Trump Takes The Garden: Notes on a Grand MAGA Finale

Photos By Denise Bovee

The media spin on Trump’s Madison Square Garden rally painted it as a “hate-filled, Nazi-themed carnival poisoning New York City.”

Can we just stop?

From experience, these rallies are something else entirely — a phenomenon the media refuses to celebrate. For anyone who’s been, it feels ridiculous to even defend.

It was a bad joke. Or, I suppose, a series of bad jokes.

My first official Trump rally was last month in Pennsylvania. Stepping into it felt like being hit by a tidal wave of fervor, a stark realization of how much the media has missed for nearly 8 years. Surrounded by flag-waving Americans, you can feel the pulse of something bigger — something the mainstream dismisses, fears, and therefore purposely misinterprets. It’s a vibe worlds away from the caricature they push.

In Pennsylvania, there was a somber undertone considering the return was in tribute to Corey Comperatore. I was seated next to Corey’s siblings. His sister shared a chilling detail: forensic reports suggested that Corey, seated behind Trump, may have taken the bullet meant for him. She believes her brother’s death saved Trump, and now, Trump’s victory would honor Corey’s sacrifice. To her, his candidacy is destined to save the country.

JD Vance stood across from us, pausing to talk to Corey’s family, with Elon Musk — emblem of a new “Dark MAGA” — beside him.

Thanks to Jim and Kim Worthington, I had a front row seat that day, surrounded by MAGA’s notoriously decorative displays: eagles, flames, flags, overt patriotism emblazoned over every part of their bodies. Trump’s rallies (for those unfamiliar), are theater, pure and simple. He swooped in on Trump Force One, circling the crowd, while Musk, in his “Occupy Mars” tee, signed an autograph for a kid in the crowd before jumping on stage with hops so high he looked like an over-sugared toddler let loose on the playground.

Musk has evolved into an icon for the autism community — a beacon for mothers raising children on the spectrum who see in him a reflection of their own hopes and dreams. For some parents across the country, he is not just an eccentric tech mogul — he’s a symbol of resilience and endless possibility. My nephew, who has autism, idolizes him. He shares Musk’s sharp intellect, photographic memory, and quirky dance moves, pouring his heart into everything he loves. Like many autistic kids, he has a unique way of processing the world, remembering every family member’s birthday and each political candidate’s birthday with pride and precision. He has a knack for filing away dates without any concentrated effort. When Musk openly shared his Asperger’s diagnosis, it gave my nephew the confidence to do the same. Musk’s journey from the margins to the top proves autism isn’t a limitation — it’s a different way of thinking. For families like ours, he represents a unique vision of success. When you add RFK into the mix, the Trump ticket is every vaccine skeptic’s dream come true.

My favorite scene at the Butler rally was when a medical emergency erupted to Trump’s right. He stopped mid-speech to ensure help was on the way — prompting the crowd to break into the national anthem. Watching them united in song brought me to tears. The night closed with Lee Greenwood’s “Hallelujah” under a sea of swaying phone lights. These are the moments the media willfully overlooks, dismissing the inspiration and intensity Trump stirs within his base. They call it “radical,” and they call it a “cult.” The man loves music. He loves pageantry. Under any circumstance, he knows how to wow a crowd.

On my way out I snagged a “Felon and a Hillbilly 2024” T-shirt as a memento from a night that defies media categorization.

Trump’s MSG rally was a different tone. It felt more like a proper theatrical homecoming — a love letter to New York, the city he so adores. This was a nostalgic book end. He’ll never campaign again, so he threw together a grand finale as a show of affection to honor his roots. The streets filled with festive celebration as a result. People of all kinds danced in flags and beat drums to rap songs reimagined to praise the second coming of DJT.

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I landed in New York for the rally without my luggage. A delay caused me to miss my connecting flight, so I arrived with only the clothes on my back: an oversized brown blazer, Birkenstocks, and Levi’s.

The next morning, I had one hour to pull a respectable outfit together. Stress in wardrobe is a campaign trail classic. Doors for the rally opened at 11, and I knew the crowd would only grow tougher to manage. I rushed to Argent as soon as it opened, grabbed the first suit I tried on, and dashed across the street for heels. J. Crew had boots or kitten heels with bows. “Too cute,” I told the saleslady. I ended up with platform Maryjanes — a $120 mediocre surrender.

Getting in was a frightful feat. Try elbowing your way past a sea of Trumpers who have been standing in line for hours. They don’t care who you are or what your purpose is, they just want you behind them on the way in.

