'Trumpstock' In Alabama: 3 Hours Of Mud, Fury & Populism

*This is an opinion column*

CULLMAN, AL — Former President Donald J. Trump patted his left arm and told rally attendees in Cullman Saturday night that he had been vaccinated against the coronavirus, assuring his faithful that the vaccine works.

If it doesn't, he promised them he would be the first person to let them know.

It was a real Huey Long moment for the 75-year-old businessman-turned-conservative messiah, as the confidence on his face displayed his assumption that the crowd would be overwhelmingly receptive of his message. But, as if briefly snapped out of some kind of stupor, the better part of 35,000 people either fell silent in a mix of confusion, or shouted "No!"

There were some on social media who said he was booed, but I have to say, at least from where I was sitting, it was the silence and isolated pockets of individual defiance to his words that I noticed.

Masks were mostly absent on the faces of a crowd large enough to nearly fill Truist Park in Atlanta — at a time when coronavirus hospitalizations in Alabama have put the state in a dire position with respect to its ICU numbers. To make matters more concerning, the event came a week after the large-scale Rock the South music festival at the same location.

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But apart from the obvious, what stood out was Trump's ability to command an active situation.

This represented as a kind of humorous contrast to Alabama Congressman and Republican U.S. Senate candidate Mo Brooks. In a scene reminiscent of "O Brother, Where Art Thou?," Brooks attempted in vain to shout down a volley of boos after suggesting in earnest that the crowd "move on" from the 2020 election — a pivotal event that nearly every speaker before him referred to as "stolen" or "rigged" against the 45th president.

I've reported on politics for the better part of a decade across three states and built a successful career by working to understand those who think differently than me. In hoping to tell an untold story from the Cullman rally, I managed to gain access to the behind-the-scenes political mechanisms of the event on Saturday. After what I saw, the story — at least as far as Alabama is concerned — is much bigger and more complex than one man in a long red tie.

As one of my Twitter followers pointed out, Trump doesn't control the mob ... they control him.

But before I had that realization, which will make more sense as we go along, I set out with a goal of casting aside assumptions to get to the heart of why tens of thousands of people would gather ankle deep in the mud to hear a divisive, one-term president speak for nearly two hours on topics ranging from chocolate cake at Mar-a-Lago to "woke" culture.

I'm not totally sure what I was expecting, but it turned out to be a night I'll never forget.

A Different Perspective

We arrived at the home of State Sen. Garlan Gudger early in the evening as the skies were a heavy gray and showers came down intermittently. Like tie-die at Woodstock '69, rain-drenched attendees sporting their Donald Trump finery could be seen walking down the narrow county roads toward York Family Farms.

A Republican from Cullman, Gudger was a crucial GOP architect in bringing the rally to his hometown and was one of the more well-received of the featured speakers during the event. Ahead of the festivities, Gudger could be seen playing host and shuttle coordinator, as golf carts transported dignitaries and guests a couple of miles away to the venue. In his driveway, several people stood around in their blue sport coats socializing and drinking canned Michelob Ultra.

Despite the rain, the atmosphere at his home was jovial and not unlike an SEC tailgate party. When I introduced myself as a journalist, I was met with nothing but warmth and hospitality. Even with the weaponization of the term "Fake News" among conservatives, I was relieved whatever their perceptions may be of my vocation didn't seem to discredit my sincerity in their eyes.

"It's a lifetime opportunity and to get to do this in my home town, it makes it surreal and makes me proud of where we've come from in the last 30 years since I've been back in Cullman," Gudger told me following the rally. "It makes you have that patriotic feeling that we're supposed to feel and we haven't in a long time. I know that it was bigger than the Rock the South event. It's the biggest for historical attendance record, so it's over 35,000 [attendees]."

After a five-minute ride on the back of a golf cart, our group — made up of various government and business officials who allowed me to tag along — arrived at the venue.

The air was rank with the acrid stench of mud and festival port-a-johns as we slogged up to the VIP area reserved for donors, important people and heavy-hitters in the Alabama GOP. I was none of those things, and already much farther than I ever expected to make it. Among the mud and volunteers scuttling about, the atmosphere can be best placed at the intersection of the Kentucky Derby and a Brooks & Dunn concert. Honestly, I can say I understand the allure.

