29deductibles are so high, you’re essentially self-insuring.”
Jason Gillum, a local insurance agent and musi-
cian, agreed about the medical-insurance situation
and said maybe the government should get the pri-
vate insurers out of the way. “I’ve run your numbers,
Nate,” he said. “You’re paying $740 a month with a
$6,500 deductible. Ten years ago, I had you at $282
a month and a $1,500 deductible for the same cover-
age.” Gillum was voting for Trump, though: “Yeah, I
know he’s a narcissist. But he’s a businessman, and
we’re all entrepreneurs. He knows that if you think
big and put your mind to it, you can make things hap-
pen. Maybe he can make this country proud again. He
gives me a sense of hope.”I asked the group about Trump’s rather weird re-
lationship with Vladimir Putin, and Gillum said, “I
haven’t researched that issue.” Indeed, it seemed the
Trump supporters were less obsessed with the daily
run of campaign controversy. They didn’t seem to care
much about Trump’s lies or exaggerations, nor didI had a memorable experIence In Jackson, ohIo, In- This is hillbilly country, the northwestern edge of
Appalachia. Susan Rogers, who works for a local public-
service agency, asked me to come visit. She put together
an extraordinary group of people—ministers, government
workers, the mayor, the state representative—all of whom, it
seemed, had friends, family or neighbors who were in jail or
rehab, victims of the methamphetamine plague. They were
reeling, unable to comprehend what had hit them; emotions
were running strong. I decided to go back this year, to hear
what the group had to say about the presidential election.
“This is a big Trump area,” Rogers told me. “People who never
were involved in politics are coming out of the woodwork.”
Unfortunately, not many of those folks showed up at
our meeting, which was held at Rowdy’s Smokehouse, a
new restaurant in town that is a small sign of optimism in
an economically struggling area that has since moved from
meth to heroin, which is cheaper. The remainder of the
group tended to be educators, social workers, government
employees—the Hillary faction in town. The mayor,
Randy Heath, was there, but he was a lonely moderate
Democrat. “Six of the seven members of the city council are
Republicans,” he said, “and they’re all for Trump.” Mary Deel,
a retired teacher who works for the election commission—
and a strong Clinton supporter—told me that there were a lot
of local Democrats who had changed their registration to vote
for Trump in the primary. But when I asked why so many of
their neighbors were vehemently supporting a candidate they
considered unqualified, they didn’t have much to say. Just as
the meeting seemed to be losing steam, Rogers whispered,
“There are a bunch of Trump supporters out in the kitchen
who’d like to talk to you.”
and so I met wIth them, afterward.They included
Nathan Kitts, the owner of Rowdy’s, who had opened the
joint on a Monday night to accommodate the meeting—
and the local sheriff, Tedd Frazier, who had helped Nathan
cook the excellent barbecue buffet, as well as several of
Nathan’s friends. “I’m a Trump supporter, I guess,” said
the restaurant owner. “I know he’s a loose cannon and
he has trouble with diplomacy, and you wonder, will he
get us into some bad stuff ?” But Nathan had another
business, an urgent-care medical clinic. He was outraged
by how the health-insurance system worked and doubted
that Clinton could fix it. “It works if you’re poor or you’re
rich, but if you’re in between, making $25-$30,000, your^
Jackson, Ohio, Mayor Randy Heath, center, at a town
forum to air a range of political viewsthey mention immigrants or Muslims. Trump lived in
the world of business, as they did. He knew all about
the paperwork they had to fill out, the financial risks
they took, the month-to-month vagaries of keeping a
small business open. Clinton had absolutely nothing
to say to them about their daily lives—and I wondered
where her vaunted small-business initiative, an-
nounced early in the campaign, had gone. “The only
thing she says about us is she wants to put our coal
miners out of business,” said Donald Willis, the local
jail administrator.
I asked the Trump supporters why they hadn’t
joined the larger group earlier in the evening. They
smiled, knowingly. They knew who the Hillary folks
were. They were neighbors, so why risk unpleasant-
ness? In Ohio, routinely labeled a battleground state,
some battles are too toxic to be fought in public. •Heroin, Obamacare and pride:
why Trump is finding an
audience in southern Ohio
By Joe KleinThe ViewIn the Arena
ANDREW SPEAR FOR TIME