DOMINIC BEHAN - WORKING CLASS HERO

“There’s only room for one genius in this family!” Brendan Behan is reputed to have remarked to Dominic, his younger brother.

While Dominic Behan may not be as well-known as Brendan, it would be hard to argue that he is not his equal in sheer creativity.

However, Brendan was correct when he stated, “No matter what you do, you’ll always be known as Brendan Behan’s brother.”

Dommo was so much more than that. He wrote The Patriot Game, perhaps the greatest protest song. Simple and to the point, it was sparked by the death of Fergal O’Hanlon, during an attack on Brookeborough RUC barracks on January 1, 1957.

There was nothing simple about Dominic Behan. He was raised Republican and at an early age joined Na Fianna Éireann, a radical boy-scouts group.

While all the Behans were of a socialist bent, Dominic veered even further left and was much involved in trade union politics.

Both he and Brendan left school in their early teens and followed their father Stephen into the sign-painting trade. We get an early character portrayal of the brothers when a foreman complained to Stephen, “They are the greatest bastards I’ve ever come across. One wants the men to strike for an incentive bonus so that the other one can bring them down the pub to drink it.”

After a prison stay for his radical activities, Dominic quit Ireland for the green fields of the UK. In Glasgow he fell in with the poet, Hugh MacDiarmid, and in short order fell in love with and married Josephine Quinn, his equal in radicalism.

In London he came under the influence of Ewan McColl, and like Luke Kelly was greatly influenced by the writer of Dirty Old Town and First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. McColl introduced him to the BBC where Dominic turned out scripts for short radio plays. 

Posterity Be Damned, his first play for theatre, was a hit - to his famous brother’s chagrin - but though Dominic too was a drinker, neither booze nor illness affected his productivity. He wrote over 400 songs, many of which are standards: Come Out Ye Black and Tans, Dicey Reilly, McAlpine’s Fusiliers, The Merry Ploughboy, The Sea Around Us, Take It Down From The Mast...

The list goes on. Even just considering those six songs, you can see his range was wide: politics, partying, emigration, dislocation, and the inner life of working class heroes. If Post World War Two Working Class Ireland is your passion, you don’t need to spend time and money at university, Dommo’s songs explore the subject in a granular and entertaining fashion.

He believed that a song is not a museum piece, it should be added to and amended so that it retains relevance. One of my favorite verses of Carrickfergus is the one that begins:

“They say of life, and it has been written,
One chance you’re granted, that chance I lost.
The sands of time have long run out on me,
Ah, but it's too late now to count the cost...”

Yeah, you guessed it, Dommo wrote that verse, and helped to popularize the old song that he first heard actor Peter O’Toole sing.

But to me, it all comes back to Patriot Game, written while still in his twenties. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime indictment that captures all the years of striving for a united Ireland and measures the cost of that still elusive dream.

Behan was unusually protective of Patriot Game. He disapproved of Liam Clancy’s magisterial interpretation, because of the Carrick-on-Suir man’s decision to leave out his criticism of the Gardaí Síochána and the scathing reference to the then divine Taoiseach:

“They say de Valera is partly to blame

For shirking his part in the patriot game.”

But his main beef was with Bob Dylan who appropriated melody and content for his own masterpiece, With God On Our Side. When Dylan suggested that their lawyers could sort out the matter, Dommo replied that “I’ve got two lawyers hanging at the ends of my wrists who’ll do my talking for me.”

A friend of Jimi Hendrix and Eric Burdon, a huge influence on The Dubliners and Christy Moore, Dominic Behan could be quarrelsome and burned many bridges, especially when drinking.

Genius or not, he has left his fiery mark on Irish life and songwriting.

PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION - THE CHOICE IS STARK BUT IT MUST BE MADE

Odd as it may seem, this presidential election is being fought between the normal and the weird, the logical and the fantastical, and the old and new America.

How did we get here? Well, battle lines were drawn with the Covid-19 pandemic that continues to roil our collective consciousness.

Despite this potential cataclysm, the country mostly pulled together, made sacrifices, and amazingly here we are back on our feet with the world’s strongest and most resilient economy.

So why aren’t we taking a well-earned bow?

Because of inflation, stupid!

But every developed country suffered from inflation, many much worse than us.

You don’t get it, man, we Americans are exceptional, such things shouldn’t happen to us!

