A billionaire walks into a Golden Corral: The Rick Jackson story

WINDER — When a billionaire jumps into a high-profile political race, you have to ask if that billionaire can still relate to regular people who are not also billionaires. No matter how much cash a candidate throws at a campaign, Georgia history is full of rich people, from Michael Coles to Guy Millner and Kelly Loeffler, who ran for high office but still fell flat.

So going to see Rick Jackson speak to a breakfast crowd at a Golden Corral in Barrow County was a chance too good to pass up. What better place to observe the newest rich man to get into Georgia politics than a restaurant with an all-you-can-eat buffet?

There was nowhere left to sit or stand when I arrived five minutes ahead of schedule. Inside were mostly older, mostly undecided Republicans looking for inspiration about who to vote for in the wide-open GOP primary. Many left impressed with what they saw and heard.

“He’s a combination of Trump and Vance. I love them both,” said Bob Baker, a retired contractor. “I figured I knew who I was going to vote for, but it’s cemented now.”

Baker voted for President Donald Trump all three times before but said he considers Lt. Gov. Burt Jones, Trump’s endorsed candidate, “a typical politician.”

A common theme among the people in the room was a dislike, almost a disgust, with today’s current crop of politicians and politics as usual. Jackson’s repeated message — “I am not a politician” — was welcome news.

“I love what I’m hearing from Jackson,” said Ziggy Harman, a tattooed father of nine who owns his own remodeling company. “I am very, very much opposed to career politicians. I love the fact that when (Jackson) is done being governor, he can go back to his profession, as I think it should be.”

Like others in the room, Hartman also saw in Jackson echoes of the Trump-Vance ticket.

“He kind of gives me a little bit of a JD Vance flavor,” he said. “It’s the American story. From nothing to something.”

That story of being born into poverty, moving through foster care and eventually starting a multibillion-dollar company is the beginning of Rick Jackson’s still-evolving stump speech. People are clearly moved by his raw description of his father leaving him as a baby, living in Atlanta’s Techwood Homes, suffering through his mother’s alcoholism and eventually entering the foster care system.

“My mother was the kind of alcoholic that I never saw her drink that she didn’t pass out,” he said.

Jackson’s foster brother and sister surprised him at the Winder event by turning up in the audience. All three started crying.

“Awww,” people in the crowd said.

If his rags-to-riches life story is inspiring, Jackson’s oratory skills are far from the polished prose most candidates come prepared with.

At the Golden Corral, he called Lt. Gov. Jones’ leadership “garbage” and promised to put child human traffickers “under the ground.”

A story about buying an American amoxicillin factory to keep it out of Chinese hands got deep into the weeds and wasn’t exactly relatable. He admitted to one woman during the Q&A portion that he didn’t know what she was talking about when she asked about satellites controlling the weather, a well-worn conspiracy on the right.

He told the whole room at one point that he wouldn’t scrap property taxes or the income tax without more data but said he’d freeze the first and cut the second in half.

“It’s a political stunt to say, ‘I’m going to eliminate taxes,’” which the lieutenant governor has promised to do. “Politicians will just tell you everything. We have to be responsible.”

That was when he got Raven Knight’s vote.

“I’ve listened to other candidates, and I have not been swayed,” said Knight, who is a bus driver for children with special needs in Barrow County. “I like that Jackson answered questions straight up. I liked that he’s a realist. Anybody promising to eliminate income taxes, that’s a pipe dream.”

Jackson’s presentation wasn’t perfect or always politically correct, but that was what the people there liked about it.

“I like the way he thinks, just kind of like Trump does,” a woman said as she grabbed a “Rick Jackson” yard sign on her way out the door. “The same way as us regular people do.”