NOWHERE, USA — Like a thunderbolt crashing from an angry sky, Donald Trump materialized out of a thick fog in a one-horse New England town yesterday to prove to America he has such a common touch, he can even shake a hand.
There’s a first time for everything, and the historic moment came at a diner in Portsmouth, NH — where I watched in awe as the notorious germophobe greeted customers.
He reached out his hand. When he saw that it didn’t fall off after the first couple of shakes, he shook some more.
But he wasn’t fooling me. I knew if I wasn’t perched at his hip, he’d grab for the sanitizer. At least he managed not to wipe his hand on his custom-tailored suit.
“I have no problem with hand-shaking!” he insisted. “That was a story invented by my enemies!”
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“Mr. Trump! We have a 21st birthday here!” someone shouted.
“Oh, a voter!” he said, evidently unaware that the voting age is 18. “Vote for Trump!”
The day began when the birther/builder’s helicopter, emblazoned with a single word, “TRUMP,” landed on a tiny airfield.
A toady leaped out and laid a red carpet on the spot where the guy nicknamed The Donald by one of his ex-wives was about to place his wing-tipped shoe so he didn’t have to touch the earth.
Donald strode a half-dozen steps to greet the strobe lights cast by as many as 100 reporters, from every network, Web site, newspaper and smoke signal.
“What an entrance,” whispered an observer. “New Hampshire will never be the same.”
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Trump proclaimed, “Today I’m very proud of myself. I’ve accomplished what nobody else has accomplished. Our president has finally released a birth certificate!”
And he wasn’t ready to let go of his favorite issue.
He said he’d have to examine the certificate to determine its authenticity.
“Is it real? Is it proper?”
He also said gas was too expensive (duh), the Chinese, “they’re smart,” and La Guardia Airport was a pit. He said, “I’ve heard” that President Obama was a rotten prep-school student who somehow made it to Columbia and Harvard. And “the press is very protective of President Obama.” (Well shut my mouth!)
Then he grabbed my arm and tossed me into the rented, two-block-long limo, the kind that hasn’t been seen since the days he owned an identifiable hairline.
Note to Trump, Liberace wants his limo back.
He was still on a high from his reception.
“How impressive was that?” The Donald gushed to me as we pulled away. “Did you expect to see so many reporters?”
“Ummmm,” I started to speak, but why bother? We’d reached the infomercial portion of the conversation where Donald repeatedly plugged “Celebrity Apprentice.”
Which, in a way, was what the whole day was about.
“Obama is one of the worst presidents, and getting worse . . . [To be president] I’d give up a lot, including one of the most successful shows on television. NBC’s top-rated show! Did you see that in the New York Times?”
“Umm . . .” The fog still hadn’t lifted from the runway, but Donald was on a free-association roll.
“Worst president. Successful television. If JFK [Jr.] had my pilots, he’d be OK today.”
We toured the town, which turned out to be too small for him. A planned visit to a local shop turned into a drive-by.
There was no room to park his stretch — not to mention his ego — on the main drag.
Next stop was a testosterone fest at a factory where they make helmets and armor for Special Forces troops. The CEO of the factory took a mean-looking rifle and aimed it down the hall — probably at the Chinese, who, he complained, were taking his jobs. Trump caressed the weapon like a curvy dame.
Back in the car, Donald gestured to me, and said to an aide, “She used to beat me up. Maybe she still will! Want to ride home in my helicopter?”
You have no idea.
“No, if I do that she’ll write something nasty to prove she’s fair.”
What planet was he born on?