This low (and probably lower, as time goes by).
The Times featured a page 1 story today about a podiatrist who supposedly did Fred Trump a favor and concocted a bone spur problem for his then-22 year old son, Donald, that kept him out of the military.
Here is how it starts:
In the fall of 1968, Donald J. Trump received a timely diagnosis of bone spurs in his heels that led to his medical exemption from the military during Vietnam.
For 50 years, the details of how the exemption came about, and who made the diagnosis, have remained a mystery, with Mr. Trump himself saying during the presidential campaign that he could not recall who had signed off on the medical documentation.
Now a possible explanation has emerged about the documentation. It involves a foot doctor in Queens who rented his office from Mr. Trump’s father, Fred C. Trump, and a suggestion that the diagnosis was granted as a courtesy to the elder Mr. Trump.
This 50 year old, uncorroborated, hearsay is worthy of a front page story in The Times? This is what The Times has sunk to?
So how was it unearthed? Did the podiatrist, Dr. Larry Braunstein, decide to suddenly come forward after all these years?
Uh, no. Dr. Braunstein died 11 years ago.
But his two daughters – both of whom “described themselves as Democrats who dislike Trump” it should be noted – have decided to tell us about it, based on what they claim their father told them when he was still alive.
Oh, did I mention that one of the daughters, Elyssa Braunstein, told The TImes she did not know if her father actually examined Mr. Trump at all?
So what we have here is a pair of Trump-haters coming forward, 50 years after the fact, to defame their father (for this to be true, Larry Braunstein would have had to be an unethical, lying fraud who sold out to get favored treatment) in an effort to take a pot-shot at President Trump.
I hope the Braunstein sisters are very proud of what they’ve done to the memory of their father.
And I hope the New York Times is just as proud of running a piece of absolute trash like this, which – at least until The Times started its long descent downward – would have been far more at home in the crap-house tabloids you find on racks at a supermarket checkout line.