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So Help Me God
friends. I walked back to the podium and began my speech with humility and gratitude, saying, "On behalf of my family, here and gone, I accept your nomination to run and serve as vice president of the United States of America." The cheering in the hall was as loud as I have ever heard.
The Republican convention wrapped on the night of July 21.
Then we hit the trail, spending three days campaigning together as a ticket before parting ways and traveling across the country separately.
Riding in the car to the Cleveland airport, Donald tapped me on the shoulder. "That speech you just gave, I need you giving it all over the country!" he said. "So I'm giving you the big plane. I could have given you the small or midsized plane, but no, I'm giving you the big one." He was half joking, half serious. Our "big plane" was a Boeing 737-700 with sixty-four seats and the Trump-Pence campaign logo wrapped on its side; we called it Trump Force Two, a reference to the candidate's plane, Trump Force One.
As the car drew near to the airport, Trump grew reflective about the campaign ahead. "We are really going to have to work," he admitted in a departure from his usual exuberance. "This is my last chance.
You will have other chances, you're young, but this is my last chance?
I knew he meant something much bigger than his chance at the pres-idency. "Can I tell you two things and you will just agree to believe that I mean both, because we don't know each other well?" I asked.
He agreed. "I think this is my last chance, too," I said. "That's a good attitude!" he interjected. "It's not my attitude," I went on. "I honestly believe this is my last chance, and, secondly, I think this might be the country's last chance. Eight more years of the direction we've been headed in under Obama, and this won't be the country I grew up in anymore." Trump's eyes lit up. He slapped me on the knee and said,
"That's why I'm running!"