Unfortunately, supply chains failed to reopen quickly enough, Putin invaded Ukraine, the Houthis threatened shipping lines, and we pumped bucketfuls of money into a collapsing economy to get it functioning again.

Since we live in a free market society, prices shot up and we paid them, though common sense often screamed out, “You gotta be kidding me.”

The rate of inflation has dropped to a healthy 2.4%, but prices will remain high as long as we’re willing to pay them. It’s called capitalism, and no one wants to deprive big business of its continuing profits.

The good news - we’re blessed with a booming economy.  Unemployment is currently 4.1%, wages are beating inflation, household incomes are up, financial markets and 401Ks are at an all-time high, and with interest rates dropping the housing market should soon begin to thaw.

The pertinent question in this election is – do you want to risk it all?

 

Because make no mistake, Donald Trump’s plan for across the board tariffs of 20% with a 60% special on China could send our economy reeling.

His claim that the penalized countries will pay for our tariffs beggars belief. Remind you of Mexico forking out for his wall?  

In reality, China et al. will just increase their prices, and John and Mary American will end up paying the piper, causing another rush of inflation; not to mention, the aggrieved countries will raise tariffs on our exports which could lead to a trade war. Welcome to “weird” and say goodbye to a booming economy!

Whatever the rights and wrongs of Mr. Trump’s mass deportation of illegal immigrants, the economic consequences will be severe, especially on the agriculture and construction sectors, and will certainly lead to higher wage costs and increased inflation.

The Harris economic plans seem normal by comparison, and tend more towards Biden Light (not a bad thing). She offers some decent social  improvements including Medicare payments for home health care, but the eye-catcher is her proposed $25K downpayment to first-time house buyers.

A little on the generous side, Madam Vice-President, considering that the national debt now exceeds $35 trillion? 

Oh, for the days when the Republican Party was fiscally sensitive. But with the “King of Debt” offering scattershot tax cuts that have been estimated to cost up to $15 trillion over the next 10 years, fiscal sense is a rarity in both parties.

And how about logical versus fantastical? I give you the “J6 Hostages.” Bad enough that President Trump refused to accept the will of the people, both in electoral college and popular vote, but he still lauds his “patriots” who ran riot through the Capitol Building, injuring 174 police officers and leading to the deaths of 4 others. He even promises to release jailed rioters!

As for the battle between the new and old Americas. It boils down to the choice of swallowing a daily diet of lies, paranoia and conspiracy theories or voting for democracy, the rule of law, and common sense. 

 

At some point most presidencies face an existential crisis. Covid-19 rear-ended President Trump and found him wanting. Anyone for a healing shot of bleach? 

His ambivalence about vaccines has led to dissent and distrust nationwide, so much so that the next lethal virus will have a head start and take many lives before it too is stalled.

As Hurricane Helene has shown in Asheville, no part of the US is immune from the effects of global warming. So who do you want in the White House - someone reasonable or a myopic conspiracist who claims that climate change is a hoax?

The choice is stark. Do you favor normal or weird, logical or fantastical, and what kind of America do you wish for your children, one driven by lies, exaggeration and misinformation or fact, science and reason? 

MAGICAL CATSKILLS & MUSICAL MEMORIES

I grew up on the banks of the Slaney River, right where it flows into Wexford Harbor on its way to the Irish Sea. There was water everywhere, lapping under old wooden piers or crashing along the broad strands of County Wexford.

I’ve always found it hard to live far from the coast. Even here in the thick of Manhattan I’m within strolling distance of the surging Hudson or the murky East River.

Recently, however, I chanced upon a picture in the New York Times of a demure rocky creek and wondered why my heart jumped for joy. Turned out, it flowed through Leeds, New York.

I had spent a magical summer in this one-horse Catskills village, and hardly a day passed when I didn’t sit on those rocks admiring the stream that gurgled its way down a series of micro-falls before settling in a clear pool.

I had read Kerouac’s On The Road there, written songs, smoked joints, made out, and whatever else you did in a laid back paradise in the 1970’s.

Pierce Turner and I had been hired to play the summer season at nearby O’Shea’s Irish Center.

 “Old” Gerry from Cahersiveen ran the bar, Mrs. O’Shea looked after the rooms and meals, while “Young” Jerry kept an eye out for his parents when his Hunter Mountain ski resort was on hiatus for the summer.

