The parking situation tells part of the story.
Volunteers in neon yellow wave red wands to bring order to the traffic snarl spilling out in the street, untangling gridlock and directing a steady stream of cars into the garage adjacent to the Life Center Church. The driver of one diesel dually pulls over and tries to quickly lower a giant Trump flag. The banner would scrape the concrete ceiling, but by the time he reaches the front of the line, his pickup is redirected to an overflow lot. Doors open in two hours. The world’s richest man won’t arrive for another three. The 400-car garage is full.
There are 19 Teslas, including five Cybertrucks, parked inside next to many more minivans, trucks, and sedans. A handful of Toyota Prius are tucked sheepishly in their spaces, but most everyone else burned gasoline to get here for Elon Musk.
They aren’t the typical superfans, the original ones who bought his electric vehicles as liberal status symbols. No, these are Republicans. And Musk is the closest celebrity they have who approaches Oprah Winfrey-levels of influence.
