Mighty Big Shoes and Banksy Unveiled

An anecdote that I heard a couple of times that supposedly came from our Big, Beautiful President's book, "The Art of the Deal," concerned him bragging about how he liked to throw an adversary, a trader, a contractor, or even an interviewer off balance. I've repeated it many times, and I finally wanted to see if the quote was accurate, because, you know, you want to be extremely truthful when discussing Trump. It was true, but he actually said it on television while being interviewed by Larry King. (Larry King, for anyone born after the turn of the century, was for some reason a popular late-night cable talk show host. He was an average conversationalist, non-threatening, and good for a time when cable TV was growing and needed easy programming.) Trump, still just a media-hungry real estate developer in New York, was a guest on his show numerous times.

He’d recently snagged the Plaza hotel in New York for the highest price paid for a hotel in US history, and he’d purchased his third and final Atlantic City casino, the Taj Mahal.
The mogul sat down for an interview with CNN’s Larry King in April to talk about his business. King asked Trump if he had plans to expand beyond his East Coast properties, and Trump replied that he did have California real estate. 
But then Trump apparently could not take it any more and asked King if he could move his chair “because your breath is very bad. It really is.” Without pausing for a response, he continued, “Has this ever been told to you before?” King said no and attempted to turn Trump’s accusation into part of the interview. “So this is how you get the edge,” King said, “you threw me right then, and no one has ever told me that.”
Trump persisted, “as nobody told you that? Sharon hasn’t said it? You’re kidding.” King said his wife had never mentioned this and Trump replied, “Okay. Your breath is great.” -Mother Jones Magazine

A much younger me thought this was a clever (and funny) way to 'get an edge' as King suggested. But we know now that it is his standard and sole negotiating tactic. Insult, demean, and attack, attack, attack.

Oh, since this Mother Jones article sort of lionized his recent business acumen, you will not be surprised in the least to learn that under Trump's business 'expertise,' both the Plaza and the Taj Mahal went bankrupt. The Taj went down with multiple labor and union disputes, lawsuits, and even fines for money laundering. A 218-page U.S. Senate Subcommittee report, "Asian Organized Crime: the New International Criminal", released in 1992 linked Trump's businesses to Asian organized crime. Treasury also slapped a 10 million dollar fine for those money laundering violations. I know, I know! Who'dah thunk?

But I digest.

Cut to modern times: Evidently, Daddy Don has been "gifting" Florsheim 'Lexington Cap Toe Oxfords" to staffers, agency heads, VIPs, lawmakers, and media types.

From the WSJ: "All the boys have them,” said a female White House official. Another joked, “It’s hysterical because everybody’s afraid not to wear them.” The shoe-salesman-in-chief is paying attention.
Trump has fallen in love with Florsheim...
The president has taken to guessing people’s shoe size in front of them. He asks an aide to put in an order and, a week later, a brown Florsheim box arrives at the White House. Trump sometimes signs the box or attaches a note of gratitude, according to people familiar with the ritual...
Vice President JD Vance and Secretary of State Marco Rubio have some. So do Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick, Trump’s communications director Steven Cheung, deputy chief of staff James Blair and speechwriter Ross Worthington. Fox News personality Sean Hannity and Sen. Lindsey Graham each have a pair.

Isn't that swell? Some of the highest officers of the United States of America are getting their clothes picked out for them by the President. Maybe he'll lay out their outfits on their bed before they come to work!

"I don't WANT to wear the Florsheims again, today, daddy!"
"Listen to me. You're gonna wear those Big Beautiful Shoes and Like it! Do you want Pete Hegseth to be your boss? Do you want to take a ride with Kristi Noem out to the gravel pits?"
"NO daddy! No! Not the gravel pits!"
"OK then, lace up your shoes and show me some gratitude!"

I wrote a piece last year titled "The Quimby Court of the Mango King." In it, I explained that a good friend of mine in college used the word 'quimby' as an insulting reference to others. When I asked WTH a quimby was, he simply explained that "a quimby was a member of the king's court in medieval times who followed the king around and sniffed up all of his farts so that no one else had to smell them." We all assumed he had some actual, historical basis for this, not having the innerwebs and a Googler to fact-check him. If you were to fact-check him today, you would realize how full of farts he was, but we laughed and laughed and used it often among our own little court.

Life was fun without Snopes.

Here in America, I think we're at Peak Quimby. When grown-ass men remove perfectly fine footwear to slip on ill-fitting shoes picked out by their boss... just because they're afraid to displease daddy, you can see why we're bombing Iran, kidnapping world leaders, and poking at Cuba. Haven't we seen these movies before?

In Iran, we're now begging for desperately needed help from our NATO allies after insulting all of them on the world stage, and still, STILL toying with the idea of annexing Greenland. Or Canada, or...

And our Sec. of State, (among other cabinet members) and senators who all know better, are busy sniffing farts in brand new Florsheims.

All are willing to debase themselves with the world watching as we slide further into this madness. They lob insults at each other, immigrants, women, racial minority groups, the LGBT community, 'RINOs', and Democrats - casting blame for high gas prices, continued inflation, the housing shortage, unaffordable healthcare, skyrocketing pharma prices, while they're too afraid to tell daddy to stick his Florsheims up his royal, fat, mango butt.

What a bunch of quimbies. With stinky breath.

Oh, left out one detail. The CEO of Florsheim, when informed that Trump was stocking up on his stock, had very little to say. "Thomas Florsheim Jr. said he was unaware of the president’s shoe orders. The Weyco Group CEO and fifth-generation Florsheim politely declined to comment further." Hmmm, I guess he didn't pay to play. And <checks notes> wait until Trump finds out that Florsheim is one of the many companies suing the administration. After paying 145% tariffs (their shoes are made overseas) Weyco Group, which owns footwear brands including Bogs and Nunn Bush, sued the federal government in December over tariffs, according to a complaint filed in the US Court of International Trade. The shoe maker filed the lawsuit, betting that the US Supreme Court could strike down the tariffs that Trump has enacted under the International Emergency Economic Powers Act.

