Now, my late father would have loved him some Trump. Despite an 8th grade education, he spent his whole life in the middle class. Freeways meant freedom to him. He thought he was being guided by passions, but mostly he was lucky. He was a small businessman who got out of electronics repair in 1973, when it was about to collapse, and used the Small Business Administration to go into the “security business,” buying a lock shop with borrowed money. Dad’s biggest advantage was that he was white. Being white let him buy into a safe suburb, which meant his kids went to good schools.
I didn’t like my dad, for reasons unrelated to this story. I saw freeways as dangerous. Instead of seeking a home in the suburbs, I sought one in-town. Never mind the crime, never mind the blacks and the browns and the dirt. To me freedom meant my bicycle.