In a desperate attempt to deflate the hype, predictably, the media spun it as a “Nazi spectacle.” Tony Hinchcliffe’s off-color humor became fodder for reporters eager to condemn MAGA as racist. Hollywood naturally jumped on the bandwagon, with Robert De Niro cursing into a megaphone and Griffin Dunne posting an IG photo, claiming he was out to rescue the country from a hostile Nazi takeover. Jerry Saltz of New York Mag called it “hateful.”

When I commented, asking Saltz if he’d attended, he blocked me instantly. Who wants a review from someone who wasn’t even part of the event? The lack of self-awareness is astounding. I would never speak on a Kamala rally I didn’t attend — unless it’s to criticize Megan Thee Stallion’s cringeworthy endorsement. And in that case, only because it seemed too raunchy for a political rally. But then again, the Left uses female anatomy as the starring role in nearly everything they do, resurrecting 20-foot fallopian tubes outside their events and makeshift abortion clinics on-site beside them.

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I guess I just can’t get over how performative these celebrities all are. How tone deaf do you have to be? At least Elon is advancing technology and building robots who can fold our laundry and weed our gardens. What the hell does Rosie O’Donnell have to offer? Everyday Americans can’t afford groceries, gas, or healthcare. But let’s get Beyonce up there to speak on behalf of American mothers and Bruce Springsteen preaching about the struggles of the middle class — all of P. Diddy’s friends lecturing us on morality and Chrissy Teigen grandstanding on women’s rights. Right now, enraged celebrity liberals on social media are my least favorite species. They parrot media-fed outrage, completely detached from reality.

We were settled in time to see all the Avengers assembled: Tulsi Gabbard looking stunning in white, JD Vance, and RFK Jr., among others.

Later, we spent the better part of the evening in the “Jewish suites,” thanks to Martin Marks’ invitation. Stickers and MAGA hats translated into Hebrew surrounded us. I met Martin’s mother, a former U.S. ambassador to South Africa, and Jerry Wartski, who recently posted a video slamming the Harris camp’s comparisons of Trump to Hitler.

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Distracted by the snack buffet in one of the suites, I didn't notice Tony Hinchcliffe take the mic. I missed his set, which was just as well; I’m not a fan of his humor. Months ago, Denise and I went to an LA comedy show where RFK made a guest appearance. Mike and I sat stone-faced in the bleachers that night unimpressed by an hour of crass jokes. We left early, sitting in the parking lot waiting for Denise and arguing over it. She insisted it was funny; I thought it was stupid.

Having Tony on that night was for sure a risky move. Liberals are quick to revive the “racist” narrative at any opportunity. Edgy comics invite outrage — especially with a media dead set on dismantling Trump’s momentum. It was Trump who bore the brunt of Tony’s ugly Puerto Rico punchline.

Was it in bad taste? Yes. Are people also too sensitive about edgy humor? Absolutely. Is woke comedy the fate of our future? God, I hope not.

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After mingling, Denise and I headed up to the 5th floor watch party where we walked in to find Omeed Malik on a sofa alongside RFK and Amaryllis Fox. Kimberly Guilfoyle, Lara and Eric Trump, and Caroline Wren appeared, as did Ashley St. Clair in a gothic Dark MAGA hat that matched Elon’s.

Outside the suite, we had a prime view of the stage. In the front row, Melania played sweetly with Elon’s son X, while Tulsi stopped to hug Newt Gingrich and his wife. Backstage, behind the curtain, someone was searching for misplaced tequila, ladies were snapping photos, and Cheryl Hines was on FaceTime. The tequila supply was ultimately replaced by Dana White. When shots were offered one of the ladies jumped up to stop any photo documentation because “Trump hates that shit.”

At one point, RFK asked when “the President” was due on stage. He informed us that 75,000 people were outside in overflow, on top of the 20,000 that filled the Garden to capacity. But then he missed his stage cue. When Trump couldn’t locate Bobby, he moved on, pausing to compliment Melania whom he greeted with that signature cheek kiss she effortlessly commands. Clad in a zebra print dress, her outfit stirred confusion among “fashion critics” backstage, who weren’t too fond of the choice.

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The next day, the Nazi accusations exploded on social media. But it didn’t matter. Biden would throw his own callous grenade, calling Trump supporters “trash.”

Ever the showman, Trump showed up at his next event as a passenger in a garbage truck emblazoned with his name, wearing a neon green safety vest, much to the adoration of his supporters.

Maverick of all trades: master of media. Drive-through fry cook. Bodega connoisseur. Enthused waste management manager.

It all sounds pretty New York to me.

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