We alternated sets with Trinity II, Mike O’Brien (from The Clancy Brother clan) and Chris King (a St. Louis intellectual), both singer/guitarists and raconteurs who brought the house down nightly with their staccato adlibs, harmonious vocals, and genuine sincerity. Turner & Kirwan played everything from The Kinks to our own “Irish Acid Rock”, so the large back room of O’Shea’s was always bouncing.

We performed from 8pm to 3am to larger crowds as the weeks went by, but especially when the young Italian-Americans from nearby Pleasant Acres Resort discovered “you can actually dance to these Micks!”

Both bands drank liberally and some of us played poker right through the dawn, before devouring  Mrs. O’Shea’s Irish breakfast and retiring for the “night.”

In the late afternoon, we re-grouped and swam in the natural pool or reclined on the aforementioned rocks where we dozed or dreamed.

It was a perfect summer. Turner & Kirwan had been scuffling from gig to gig around New York City. For the first time we could relax, the money was good, and there was nothing to spend it on, except the occasional round in nearby Gilfeather’s Sligo House where The Joe Nellany Band, featuring Tommy Mulvihill and Jerry Finlay, reigned.

For well over a century the Irish have been holidaying in the Catskills, as they prepare for the year ahead in New York, Albany, Tipperary Hill, or distant Buffalo.

The prices are right, people friendly, the music is hot, the beer cold, everyone dances, romance is in the air. What more could you ask for?

By the end of that perfect summer I knew I’d never live in Ireland again. Life was too exciting in New York, and if I wanted a blast of home I could just head up the Turnpike to the Catskills, or failing that, ride the subway to Bainbridge Avenue.

Bainbridge is long gone now. The last time I was there filming a documentary about Black 47, I couldn’t even identify the buildings that used to house Sarsfields or The Phoenix – at least the Village Pub was hard to miss with John Flynn’s benign presence hovering over it.

I worry about the Catskills. I hear rumors of resorts closings. I know there’ll always be an Irish presence around East Durham, but with a few exceptions it’s getting harder for the old resorts now that Irish immigration has been choked off.

What’s going on, Democrats and Republicans? Right now, you’re scouring the country for our votes. Instead of the usual patronizing and platitudes, why don’t you get together and create a new immigration law that would guarantee 20,000 Irish green cards every year?

It’s not asking much, after our contributions to the life of this country. New blood is needed in the Irish community. New ideas too!

The Catskills will always be magical. But they could use a shot of 21^st Century Ireland. The mountains will return the favor double-fold, just like they did to me back in a perfect summer in the 1970’s.

HOW DO YOU WRITE A SONG?

 I’m often asked, “How do you write a song?”

If you were to ask how to write a play or a novel, two other disciplines that I pursue, I feel confident I could lay out some basic steps that would get you started. But writing songs is still a somewhat mysterious pursuit, for the best songs come when lyrics and music merge, as when the hammer hits the anvil and sparks fly. 

That doesn’t mean that you can’t change one or the other as the song takes shape. Take for instance, Paul McCartney’s classic “Yesterday."

Macker claimed the first words that came to mind for that lovely melody were “Scrambled Eggs.” 

It has a certain ring to it, right? Still, you can be sure the song would not be a classic if he hadn’t changed the title.

Then again, Tony Crane of The Merseybeats, a childhood friend, claimed that if Paul slipped while passing by a piano and struck the ivories when falling, he would have a song written by the time he hit the ground; and as he clambered to his feet and gripped the keys again, he’d have a second song written by the time he arose.

But back to us lesser mortals. One surprising thing that’s always struck me about lyric writers – they rarely draw from - or even glance at poetry.

Lyrics and poetry, though different, are drawn from the same well. And the more poetry you can get into your lyrics – without seeming like a poseur – the better your lyrics will be.

I’ve always admired W.B. Yeats, his perception and sheer craft. The well-regarded Black 47 song, Fanatic Heart was influenced by his short poem, Remorse For Intemperate Speech. 

His forensic appraisal of Ireland’s history led me to delve deeper into the ongoing consequences of Belfast’s troubles.

