Over Saint Patrick’s Day weekend 2024, at a small White House party, Biden spoke to guests using a teleprompter. Daley (who, on a dozen visits to the White House, was never invited to drop in on Biden) couldn’t believe it. If the president needed a script for a small gathering of Irish guys, how would he survive the rigors of a campaign? “How are they letting this thing go on?” he thought. “This is crazy.”

Daley ran into his friend Tom Donilon, a long-time national security expert and brother of Biden’s adviser Mike. Why hadn’t anyone spoken to the president about stepping aside and giving someone else a chance to beat Trump? “How are they letting this fucking thing go on?” Daley asked him. Donilon shook his head. “I don’t believe there’s anyone who’s had the conversation with him about not running, including my brother,” he said. If Mike Donilon, Biden’s alter ego, hadn’t spoken to the president about his age, it was almost certain that no one had.

Nor did Democrats dare talk about Biden’s age—at least in public. “Everyone ignored it,” said Daley. Challenging the incumbent president could be a political death wish. “Every politician, every big shot, they all bought into the attitude that if you run against him and he gets softened up and loses to Trump, you’ll be blamed and your career is over. Every freaking one of them had no balls.”

The depth of denial among Biden’s advisers became clear when they challenged Trump to an early debate, in June. For a campaign covering up for a doddering uncle, this would have been a crazy risk to take. Why would Biden’s handlers, knowing that he’d lost his verbal fastball, send him out to pitch against Trump? They could have held out for a later debate in the fall, effectively running out the clock. (If Biden then fell on his face, it would be too late to replace him as the nominee.) The answer is that Biden’s top aides—campaign chair Jen O’Malley Dillon, Donilon, and senior adviser Anita Dunn—must have believed, erroneously, that he could go toe-to-toe with Trump.

When Daley heard that Biden’s aides were considering a June debate, he was aghast. It was pure hubris. “They were so cocky,” he said. “They got CNN, they got the moderators, they got the rules—no audience. They were telling[people]: ‘We got everything we wanted.’” Daley foresaw disaster. He called up Biden’s chief of staff, Jeff Zients. “Jeff, I know you’re debating whether to debate,” he told him. “Do not do this. I’m telling you, don’t do it. I’m just telling you, come up with something, but do not do it.”

On Friday, June 21, 2024, Joe Biden arrived at Camp David to prepare for the debate. Just six days away, it might well decide the outcome of the 2024 election.

The president’s wobbly state should have been a flashing warning light. At his first meeting with Biden, Ron Klain, his former White House chief of staff, who was in charge of debate prep, was startled. He’d never seen Biden so exhausted and out of it. He seemed unaware of what was happening in his own campaign. The president appeared obsessed with foreign policy and uninterested in his second-term plans. During one prep session in Aspen Lodge, the presidential cabin, Biden suddenly got up, walked out to the pool, collapsed on a lounge chair, and fell sound asleep. Yet his advisers were undaunted. With unintended irony, one of them explained their strategy to me: “An early debate would quiet fears that the president was infirm.”

That evening, Biden met again with Klain, Donilon, senior adviser Steve Ricchetti, and deputy chief of staff Bruce Reed. “We sat around the table,” said Klain. “He had answers on cards and I was struck by how out of touch with American politics he was. He was just very, very focused on his interactions with NATO leaders.”

The first of two mock debates was scheduled to last 90 minutes but Klain called it off after 45. The president’s voice was shot and so was his grasp of the general subjects that might come up during the debate. “All he really could talk about was his infrastructure plan and how he was rebuilding America and 16 million jobs,” said Klain. Biden had nothing to say about his agenda for a second term. Klain prodded him: “Look, sir, you’re not really telling people what you’re going to do if they reelect you.”

“I’m not going to make more promises,” the president snapped. “I made too many promises in 2020 and I delivered on most of them, and all people remember are the things I didn’t deliver on.”

Klain retorted: “Well, you have to make some promises to get reelected, sir.”

In hopes of piquing his interest in a forward-thinking agenda, Klain arranged a phone call with Melinda French Gates, a persuasive childcare advocate. Biden perked up briefly but soon lost interest again. At one point, Biden had an idea. If he looked perplexed when Trump talked, voters would understand that Trump was the one whose answers were batty or half-baked.. Klain replied: “Sir, when you look perplexed, people just think you’re perplexed. And this is our problem in this race.”