I noticed more women than I could count balancing on wobbly knees in expensive form-fitting sheath and A-line dresses, their heels plunging deep into the fresh mud. Feet away, a man changed into a Trump 2024 T-shirt he had obviously just purchased from one of the scattered black market vendors peddling foreign-made MAGA wear along the different county roads funneling toward the venue.

Now, prior to the rally, I formed a kind of mental bingo card for who I expected to see backstage at the event, consisting of the cast of usual suspects, with a possible celebrity appearance tossed into the mix. As chance would have it, though, as our small group approached the Republican VIP reception, we ran into Republican U.S. Senate candidate Katie Britt and her husband, former Crimson Tide and NFL offensive lineman Wesley Britt.

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I talked with Katie at length Sunday morning following the rally and admitted to her that before we had ever met in person, I had been publicly critical of her positions on certain issues — opinions I stand by to this second. But I will concede that, regardless of our political differences, she seems like an affable personality who takes criticism in stride and prefers the high road.

In our brief interaction outside of the venue, Katie and Wesley were warm souls from what I gathered in what could most politely be described in retrospect as a challenging experience for the young couple — especially considering Trump openly endorsed her Republican Primary challenger Mo Brooks early in his run.

But before Katie and I connected, it's worth a laugh to note that when I shook Wesley's hand Saturday, all I could think about was his ability to drive me like a nail straight into the mud for speaking out against his wife. It goes without saying, though, that they were nothing but kind.

"You're even taller than you look on the tee-vee," I said with an exaggerated hillbilly accent when we met — the best thing I could come up with to say in a pinch and a real banner moment for my social confidence in my very first rally interaction of the day.

In The Gallery

Katie was also quick to point out to me that they were in attendance for a GOP reception prior to the rally, where I snapped a picture of them speaking with Mike Lindell, the controversial CEO of My Pillow who was one of the marquee speakers at the event. The couple didn't attend the rally itself and I can't say I blame them, as Brooks has made a side-occupation of going on the war path against any opposition in his vitriolic bid for the Senate.

Among those campaign casualties left in Uncle Mo's wake is Alabama Secretary of State John Merrill — once a rising star in Alabama politics and vocal Trump ally.

As I reported in April, Merrill denied accusations of an extra martial affair in a long, winding attempt at an alibi when I showed enough respect to give him an opportunity to comment and respond to the, let's say, pointed, accusations. While no one can know for sure the source of the rumors, which turned out to be at least in-part true, it was a far-right, openly pro-Mo Brooks blog who first published screenshots of photos and conversations alleging to confirm the affair. This prompted Merrill to forego his Senate bid as he terms out of office and gave Brooks momentum to become the candidate to beat before Britt — a former chief of staff for longtime Republican Sen. Richard Shelby — entered the race.

But, around the time Brooks sauntered up a set of aluminum steps to head into a public restroom, Merrill appeared from under a tent amid the scrum of politicians, donors, lobbyists and volunteers. He sported a clean suit and wide smile, either undeterred or unaware of the possibility that some of these same people may have had a hand in his political undoing by bringing his sins to light.

But apart from the two faces not on my Trump Rally Bingo Card, I was introduced or caught up with the usual cast of characters one would expect to see at such an event, including Lindell, Lt. Gov. Will Ainsworth, Alabama Supreme Court Chief Justice Tom Parker and State Sen. Greg Reed.

Again, even though I made it clear I was a journalist on assignment, I received only pats on the back and gratitude for taking the time to try to make sense of what they were trying to do in the middle of this field in Cullman.

The Belly of the Beast

As I inched through the gate and into the VIP seating area for Republican officials, the voice of Pink Floyd's Roger Waters echoed the band's 1973 hit "Brain Damage."

"Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs

Got to keep the loonies on the path"

I then got lucky enough to grab a seat by one of the few elected officials I knew on a first-name basis — State Sen. Gerald Allen, a Republican from Tuscaloosa and vocal supporter of the Trump agenda. Sen. Allen and I have always maintained a strong working relationship, despite our obvious political differences, and I consider him a friend and confidante whenever I need background or insight.

Among the group I ended up with throughout the event was a woman from North Carolina who works for a large-scale manufacturer. I'll keep her anonymous, but she in a way served as the Virgil to my Dante, explaining little things to me that might go easily missed by an uninterested public or folks on the opposite end of the political spectrum.

A fan of pundits like Ben Shapiro and Joe Rogan, she explained to me how politics had gotten out of control in Washington D.C., due in large part to career politicians and a lack of interest in the myriad issues being faced down by the average blue-collar American.

