CHARLOTTE — It was a little past 7 a.m. on a gray Wednesday morning.
Julianna Balogh proudly popped open the rear hatch of her 2018 Chevy Equinox and pointed inside. It was the kind of long, sweeping wave a gameshow hostess displays when presenting a prize. “This is my car! This is where I sleep,” she said.
“Look how much room!” Even after 30 years of living in America, settling and retiring in Dover, Ark., Balogh has barely diluted her Hungarian accent. And she’s energized, which makes her speak a little faster, blending the words into a beautiful English-Hungarian soup, all fired up about former President Donald Trump.
Story continues below Balogh, a 70-year-old retiree, spent the previous day driving that SUV to Charlotte, covering about 850 miles in a little more than 12 hours. The goal: catch Trump’s July 24 rally at Bojangles Coliseum. And not just to be there, but to make absolutely, positively sure she was seated as close to the stage as possible.
Just like the previous 50 times she's seen him. That means being at the front of the line when the doors open for general admission seating. The best way to do that? Parking outside or nearby the night before and hustling to stand in front of the venue hours before the event starts.
In Charlotte she and other initially parked in the coliseum lot before being run off. They congregated in another lot down the road for the night and returned around sun-up. They’ll spend hours in the parking lot eagerly awaiting for the lines to go inside to form.
More hours will drip by once she gets inside while waiting for the event to actually begin. It makes for a long day followed by another and, with the inevitable trip home, another. But she can’t help herself – she has to be there.
A severe case of FOMO outweighs the hours and the miles and the cramped quarters. “We need to know what President Trump, in his mind, what’s changing,” Balogh said, while wearing a read cap that reads “Arkansas for Trump” in white letters. “The Biden situation, the Kamala (Harris) situation.
“We want to know what’s going on.” “We.” She’s not alone.
Welcome to the world of the Front Row Joes. It’s a group of like-minded folks such as Balogh, traveling across America anytime the former president is putting on a rally. After all, the rallies have become as much a part of the Trump brand as extra-long ties and off-the-cuff speaking.
The Joes’ unofficial roster goes about 45 deep, depending upon your source, and everybody pretty much knows everybody. Not everyone can catch every rally, but enough are always in attendance to make their presence known. A little more than a dozen were at Trump’s stop in Charlotte.
Was it her 50th? “No, it’s 51,” she said. “And now 37 states.” A key correction because she and and her fellow travelers track stats like baseball players.
“I’ve been to 47 of them,” Charlie Hibbs, a fellow Joe from South Dakota interjected. Hibbs, 69, is proud of his number. That much was evident by the way he made sure a reporter didn’t think he was a slouch after Balogh noted she’d already cracked the 50-rally barrier.
Their totals are about average among the Joe’s rank-and-file members. But a few are, if there were such a thing, Front Row Joe Hall of Famers — those with Trump rally counts nearing 100 and still going strong. They give life to the analogy that as Jimmy Buffett had the Parrotheads, Trump has the Front Row Joes.
Then there are others, ones who are just starting their Front Row Joe journeys. “We’re all there for each other,” Jared Petry, 23, said. “We’re all good people who come together for one goal – to support President Trump.
” Petry checked off rally No. 18 during his first visit to Charlotte, driving down from his home near Cleveland. A younger member of the group, he’s respectful when discussing the older Joes, the group’s welcoming nature and how they want to see more younger people involved.
Petry has more than earned his stripes. He was one of about 10 Joes at the Trump rally on July 10 in Butler, Pa. And, given the nature and mission of being a Joe, he had a close view as things unfolded on stage.
He also had the mental wherewithal (maybe a generation reflex?) to pop out his cellphone to start videoing once Trump started going down following the assassination attempt. That video has collected more than 600,000 views across his social media platforms. “It’s just something you’ll never forget,” Petry said.
“It just opens your eyes. I’ll try to be more careful, but I’ll never forget it. It was very, very crazy.
” Yet not enough to keep him from going to rallies. He was in attendance at the next rally a week later on July 20 in Grand Rapids, Mich. And, of course, he made plans to roll down Interstate 77 in his 2010 Toyota Corolla to Charlotte as soon as the event was announced.
Hibbs was there, too, choosing to drive straight from one event to another. “It was above-and-beyond security,” Hibbs said while leaning against his bronze Buick sedan, a pillow and blanket spread out in the back seat. “They had dogs sniffing every individual that went through.
I’d never seen that before. Every individual that went through the Disneyland – um, I’m sorry – the building, was sniffed.” Hibbs' assessment of the heightened security jibed with the other Joes in attendance.
Likewise, his Freudian Slip described how these rallies go beyond political events for the Joes. Facebook accounts, phone numbers, home addresses — contact information flows like campaign materials between the members. Most of it simply spreading news about upcoming events or to start a discussion regarding one topic or another.
But other times people bonding on a deeper level, sharing stories and experiences that aren’t relevant to politics or any discourse. And, given the long trips each member makes – many alone – it’s good to be able to see someone and know their name or to be able to fire off a quick call or text. Exhibit A: the flat full-sized tire resting in the back of Balogh’s vehicle, the one taking up the spot where she slept the night before.
She was able to enlist Hibbs for help in changing it out. “My friend is here because I needed him,” Balogh’s said, “and he came.” Hibbs blows off the praise, instead trying to figure out when they met.
They huddle together like a long-married couple. “That wouldn’t have been Waco?” Hibbs said. “Were you at Warren, Michigan?” “Yeah, I’m in Michigan,” Balogh said, “I’m in Waco, I’m in Arizona, I’m in Texas .
..” “It might have been Tahoe,” Hibbs said.
“Yeah, it was Tahoe in 2021.” They agree and then grow silent for a moment as if the scope of their travels has finally hit them. Along with perhaps the realization that even Front Row Joes might eventually need a little down time.
.