Over Saint Patrick’s Day weekend 2024, at a small White House party, Biden spoke to guests using a teleprompter. Daley (who, on a dozen visits to the White House, was never invited to drop in on Biden) couldn’t believe it. If the president needed a script for a small gathering of Irish guys, how would he survive the rigors of a campaign? “How are they letting this thing go on?” he thought. “This is crazy.”

Daley ran into his friend Tom Donilon, a long-time national security expert and brother of Biden’s adviser Mike. Why hadn’t anyone spoken to the president about stepping aside and giving someone else a chance to beat Trump? “How are they letting this fucking thing go on?” Daley asked him. Donilon shook his head. “I don’t believe there’s anyone who’s had the conversation with him about not running, including my brother,” he said. If Mike Donilon, Biden’s alter ego, hadn’t spoken to the president about his age, it was almost certain that no one had.

Nor did Democrats dare talk about Biden’s age—at least in public. “Everyone ignored it,” said Daley. Challenging the incumbent president could be a political death wish. “Every politician, every big shot, they all bought into the attitude that if you run against him and he gets softened up and loses to Trump, you’ll be blamed and your career is over. Every freaking one of them had no balls.”

The depth of denial among Biden’s advisers became clear when they challenged Trump to an early debate, in June. For a campaign covering up for a doddering uncle, this would have been a crazy risk to take. Why would Biden’s handlers, knowing that he’d lost his verbal fastball, send him out to pitch against Trump? They could have held out for a later debate in the fall, effectively running out the clock. (If Biden then fell on his face, it would be too late to replace him as the nominee.) The answer is that Biden’s top aides—campaign chair Jen O’Malley Dillon, Donilon, and senior adviser Anita Dunn—must have believed, erroneously, that he could go toe-to-toe with Trump.

When Daley heard that Biden’s aides were considering a June debate, he was aghast. It was pure hubris. “They were so cocky,” he said. “They got CNN, they got the moderators, they got the rules—no audience. They were telling[people]: ‘We got everything we wanted.’” Daley foresaw disaster. He called up Biden’s chief of staff, Jeff Zients. “Jeff, I know you’re debating whether to debate,” he told him. “Do not do this. I’m telling you, don’t do it. I’m just telling you, come up with something, but do not do it.”

On Friday, June 21, 2024, Joe Biden arrived at Camp David to prepare for the debate. Just six days away, it might well decide the outcome of the 2024 election.

The president’s wobbly state should have been a flashing warning light. At his first meeting with Biden, Ron Klain, his former White House chief of staff, who was in charge of debate prep, was startled. He’d never seen Biden so exhausted and out of it. He seemed unaware of what was happening in his own campaign. The president appeared obsessed with foreign policy and uninterested in his second-term plans. During one prep session in Aspen Lodge, the presidential cabin, Biden suddenly got up, walked out to the pool, collapsed on a lounge chair, and fell sound asleep. Yet his advisers were undaunted. With unintended irony, one of them explained their strategy to me: “An early debate would quiet fears that the president was infirm.”

That evening, Biden met again with Klain, Donilon, senior adviser Steve Ricchetti, and deputy chief of staff Bruce Reed. “We sat around the table,” said Klain. “He had answers on cards and I was struck by how out of touch with American politics he was. He was just very, very focused on his interactions with NATO leaders.”

The first of two mock debates was scheduled to last 90 minutes but Klain called it off after 45. The president’s voice was shot and so was his grasp of the general subjects that might come up during the debate. “All he really could talk about was his infrastructure plan and how he was rebuilding America and 16 million jobs,” said Klain. Biden had nothing to say about his agenda for a second term. Klain prodded him: “Look, sir, you’re not really telling people what you’re going to do if they reelect you.”

“I’m not going to make more promises,” the president snapped. “I made too many promises in 2020 and I delivered on most of them, and all people remember are the things I didn’t deliver on.”

Klain retorted: “Well, you have to make some promises to get reelected, sir.”

In hopes of piquing his interest in a forward-thinking agenda, Klain arranged a phone call with Melinda French Gates, a persuasive childcare advocate. Biden perked up briefly but soon lost interest again. At one point, Biden had an idea. If he looked perplexed when Trump talked, voters would understand that Trump was the one whose answers were batty or half-baked.. Klain replied: “Sir, when you look perplexed, people just think you’re perplexed. And this is our problem in this race.”

