BUTLER, Pa. ― The call to the City of Butler’s clerk typist came Monday around lunch time, a flustered man’s voice was on the other end.
“You failed, you failed,” he told the city worker. “Put a gun to your head.”
The last 72 hours have been unlike anything the residents and employees of the small Western Pennsylvania town have ever seen, after a young man attempted to assassinate former President Donald Trump at a nearby campaign rally on Saturday. The bullet grazed Trump’s ear, and three spectators were shot, one fatally. Police have identified the shooter as Thomas Matthew Crooks, a 20-year-old from Bethel Park, a suburb south of Pittsburgh.
The rally, held on the grounds of the Butler Farm Show, about 40 miles north of Pittsburgh, was technically not within city limits, but the surrounding townships and city still work in tandem — and so national attention and stigma has shined on it ever since.
Butler Mayor Bob Dandoy and his employees have been inundated with media requests, phone calls, and emails that range from support and praise for their work — to outrage and threats.
President Joe Biden called Dandoy, a Democrat, Saturday night, he said, with words of compassion and an offer to send assistance. His phone has not stopped buzzing, he said, and office employees have a list of interview requests from national reporters. He spent Monday morning walking through the town with a reporter from The New York Times.
“This is not the world we live in on a daily basis,” Dandoy said.
Being mayor of a small Pennsylvania community of just 13,000 people, he said, is often quiet, days filled with phone calls and paperwork. Sometimes he doesn’t even go into the office. It’s like being “a glorified volunteer,” he said. “It’s as full-time as you make it.”
But after the shooting erupted Saturday afternoon, the city’s website crashed, and remained shut down into Monday afternoon. Its server could not sustain the high traffic.
The city’s email inbox is “a rainbow of praise to profanity,” said an administrative assistant, who asked not to be named due to safety concerns. When the man called Monday morning with the threat, she said, the typist hung up, and they tried to put it out of their minds.
“I think we’re all a little shook, and don’t feel very safe,” said Mindy Gall, the city clerk. Every email coming to the city, she said, will be forwarded to and examined by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
The City of Butler, a blue-collar town built on steel, is at the center of Butler County, a rural Republican stronghold home to approximately 190,000 people, nearly 95% of whom are white, according to U.S. Census data. The median household income sits about $81,000, about 9% live below the poverty line, and 38% of people hold a bachelor’s degree or higher.
Along State Road 8, a billboard cropped up in front of a wood furniture shop.
“I told you they were corrupt as hell,” read the sign, alluding to Democrats. “Believe me now?”
Butler City is quaintly nestled on the banks of the Connoquenessing Creek. Its Main Street stretches just about a mile, and is dotted with charming vintage consignment shops, pizza places and a few coffee shops. The Butler County Prison is just two blocks away.
The surrounding neighborhoods are much poorer than the rest of the county — about 33% of residents make less than $25,000 per year, census data shows, and many have seen their community and neighbors devastated by the opioid crisis.
“There’s nothing here,” said Jason Self, who has lived in Butler for 18 years.
Self attended Saturday’s rally with his 15-year-old son and was rushed out with the crowd after the shooting erupted.
Self said his car is still trapped there, and he lost his keys while fleeing. The area is restricted as officials continue to investigate the shooting, and he said he’s not sure when he will be able to get it back.
The city, he said, has always been known for its steel production, for being the birthplace of the Jeep.
“Now we’re going to be named for a place with a presidential assassination attempt,” he said.
“It’s going to be the talk of the town for a long time,” said Jamie Reese, 45, who manages 10 addiction recovery houses in Butler. One of his residents in recovery, Ryan Mikulin, said he hopes “the national attention could send some resources,” like for mental health and jobs.
The town, Reese said, has come a long way in just the last five years. He notices how city employees, a mix of Republicans and Democrats, work well together and neighbors mingle despite political differences.
Dandoy said he worries the shooting could change that harmony.
He hopes that things will soon settle down, that reporters and people across America will realize this shooting wasn’t Butler — and doesn’t define it.
“I want to be known as the home of the Jeep,” he said. “Not for this.”