If this is too highfaluting for you, then look no further than your backyard for inspiration. Brown Eyed Girl, that perennial summer hit, was inspired by Van Morrison’s trips “down in the Hollow” as a boy. Van’s Hollow, now a shrine, contained little more than an overgrown stream that flowed close to his childhood home in rainy East Belfast.

But where does the music come from, says you? Well, it’s all around. The rhythm of railroad trains inspired so many great country songs from the like of Jimmie Rogers and Johnny Cash.

As for New York City, I can almost identify the streets that inspired certain classics of Bob Dylan, Lou Reed, The Ramones, Billie Holiday and Miles Davis. 

It’s in no way necessary to read or write music to create songs – but an understanding of chords, their structure and uses, really helps.

Take Blues, Country, Punk, and many types of Folk, there are accepted forms and chord progressions around which you can base your songs. Robert Johnson, Merle Haggard, The Sex Pistols and Bob Dylan have created masterpieces harnessing such traditions.

Then there’s The Beatles. John Lennon said that every time they learned a new chord, they wrote a song around it. I can testify to that. As a boy I happened upon a well-thumbed Beatles songbook tossed in a neighbor’s garbage. It opened a world of chords to me that I still use.

A well-placed, unexpected chord can send a regular tune careening off into originality. As a simple example, in the key of C instead of using a standard E minor (Em) or A minor (Am) chord, substitute an E Seventh or A seventh.

Ah, the oddness and dichotomy of sevenths! In Rebel Girl, a musical I’m currently writing, in order to capture the thorny uniqueness of Irish-American Margaret Sanger (nee Higgins) I only used sevenths.

And if melancholia or regret is your goal, the Major Seventh is your man. But use this chord form sparingly, for it can smother you in melodrama.

Of course, you don’t need to use any accoutrements. If you hear a melody “in your head,” instantly whistle or hum it into the voice memo of your cellphone.

I did that with at least 10 of the 26 songs of Rebel Girl. Ultimately you’ll have to arrange the melody, but that’s grunt work. Once the sparks have been struck, you’re within sight of the finishing line.

And remember, “Scrambled Eggs” is still available for the using. Now get cracking! And remember, there’s no right or wrong way to write a song.

CELEBRITY SCENE NYC

New York has changed. But great cities are always changing – that’s their nature.

I’m a walker – I do a daily 3 mile walk whenever possible. Strolling through New York is a feast for the senses. I’m always noticing new buildings, new people, new languages, new customs, new rhythms, new beats, new songs.

I’ve never understood why people would wish to cut themselves off behind airpods that  throb with familiar sounds, while the raw originality of New York’s perennially changing song echoes all around them.

Besides, even in these relatively placid times, it’s important to know exactly who is approaching from behind. Such knowledge could save you a trip to an emergency room.

One thing I do miss about current New York is the lack of celebrities hoofing around town.

Not that I miss celebrities themselves, still the random sight of one can enliven your day.

Then again, I don’t even know who celebrities are nowadays. I’m not on Instagram or X, I don’t worship my phone, or even read Page 6 anymore, how lame is that!

Your modern day celebrity is isolated in a giant black SUV, surrounded by security goons and chugging along at 2mph in this forever clogged city.

I remember back in the 70’s seeing Mick Jagger approach on 57^thStreet in the company of 2 other semi-soused Brits, out for a night on the town. And didn’t the same Mick roar out his bedroom window in the Pierre Hotel at my brother, Jimmy, and his waterproofing crew, when they began pointing the Pierre’s hallowed bricks at 7 in the morning.

On a blizzarding day in the early 80’s, I had to step aside on West Broadway to allow Bob Dylan to leap over a pool of sludgy water. At the time I was so enamored of the man I’d have lugged him across that pool on my back.

Part of the problem may be the lack of bars that attract such characters. In the Bells of Hell you wouldn’t turn sideways to look at a celebrity, the joint was so full of them. Within its smoky walls, you could meet everyone from Norman Mailer to Jimmy Breslin, Joey Ramone to Liam Clancy.

And wouldn’t Joe Strummer arrive solo at Paddy Reilly’s in a checker cab to see Black 47 in the 90’s. Aye, and line up outside with everyone else to hail a taxi home at 6 in the morning when Steve Duggan finally tired of pulling pints.

I almost forgot John Gotti blessed my son Jimmy in his stroller as the Teflon Don emerged from the Ravenite Social Club on Mulberry Street.

