I hear a commotion behind me. It’s Bruce Gilden, the photographer. He’s clutching hold of a man’s shoulders. They’re right in each other’s faces, inches apart, and are laughing delightedly. Gilden snaps a photograph. The other man is, I realize, Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy. They’re having a fantastic time and so, after Duffy leaves, I ask Gilden, “Do you know each other?”
“No!” Gilden growls. “But I know people.” He points at his head. “I know people, see?” Gilden says.
Now, Stephen Miller is walking in our direction. Gilden—clearly emboldened by how well it had gone with Sean Duffy—does exactly the same thing. He lunges at Miller, grabs his shoulders, and laughs delightedly in his face.
This time it doesn’t go well. Miller smiles gamely, but his entourage looks alarmed. White House staffers gather, and what appear to be urgent discussions ensue about whether to kick Gilden out.
“Who is he?” I hear them murmur. “Is he supposed to be here? Did he come over the wall?”
If Gilden wasn’t 79, I think he’d have been flung to the ground by now. I stomp away, putting as much distance between us as possible.
I’ve been reporting all week, I think, and Hunter S. Thompson here is fucking it all up for me.
But I also recognize that this moment reflects somewhat poorly on me: I’ve been wayward many times in my career, whereas today, here in the White House, I’m being obedient.
Gilden is not kicked out. But as a result of his actions, none of us are allowed to stand outside anymore. We’re herded back indoors and watch grumpily through the window as Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Cheryl Hines walk past.
Later, Gilden and I dissect the incident. “I think Sean Duffy hugged me first,” he says.
“I only saw you mid-hug,” I reply. But I concede it was possible. Duffy did seem tactile.
“Yeah, he hugged me first, and he was really cool,” Gilden says.
He adds that, despite appearances, he was reading the room: “I’ve been areas in the world where if you make the wrong move, you can have a serious problem. So you have to read people.”
As evidence he reminds me that he didn’t try to hug the noticeably cranky Kash Patel. Whereas with Stephen Miller, “I didn’t know what the hell was going to happen. But he gave me a smile, his wife smiled, so I felt comfortable, okay? He hugged me and I hugged him, and he smiled and he was really nice.”
“I’m pretty certain you hugged Stephen Miller first,” I say. “I don’t see Stephen Miller as initiating a hug.”
“You may be right,” he says. “I don’t remember. Look, I do things maybe other people aren’t comfortable doing, but I felt comfortable and I trust my instincts.”
He acknowledges that “nobody is immune to misreading a situation” and that because of him we were all forced back indoors, but he blames Miller’s entourage for not checking with their boss on whether he minded being hugged.