She lit up explaining how Trump shattered that archaic dynamic and began to talk about issues she insisted were important to everyday Americans. What makes Trump effective, she surmised, was his ability to communicate in the same language spoken by his supporters at home as they stress over a pile of bills or stomp around the living room griping about how they don't have a voice in a world that doesn't care about them.

Allen agreed, saying one of the most critical missteps in the modern body politic is when elected officials operate under the assumption that they know the wants and needs of the other side.

I gave up early on trying to secure any on-record interviews with general admission attendees, who I would later confirm had their minds made up for the most part about my profession before I ever introduced myself. In my few vain attempts, strangers winced up and simply shook their heads at the thought of giving an interview. But before this sentiment was put on visible display later in the evening, the crowd's energy was stoked by a succession of fiery speakers serving as the opening acts for "Trumpstock" — a moniker Sen. Tommy Tuberville would coin in his brief speech as he noted the festival-style atmosphere.

Conservative radio pundit Todd Starnes, in a sermon-like cadence, hollered "Critical Race Theory is a demonic doctrine from Hell," before being met with thunderous applause.

Others, like Alabama Attorney General Steve Marshall, hammered the range of old and new hot-button issues, including President Joe Biden's handling of the military withdrawal from Afghanistan, before quickly moving on to decry what he views as a liberal push for "genderless bathrooms."

Then you had one of the most well-received of the dignitaries and the only non-politician to take to the podium — My Pillow CEO Mike Lindell. If Trump was the Jimi Hendrix-level performance for Trumpstock 2021, then Lindell was the conservative equivalent of Pete Townshend windmilling his Gibson SG guitar for The Who on "Summertime Blues."

Several attendees relayed to me that Lindell openly told them of his intentions to one day run for president, as elected officials waited patiently in line for a chance to briefly hold court with one of Trump's earliest and most controversial backers. Lindell has drawn a mix of admiration and ire from the public, as the former drug addict and felon turned his life around to start a highly-successful company, before then entering the political arena as a kind of neo-conservative kingmaker, independent spokesperson and quasi-advisor for Trump during his 2016 campaign and his four years in the White House.

Known for propagating outlandish conspiracy theories, Lindell regularly speaks of liberal bias in media, deep state obstructionism and the imminent downfall of western civilization if anyone other than Donald J. Trump is in power. In a way, he stands as a physical manifestation of the same concepts mentioned by those in attendance who I gathered perspective from. The common thread here is the feeling of being ignored or looked down upon by straw-men academics, big city elites and billionaire technocrats looking to censor any viewpoints that conflict with their own.

During his time on the platform, as the clouds cleared and sun set, Lindell stirred the crowd up by focusing on the media and encouraging high-profile Fox News pundits to break ranks with their "Fake News" counterparts at the conservative-leaning network to come work for him. What he is offering, the best I can tell, is a voice for the stifled and misunderstood — that legendary Nixonian "Silent Majority" of nose-to-the-grindstone folks who would rather make ends meet than publicly broadcast their political leanings to people who will only view them as inferior.

"This is a big thing you guys, right now I've been attacked for seven months," he declared, before casually tossing out a reference to unsubstantiated voter fraud claims in Colorado. "For right now, if we don't get our voices back, it's all going to go away ... if it doesn't get heard, it doesn't matter. That's what we've been fighting, but it's changed."

As other speakers, including Tuberville and Ainsworth moved through, another notable moment stood out when attention was diverted away from the stage to a side entrance near where our group was sitting. In a moment pulled straight from a WWE script, controversial Georgia Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene entered the open air of the venue with her small entourage. The crowd exploded, as if expecting her to flatten a liberal with a folding chair.

As those in attendance roared in support of the Trump ally making her way to a seat behind us, she held a white sign over her head with the words "IMPEACH BIDEN" printed on it. The appearance proved a temporary distraction from the larger spectacle at hand, as attendees formed a long, excitable line to have their photo taken with the conservative firebrand. Previously described by Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell as a "cancer" on the Republican Party, the Georgia congresswoman has drawn criticism from both sides of the aisle for her past remarks on the 9/11 terrorist attacks and comparing coronavirus vaccines and masks to the systematic extermination of Jewish people at the hands of the Nazis during the Holocaust.

She would eventually take her seat, though, as the real show was about to begin.