Over Saint Patrick’s Day weekend 2024, at a small White House party, Biden spoke to guests using a teleprompter. Daley (who, on a dozen visits to the White House, was never invited to drop in on Biden) couldn’t believe it. If the president needed a script for a small gathering of Irish guys, how would he survive the rigors of a campaign? “How are they letting this thing go on?” he thought. “This is crazy.”

Daley ran into his friend Tom Donilon, a long-time national security expert and brother of Biden’s adviser Mike. Why hadn’t anyone spoken to the president about stepping aside and giving someone else a chance to beat Trump? “How are they letting this fucking thing go on?” Daley asked him. Donilon shook his head. “I don’t believe there’s anyone who’s had the conversation with him about not running, including my brother,” he said. If Mike Donilon, Biden’s alter ego, hadn’t spoken to the president about his age, it was almost certain that no one had.

Nor did Democrats dare talk about Biden’s age—at least in public. “Everyone ignored it,” said Daley. Challenging the incumbent president could be a political death wish. “Every politician, every big shot, they all bought into the attitude that if you run against him and he gets softened up and loses to Trump, you’ll be blamed and your career is over. Every freaking one of them had no balls.”

The depth of denial among Biden’s advisers became clear when they challenged Trump to an early debate, in June. For a campaign covering up for a doddering uncle, this would have been a crazy risk to take. Why would Biden’s handlers, knowing that he’d lost his verbal fastball, send him out to pitch against Trump? They could have held out for a later debate in the fall, effectively running out the clock. (If Biden then fell on his face, it would be too late to replace him as the nominee.) The answer is that Biden’s top aides—campaign chair Jen O’Malley Dillon, Donilon, and senior adviser Anita Dunn—must have believed, erroneously, that he could go toe-to-toe with Trump.

When Daley heard that Biden’s aides were considering a June debate, he was aghast. It was pure hubris. “They were so cocky,” he said. “They got CNN, they got the moderators, they got the rules—no audience. They were telling[people]: ‘We got everything we wanted.’” Daley foresaw disaster. He called up Biden’s chief of staff, Jeff Zients. “Jeff, I know you’re debating whether to debate,” he told him. “Do not do this. I’m telling you, don’t do it. I’m just telling you, come up with something, but do not do it.”

On Friday, June 21, 2024, Joe Biden arrived at Camp David to prepare for the debate. Just six days away, it might well decide the outcome of the 2024 election.

The president’s wobbly state should have been a flashing warning light. At his first meeting with Biden, Ron Klain, his former White House chief of staff, who was in charge of debate prep, was startled. He’d never seen Biden so exhausted and out of it. He seemed unaware of what was happening in his own campaign. The president appeared obsessed with foreign policy and uninterested in his second-term plans. During one prep session in Aspen Lodge, the presidential cabin, Biden suddenly got up, walked out to the pool, collapsed on a lounge chair, and fell sound asleep. Yet his advisers were undaunted. With unintended irony, one of them explained their strategy to me: “An early debate would quiet fears that the president was infirm.”

That evening, Biden met again with Klain, Donilon, senior adviser Steve Ricchetti, and deputy chief of staff Bruce Reed. “We sat around the table,” said Klain. “He had answers on cards and I was struck by how out of touch with American politics he was. He was just very, very focused on his interactions with NATO leaders.”

The first of two mock debates was scheduled to last 90 minutes but Klain called it off after 45. The president’s voice was shot and so was his grasp of the general subjects that might come up during the debate. “All he really could talk about was his infrastructure plan and how he was rebuilding America and 16 million jobs,” said Klain. Biden had nothing to say about his agenda for a second term. Klain prodded him: “Look, sir, you’re not really telling people what you’re going to do if they reelect you.”

“I’m not going to make more promises,” the president snapped. “I made too many promises in 2020 and I delivered on most of them, and all people remember are the things I didn’t deliver on.”

Klain retorted: “Well, you have to make some promises to get reelected, sir.”

In hopes of piquing his interest in a forward-thinking agenda, Klain arranged a phone call with Melinda French Gates, a persuasive childcare advocate. Biden perked up briefly but soon lost interest again. At one point, Biden had an idea. If he looked perplexed when Trump talked, voters would understand that Trump was the one whose answers were batty or half-baked.. Klain replied: “Sir, when you look perplexed, people just think you’re perplexed. And this is our problem in this race.”