I guess New York was cooler back then. We all discreetly noted, but ignored, celebrities.

I did pay full attention to Mr. Gotti, however. In fact, I gravely thanked him for the honor he had bestowed on my kid and moved on quickly for fear a mob war might break out. It would have been hard to explain at home.

In case you think I’m name dropping, ask any New Yorker of a certain vintage about their celebrity sightings and your ears will be ringing by the time you break free.

Few will be able to match the night David Bowie bought Pierce Turner and myself a double brandy each in a club called Hurrah on the Upper West Side.

We were performing our then opus magnum, Adoramus, which we were hoping to turn into a concept album. As usual, cash was in short supply and record companies were not breaking down our door.

We had, however, received some glowing write-ups about the project and had drawn a big crowd. I remember little of the actual gig except we were called back for an encore. As we took the stage someone yelled out, “Suffragette City!”

Being a smartass I replied, “David couldn’t make it tonight but send up a double brandy and we’ll see what we can do.” And with that we broke into our tried and true treatment of the Bowie standard.

Alas, we received no offers to record Adoramus.  But as we were packing our gear, a waiter arrived with 2 large brandies on a silver tray and the message that “Mr. Bowie thoroughly enjoyed Adoramus and your very original version of his song.”

Ah, those were the days when celebrities cruised New York in yellow cabs - and even bought their round.

INFLATION - TARIFFS - MASS DEPORTATION

Inflation is likely to be the main issue in the November elections. Not current inflation, now nearing the Fed’s desired 2% but rather the inflation that spiked in 2022.

There are those who argue that since over a million American citizens died and many businesses slowed or shut down during the pandemic, we got off fairly lightly, particularly since the economy bounced back so quickly.

But who to blame for the rise in prices? Well, in hindsight, the Biden administration probably pumped an excess of federal funds into the economy in order to prevent a meltdown; still, it’s hard to blame them given that the Obama crew didn’t commit enough resources, thereby allowing the Great Recession to linger for years longer than necessary.

Post-pandemic prices spiraled because of ongoing shortages; this was compounded  by supply routes taking time to work effectively again, what with the Russian invasion of Ukraine and ongoing turmoil in the Red Sea.

We’ll never know just how prevalent price gouging was – except to note that overall corporate profits have remained high, especially since 2021.

Without government controls, prices tend to go up like a rocket but come down like a feather. In other words, unless you stop buying a product, few corporations are likely to drop their prices.

It’s important to remember that the US is not alone, in almost all 44 advanced economies prices rose substantially. 

So what economic policies can we expect from the two current presidential candidates?

Vice-President Harris will likely continue President Biden’s economic policies, after all, the US has the world’s best economic recovery from the pandemic. She also promises to take on big corporations that engage in price gouging, particularly in the food and grocery sectors.

The Biden administration invested much in infrastructure, and chip manufacture, both of which should pay dividends in the coming years; and with interest rates likely to fall, the housing market should bounce back – all of which could allow her a certain amount of economic cruise control.

Harris campaign officials, however, insist that she’ll honor Biden’s pledge to reduce the $35 Trillion National Debt by $3 Trillion over 10 years through raising taxes on corporations and high earners.

Republicans used to care greatly about such deficits, not to mention free trade. Yet President Trump has declared that if re-elected he will introduce a tariff of from 10% to 20% on all imported goods, with the Chinese having to pony up 60%.

This is a surefire recipe for inflation as import prices will rise accordingly. Guess who’ll pay the piper?

As an example, back in 1930, in an effort to protect local industries and farmers after the stock market crash, the US introduced high tariffs. Not surprisingly, other countries retaliated with their own tariffs, a trade war ensued, commerce decreased, currencies were devalued, all leading to a worldwide depression.

One would think Mr. Trump is aware of such consequences. But then Mexicans paid for the wall he built for them, didn’t they?

Speaking of which, Mr. Trump’s proposed immigration policies are hardly inflation-proof. From what one gathers, he plans to round up millions of illegal immigrants, intern them, then send them back from whence they came.

This proposal would have caused wholesale alcoholic consternation up on Bainbridge Avenue back in the day, but young Irish illegals appear to be giving us a pass. As an outward bounder remarked to me in a Dublin Airport bar, “The States is too stressful, the craic is way cooler down under.”