Then, in the true spirit of Joe Cocker wildly thrashing his air guitar, came the flailing and embittered stage performance of Mo Brooks — the only other speaker to have a hype video apart from the former president.

By this reporter's account, said video also provided the only reference to the deadly events of Jan. 6 that resulted in a full-scale insurrection of the U.S. Capitol building. Brooks was a key participant in the campaign-style rally prior to the marchers taking to Capitol Hill, infamously encouraging supporters to start "taking down names and kicking ass."

The large video screens portrayed this moment in a nostalgic and almost heroic light, as it represented just a small component in a larger mixed bag of the typical hot-button issues and nationalistic talking points. This was obviously well-received by the crowd as the white-haired 67-year-old took the mic to cheers and whistles.

But as easily as the crowd was whipped into a jovial frenzy of support, they showed an ability to shift in unison toward the opposite attitude. Some attendees told me this underscored the unwillingness of blue-collar supporters in the crowd to be told what to think about the current state of affairs by anyone other than Donald J. Trump. To them, Brooks just wasn't the person to deliver news only Trump's unique brand of political finesse could successfully land with such an audience.

"What makes Trump so special," one attendee explained to me, "Is that all of his supporters are behind him and believe every single word that he says, because it's true."

Brooks, however, showed he has not yet ascended to such high a station. Following a tirade of the usual greatest hits concerning the decay of American values, the bungling of Afghanistan and toxic partisanship, he would set himself up in an almost poetic way. Again, at this point, my bias is out the window and I'm simply calling it as I see it — a tactic you should be trained on early in your career in this line of work. These are the situations where it becomes most valuable.

"We have a defining difference," Brooks said in comparing those in attendance to their liberal counterparts. "We are guided by moral values that are our compass. Religious values that tell us the right from the wrong and guide us to do the right with our power rather than the wrong."

While this somewhat fell flat with an audience who came to hear fire and brimstone, it came just minutes before Brooks would level both idealogical barrels at the local media, as opposed to the normal platitudes incorporated when bashing faceless networks.

After pointing out the media area reserved for television cameras and national feeds, Brooks' words prompted a large segment of the crowd, countless people from all walks of life, to turn and give the middle finger to the area where the media was set up. As a reporter, I'd be lying if I said I didn't laugh inside for a moment sitting near the most active section of the crowd, knowing if I overplayed my hand I would run the risk of being torn apart like the Scarecrow in "Wizard of Oz."

As Brooks basked in the soft white glow of the house lights, visibly drunk with his own self-satisfaction at firing the crowd up, he made a near-fatal mistake I've actually seen him do before, when he assumed he knew what the audience wanted to hear. This came when Brooks suggested to the crowd that it was best to move on from the protracted dispute over the 2020 presidential election results. While the Tuscaloosa Rotary Club might've proven a suitable audience to politely receive this advice, Saturday night's crowd wasn't having it, especially after being gassed up for an hour by previous speakers who repeatedly harped on voter fraud and election improprieties. The 2020 election is, and will continue to be, a central issue for this base and to say anything to the contrary is nothing short of heresy.

The crowd turned vicious and I even heard one attendee in a Trump T-Shirt yell at Brooks to "Get the f--- off the stage" following his suggestion of refocusing energy to win the 2024 election. But instead of moving on, Brooks attempted to shout down thousands of people, sticking to his position and not walking back his own acknowledgement of the validity of the 2020 election results

Drowning out the frazzled congressman as he tried to regain his mental footing were shouts of "Fix it now! Fix it now! Fix it now!" In his race for the Senate, this will no doubt prove an interesting moment for voters in Alabama, despite Brooks being the candidate endorsed by Trump. It's crucial to connect with the electorate and a lone Trump endorsement — while political gold — does not a winning candidate make. Ask Roy Moore.

Brooks' surprise at the crowd's reaction also mirrored when I covered one of his stops in Tuscaloosa in March, just weeks after the events of Jan. 6.

In speaking to a local Second Amendment group that advocates for open carry of handguns, there were several times where blue-collar attendees at the meeting hurled criticism at Brooks, accusing him of being a career politician who has done little outside of grandstanding during his time in Congress. During that meeting, he tapped danced around the questions asked by those in attendance about the legislation important to them, and instead attempted to regale a group of men, many whom are veterans, about his heroic acts of patriotism on Jan. 6. Again, it wasn't that those in the crowd in Tuscaloosa or Cullman weren't overly conservative or any less patriotic, they just didn't have the time for his grandstanding.