Over Saint Patrick’s Day weekend 2024, at a small White House party, Biden spoke to guests using a teleprompter. Daley (who, on a dozen visits to the White House, was never invited to drop in on Biden) couldn’t believe it. If the president needed a script for a small gathering of Irish guys, how would he survive the rigors of a campaign? “How are they letting this thing go on?” he thought. “This is crazy.”

Daley ran into his friend Tom Donilon, a long-time national security expert and brother of Biden’s adviser Mike. Why hadn’t anyone spoken to the president about stepping aside and giving someone else a chance to beat Trump? “How are they letting this fucking thing go on?” Daley asked him. Donilon shook his head. “I don’t believe there’s anyone who’s had the conversation with him about not running, including my brother,” he said. If Mike Donilon, Biden’s alter ego, hadn’t spoken to the president about his age, it was almost certain that no one had.

Nor did Democrats dare talk about Biden’s age—at least in public. “Everyone ignored it,” said Daley. Challenging the incumbent president could be a political death wish. “Every politician, every big shot, they all bought into the attitude that if you run against him and he gets softened up and loses to Trump, you’ll be blamed and your career is over. Every freaking one of them had no balls.”

The depth of denial among Biden’s advisers became clear when they challenged Trump to an early debate, in June. For a campaign covering up for a doddering uncle, this would have been a crazy risk to take. Why would Biden’s handlers, knowing that he’d lost his verbal fastball, send him out to pitch against Trump? They could have held out for a later debate in the fall, effectively running out the clock. (If Biden then fell on his face, it would be too late to replace him as the nominee.) The answer is that Biden’s top aides—campaign chair Jen O’Malley Dillon, Donilon, and senior adviser Anita Dunn—must have believed, erroneously, that he could go toe-to-toe with Trump.

When Daley heard that Biden’s aides were considering a June debate, he was aghast. It was pure hubris. “They were so cocky,” he said. “They got CNN, they got the moderators, they got the rules—no audience. They were telling[people]: ‘We got everything we wanted.’” Daley foresaw disaster. He called up Biden’s chief of staff, Jeff Zients. “Jeff, I know you’re debating whether to debate,” he told him. “Do not do this. I’m telling you, don’t do it. I’m just telling you, come up with something, but do not do it.”

On Friday, June 21, 2024, Joe Biden arrived at Camp David to prepare for the debate. Just six days away, it might well decide the outcome of the 2024 election.

The president’s wobbly state should have been a flashing warning light. At his first meeting with Biden, Ron Klain, his former White House chief of staff, who was in charge of debate prep, was startled. He’d never seen Biden so exhausted and out of it. He seemed unaware of what was happening in his own campaign. The president appeared obsessed with foreign policy and uninterested in his second-term plans. During one prep session in Aspen Lodge, the presidential cabin, Biden suddenly got up, walked out to the pool, collapsed on a lounge chair, and fell sound asleep. Yet his advisers were undaunted. With unintended irony, one of them explained their strategy to me: “An early debate would quiet fears that the president was infirm.”

That evening, Biden met again with Klain, Donilon, senior adviser Steve Ricchetti, and deputy chief of staff Bruce Reed. “We sat around the table,” said Klain. “He had answers on cards and I was struck by how out of touch with American politics he was. He was just very, very focused on his interactions with NATO leaders.”

The first of two mock debates was scheduled to last 90 minutes but Klain called it off after 45. The president’s voice was shot and so was his grasp of the general subjects that might come up during the debate. “All he really could talk about was his infrastructure plan and how he was rebuilding America and 16 million jobs,” said Klain. Biden had nothing to say about his agenda for a second term. Klain prodded him: “Look, sir, you’re not really telling people what you’re going to do if they reelect you.”

“I’m not going to make more promises,” the president snapped. “I made too many promises in 2020 and I delivered on most of them, and all people remember are the things I didn’t deliver on.”

Klain retorted: “Well, you have to make some promises to get reelected, sir.”

In hopes of piquing his interest in a forward-thinking agenda, Klain arranged a phone call with Melinda French Gates, a persuasive childcare advocate. Biden perked up briefly but soon lost interest again. At one point, Biden had an idea. If he looked perplexed when Trump talked, voters would understand that Trump was the one whose answers were batty or half-baked.. Klain replied: “Sir, when you look perplexed, people just think you’re perplexed. And this is our problem in this race.”