I trust my friend Donald Trump as president — give him time

Electing to keep a friend

This column may satisfy nobody. I feel compelled to write it:

I know our president 55 years. He was then a nobody kid out of school. Me a nobody kid reporter. Small NYC dinner party. Me: “Who are you?” Him: “I’m Donald Trump.” Me: “So what’s a Donald Trump?” Roy Cohn overhearing said: “One day this kid is going to own New York.”

Flash forward. Donald’s office. Night of his first election. Just us. Waiting for the results. Standing, not breathing, riveted to one another in a room of workers. Nobody but us standing together alone. Even family behind barricades. Staring at wall-size TVs, he whispered to me: “You remember what Roy said?” I said: “Yes.”

Neither of us said one word afterward.

A lifetime later, the Donald I know hugged me tight at his first inauguration as Melania stood watching. He’s flown me on his jet cross-country. When I had to move because my husband wasn’t well, Donald brought his experts in to create my security system. When life was difficult, his pilot flew my husband and me around our beloved NYC in his helicopter.

I’ve shared Donald’s own downhill slides. I was alongside the night he opened his superfabulous Atlantic City hotel. But I was also there when that hotel went bust and he went flat, and Mayor David Dinkins and I were traveling together on a tiny junky crowded airplane — two seats across. Donald behind us, rumpled into a too small too tight seat. Where were we all headed? I don’t remember. But did he say anything about his change of circumstances? Refer to it? Remind me of the glory days of his jet and helicopter? No. Not one word.

My point is, I have gone to his weddings. I have been to his Mar-a-lago. But I have seen him flat, too. We’ve all seen him high, mighty, up in the clouds, sending instructions directly to God — but he has also known what it’s like when the world gets tough. He pulls in, he pulls tough. He pulls through.

Do we speak on the phone? Yes. Has he sent me notes? Yes. So, world, take it easy. Give him time. He knows what it’s like to win — and lose. He’s done both. Who’ll be better? Clattering Kamala? Musk who’s either a genius or a jerk? The Kennedy guy whose kinfolk didn’t even want him, while Donald’s family are superstars? How about California’s governorlite who doesn’t know his spit from a hole in the ground? Or Hillary’s former aide? She married creep Weiner whose main accomplishment was flashing his wiener and she’s now marrying the son of a man who funds anti-USA protests?

Listen, half of us can’t even clean our desk drawers in three months, so give him time. Little of his doings with Putin, Zelensky or some zero elected to Congress can be done privately. This world, decisions, choices, ideas are all out there for TV’s elves to massacre. Besides reading off their prewritten scenarios, little’s left to do besides attempting to destroy him.

Give him time. Space. Respect. If he did nothing, we’d be down his throat. He moves too fast — we’re down his throat. Who’d be better? Ventriloquist Jill Biden? Barack’s wife, the climber? You don’t love him? So, OK. Give him time. Donald’s no dummy. He’s smart. Think you can do better? Fine. Great. Meanwhile, just shove your clothes in the washing machine — and wait.

And let us all honor other persons of immense accomplishments. Many — scrabbling for attention — came up in the world with only 20 cents in their pockets, but another few thou in their clothes lining.

Only in Washington, kids, only in Washington.