The Pew Research Center estimates that the current unauthorized immigrant population is in the 12 million range. Even deporting 1 million for starters, as JD Vance suggests, would be a monumental task – who does the arresting, the cities, states or the Feds? Where do you keep the apprehended, where do you send them? Who pays for it?   

And from an inflation point of view who replaces these low paid workers? Their loss would cause wages, and inflation, to soar. Fancy a job picking lettuce in California or processing poultry in Pennsylvania?

Tariffs rarely work but can cause damage beyond inflation, history will testify to that - particularly the rise of authoritarianism in the 1930’s, as for mass deportation, ever try living in a police state?

Very few economists predicted post-pandemic inflation, though it seems obvious now. But a country that introduces mass tariffs, not to mention mass deportation, does so at its own peril.

SAY GOOD NIGHT TO INSOMNIA

Having trouble sleeping? Welcome to the crew! According to the National Health Institute up to 70 million Americans suffer from chronic sleep disorders.

As a little boy I remember standing in my cot longing for sleep but, as luck would have it, I was an early reader and books took care of my early sleeping blahs.

 

Nor do I recall much insomnia during my marijuana days; then again, I don’t remember much else either.

 

My problems began in earnest when Chris Byrne and I formed Black 47. In the early days we were doing 3 to 4 long sets a night - home late, up early.

 

Soon enough, Black 47 was hitting the roads of America. Fatigue, booze, and non-stop Rock ‘n’ Roll adrenalin were ever present, with the result that for 25 years I’d wake up after 3 hours no matter how tired. 

 

In some ways it was a boon because I was leading a double life as a playwright/novelist, and there’s nothing quite like the hours between 3 and 6am for silence and concentration.

 

I guess these solitary nights are something I share with President Trump, maybe he should take up guitar and write an Echo column to get him through his querulous sentry-duty while the world is slumbering.

 

Perhaps it’s the coming election but I recently figured I should do something about my insomnia. I had heard about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), but also that it was hard to gain entry to a program, and insurance might not cover the cost.

 

By chance I came upon a book, Say Good Night to Insomnia by Gregg D Jacobs, PH.D. I was skeptical but gave it a whirl. It’s no miracle scroll, but it does poke holes in some bedrock assumptions.

 

I can’t recall ever sleeping 8 hours a night. The bould Dr. Jacobs says, “no big deal.”  Some people may need 8 hours, but chances are you don’t – especially as you grow older. You hear that Mr. Trump? 

 

You can’t imagine the weight that lifted off my shoulders. Dr. Jacobs’ next piece of advice was - don’t worry about not being able to function the day following a night’s tossing and turning. Muscle memory will get you through.

 

I knew that well from all the nights on the road, (although I do confess that one St. Patrick’s Day on the Conan O’Brien Show -  from sheer fatigue I forgot some lines from my own song, James Connolly. Despite the near mortal fright this lapse occasioned, no one even noticed that I’d executed Mr. Connolly a verse too soon.)

 

The good book offers all sorts of garden-variety advice that you probably know, such as get plenty of exercise, and if you indulge in caffeine, do it before noon; eat your food and drink your poison long before bedtime, read a book rather than scroll through social media, and keep the bed exclusively for sex and sleeping.

 

Then comes the good stuff. If, like me, you wake between 3 and 4am like clockwork – don’t freak. And don’t allow the “glooms, as Molly Bloom calls them, to overwhelm you. Rather than lie there fretting, get up and walk around for a short while or read a book, but don’t you dare cast a glance at your damned phone!

 

Then back into bed with you, find a comfortable position and think of something that brings you some joy; lately I’ve been mentally meandering around my grandfather’s long-gone farm. 

 

Then think of a word – it can be anything: a recent favorite of mine (don’t tell the lads) has been “love” – its soft, silent sound seems to calm the heart and dull the most jagged of nerves.

 

This “therapy” doesn’t always work, but you can’t imagine my joy upon waking to find that I have indeed snoozed off for another couple of hours, and the morning is well under way.

 

Much of the book is devoted to substituting positivity for stress, and the overriding message is – don’t be so hard on yourself. Others will take care of that for you.

 

I can’t say I’m a new man but Say Good Night to Insomnia has made a difference, leading me to wonder what kind of person President Trump might morph into with a couple of extra hours sleep under his belt every night?