Instead, these folks are indeed misunderstood when considering the notion that politicians like Brooks seek to take advantage of their vote by way of worn-out partisan rhetoric. These folks wanted to know what he was doing about open carry legislation and the people on Saturday wanted to know what he was going to do to get Trump back in office. Period. Anything else is just white noise.

This should do damage to the narrative that the politicians themselves hold the power, because Mo Brooks is proof on two legs that they don't.

Fortunately for him, though, the overheated crowd's intensity waned and Brooks somewhat recovered to move quickly through his closing remarks.

After an hour of speakers, the crowd was sweaty and restless as the congressman left the stage in anticipation of Trump making his way to the platform. And with the crackle of the suspended loudspeakers, the crowd fell silent and focused on large video screens positioned around the venue.

The wait was nearly over.

'The Second Coming of Donald Trump'

A familiar American flag appeared on the screens and actor George C. Scott clicked the heels of his jackboots across the stage in his portrayal of U.S. Army General George Patton — Ol' Blood and Guts. The scene is an iconic piece of Americana, as the movie's titular character holds his head high when he speaks of bravery in battle, the American spirit and a resolve to fight to the last breath.

This got the crowd jazzed before Trump appeared to the loudest applause of the night. He slowly meandered his way to the podium, careful to milk as much excitement out of the moment as possible, while chucking red MAGA hats like frisbees to outstretched arms in the crowd.

Much like a classic rock band on a stadium tour, Trump rolled through his expected set list of talking points I've heard in some form or another for the last four years, so if you came here for a transcript of his comments, you'll likely be disappointed.

His address tackled issues such as "woke" culture, President Biden's incompetence and a liberal-left agenda hell-bent on undermining any conservative gains over the last four years.

"Everything 'woke' turns to shit," he flatly commented at one point, drawing laughs and affirmative yells from the thousands spread out over the large property.

The former commander-in-chief also took swipes at the U.S. Women's Soccer Team and Megan Rapinoe and touched on topics of cancel culture, chocolate cake at Mar-a-Lago, Xi Jinping and his distain for certain military generals.

These issues were important to those in attendance, I would find out during and after the rally. You see, the rhetoric, in a very direct way, supplies the crucial charge necessary for the movement to sustain what energy and momentum it has and this is in no way lost on the legions of those who want to see Trump sworn in as the 47th president of the United States. The wide spectrum of topics mentioned by Trump were diligently taken in by the crowd, who acted accordingly with each jeer and accusation.

As we trounced through the mud to catch a golf cart shuttle, Sen. Allen would later reiterate to me that Trump has found a way to connect with a wide, often unseen segment of the population. It's the people at the center of the movement, not the figurehead, responsible for the push seen at rallies over the last few years across the country.

This made sense to me as someone who has worked in the media throughout Trump's meteoric rise to power and his nearly forced exit from the White House. This unity behind a movement, Allen said, should be enough to give pause to those on the other side. Saturday made it clear, at least to this reporter, that the MAGA movement is indeed still a force to be reckoned with.

"It's pretty evident that the American people are very aware of what's happening to our country and this is an example and a good sign," Allen told me. "Not just in Alabama, but across the country. All the leaders in Alabama are unified in what has happened and how to move forward to make this country and state great again."

But to circle back to a telling moment. Before ending the rally with his trademark phrase of "Make America Great Again" and walking off the stage to the opening guitar riffs of "Sweet Home Alabama," Trump made the unexpected claim that he had been vaccinated, that it worked, and he could be trusted to inform the public of anything to the contrary with respect to its efficacy.

In the moment that followed, it became evident what makes a politician like Trump wholesale different than a Mo Brooks. As the confused crowd fell silent or expressed muffled defiance to the very thought of the vaccine, Trump simply shrugged and moved on without concern to the next talking point. The national headlines focused on the boos he received, but it was obviously lost on mass media not in attendance that Trump didn't bat an eyelash and had regained command of the crowd before attendees even realized it.

A short time later, Mo Brooks shuffled back onstage at the invitation of the former president for a curtain call. With the crowd once again subdued, Brooks made a simple, but profound declaration.

"I'm pleased to announce the Second Coming of President Donald Trump."

Have a news tip or suggestion on how I can improve Tuscaloosa Patch? Maybe you're interested in having your business become one of the latest sponsors for Tuscaloosa Patch? Email all inquiries to me at ryan.phillips@patch.com.