You're not going to want to be around the White House when Daddy finds out that his beloved shoes have betrayed him. They'll be torn off of feet and thrown around like so many chanclas in the hands of an angry abuelita. And then the investigations of "Who bought these shoes?" will begin. The Florsheim Conspiracy.

In other, not quite as distressing news...

A couple of news outlets are very close to unveiling the true identity of the artist known as Banksy. The Times piggybacked off of some deep research by Reuters that may, "may" finally reveal a name, or two. (Reuters, in turn, started with a British tabloid, The Daily Mail, that named him in 2008.)

If it helps, his name is Robin Gunningham. Or was. Maybe. Then. But not now.

Part of Banksy's charm and certainly a huge component that drives interest in the art he produces is the mystery of his identity. The degree to which his art assistants, attorneys, support staff, and friends (and even an ex-girlfriend or two) go to preserve his anonymity is astonishing. In an age of "Dateline" murder mysteries and hundreds of whodunit podcast series with tens of thousands of followers, "Finding Banksy" makes for a great international pastime.

He is a ghost. "A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma." Hat tip to Winston Churchill, and maybe that's too much, but the guessing and searching and certainty/uncertainty over his real identity drives up interest (and commands incredible prices for his work). His "street art" can be found on the sides of downtown buildings in bustling cities all over the world, around random slum areas, and in burned or bombed-out buildings in active war zones like Gaza and Ukraine.

The icing that holds the Banksy cake together and ultimately elevates his work as true art are the layers of meaning, the clever images, and absolutely the setting where they are found. Busy urban centers? Hot war zones?

Artistry that makes profound/poignant/political/humorous statements as his does, took him from being seen as an annoying street vandal, tagging private property with spray paint, to a 'street artist' celebrity, where property owners (generally) welcome a "Banksy" mural to appear on their walls. Friends and colleagues who know him say that he is also a pretty charming guy, who, along with his street smarts, has allowed him to avoid any real trouble with the law. Part of the investigation into naming the real outlaw, shows that a Robin Gunningham was nabbed as he "defaced" a billboard on top of a building in 2000. It was a felony arrest (the billboard was expensive), but he posted a small bond and was immediately released.

A Banksy pal maintains that part of his art was "getting out of jail."
“He got out pretty fast, and he called me,” <his friend> recalled. “He was like, ‘Ello luvvie!’ I said ‘Yo, B! How did you get out so fast?’ And he said, ‘Female judge, nudge-nudge, wink-wink.'”

Around this time, he pondered changing his name to "Robin Banks," (get it?) That quickly evolved into "Banksy." This was during his transition from freehand mural art to stencil work (for speed, efficiency, and repeatability).

A common graffiti vandal, to street artist, to highly respected, international phantom whose work was becoming worth millions, and someone whom the cops and courts look the other way. A real "Poncho" story.

And all the federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him hang around
Out of kindness, I suppose.
-Townes Van Zandt, "Poncho and Lefty"

(Sorry, can't pass up an opportunity to throw in a Townes reference.)

Oh, did I mention that Robin, er, "Banksy" DID end up legally changing his name? Being Robin Gunningham underneath Banksy was getting pretty hot. The hounds were on his tail. And then suddenly, Robin was gone. But Banksy art continued. Internationally. More sleuthing revealed that Gunninghame was never in war-torn Ukraine. But Banksy was.

The artist known as Banksy, formerly named Robin Gunningham, was now a man named "David Jones." Here's the clever part. Davey Jones is one of the most common names in Britain, allowing him to hide in plain sight.

The effort, time, and money it takes to remain a mystery is pretty staggering. And yet, how many people over the years, including his assistants, former co-workers, rivals, collectors, and agents, have kept his secret?

As an 'artiste' who started on the streets as an anti-social "defacer" of billboards, he rejects the traditional capitalist business model of art collectors, agents, and gallery shows... except for when he doesn't. He doesn't want his street work officially verified - though he posts pictures of his works immediately as if to prove copyright. But all high-value art requires a strict authentication process to protect the buyer, the middlemen, and the artists themselves. Not doing so limits the price that buyers are willing to pay. On the other hand, he often sells limited prints of his work directly. Or DOES work with agents and managers to sell a piece. He is quite generous with charitable groups, sometimes putting up a mural on their buildings and allowing them to profit from the piece.

At other times, he makes the selling of his work, "art" in and of itself.

In the end, not even the journalists who swear that they've ID'ed Banksy as Robin, or Davey, or whomever he is now, will tell all. They've got a trove of documents and data to prove the who he really is and the where he lives... so they say. But... they won't.

Art dealer Robert Casterline expresses a sentiment that so many in Banksy's orbit share (including the investigative journalists who've worked so hard to discover his 'real' identity).

“I don’t want to be the guy who exposes Banksy,” he said

Out of kindness, I suppose.

While you're here. This one was referred to me BEFORE I realized it was a contender (and then a winner of) an Academy Award for Best Film Short.

"The Singers," a really sweet little movie about, you guessed it, singers... kinda. A bartender, a little bored with the regulars and their glum attitudes, offers a $100 bucks to the patron who impresses him with a song. A little bit of "The Voice" in a dark and dingy dive bar. I'm a fan of Chris Smither, a singer/songwriter who makes an appearance. And there's a dude who should get an award for best Sam Elliott look-alike.
15-20 minutes of escapism that you need right now.
Netflix.