.

Hank Sheinkopf, a longtime political operative who has watched Trump for decades, said that every time a business cancels a contract with Trump, his supporters view him as the victim of entrenched, powerful institutions that do not have the interests of regular people in mind.

In any case, Sheinkopf said, Trump will benefit even if he never makes it to Election Day, by appealing to working-class white voters (and potential consumers of his corporate brand) who feel dispossessed by contemporary politics. "His real business is giving out his name as a franchise," he added. "His business is being Donald Trump."

But his staying power in the campaign remains highly uncertain. He has never committed to remaining in the race even through its first contest, the Iowa caucuses, early next year, although he has left open the option of running a third-party race.

And his many businesses still beckon. Last week, in keeping with his "50-50" time commitment to running for president, he took a break from the campaign to attend a ribbon cutting at a Trump-owned winery in Charlottesville, Virginia. Those looking for Trump's views on policy were treated to a sales pitch for what he called the largest winery on the East Coast.

"More important than the size," Trump told the crowd, "we make the finest wines."

In an interview on Sunday, Trump showed no sign of changing his style.

He checked off the names of those attacking him over his remarks about McCain, insulting Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal and former Texas Gov. Rick Perry in the process.

"Jindal, who has nothing," he said. "Rick Perry - I mean Rick Perry, give me a break here."