Marc Molinaro just won a landslide— just not at the ballot box. He was confirmed as Federal Transit Administrator, 71 yeas to 23 nays. There were smiles and side banter as Molinaro’s name was read, a sense of genuine merriment not usually seen in the blasé Senate chamber.
“The question’s on the nomination! You guys want to hang out?”
From the dais, Bernie Moreno chuckles into the mic and pinwheels both hands like a third base coach. It’s the fifteenth and final roll-call vote of a sticky August Saturday; senators are already mentally at the airport. When the vote closes, Moreno reads the tally to mahogany furniture. Molinaro’s latest mandate lands as a collective shrug— another patronage technocrat for Trump’s chainsaw-governance second term.
One year ago, I published Molinaro’s Gambit on the rise and looming fall of the Tivoli wunderkind. I argued that a little-known House freshman, built for small-pond dominance, traded a safe, durable local empire for brittle national theater— and he’d eat pavement for it. Six weeks later, he found himself outside elected office for the first time since he was 18 years old. An update is warranted, though I won’t pad word count.
I hedged he might hold, by election day I didn’t believe it, and he didn’t. Despite an extremely favorable national environment, Molinaro lost by 2.2 points. There was no easy fallback this time, just the usual consolation prize for frontliners: a federal appointment as kudos for being a loyal footsoldier.
It makes for an ironic bookend. Molinaro oversaw the modest Dutchess bus network and appointed a sliver of an MTA board vote. His typo-flecked DOT bio doesn’t bother with either. But it’s a job, with rooms to work and flights comped. If his recent trajectory has a constant, it’s this: trading rock-solid, local power for a brighter, thinner stage. The FTA may be the brightest, thinnest stage of all.
Molinaro now answers to another ex-congressman: Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy. After leaving the House for a TV punditry gig— first CNN, then Fox— Duffy found himself in the Cabinet. Molinaro hasn’t, which tells you something about what this administration rewards.
His Twitter bio strains to square the drop: “From village mayor, state legislator, county executive to Congress & FTA Administrator. Same mission: make it safe, make it work, make a difference.” Résumé-as-mantra, selling a nadir as a climb. The numbers mutter what the spin won’t: 411 followers on the official account, 43 on the personal.
The @FTAMarcMolinaro feed is small and ravenous— AI-generated banner, repost-heavy, applause-seeking—and it reads like a county legislator baiting engagement: stern “Yes. We. Are.” quote tweets sandwiched between podium shots and old men beaming in front of new buses.
It’s the Trump-era slurry: he boosts TWU when they tee off against MTA brass, juices Fox hits on cashless bail, mainlines subway crime gore videos. Yet he still can’t drop the Dutchess patois: #ThinkDIFFERENTLY nostalgia, upstate ribbon cuttings, and knocks against Hochul keep bleeding through. He’s always wanted an office in DC— preferably Pennsylvania, he’ll take New Jersey Avenue— yet his mind never left home. The personal account slides into the culture war even further, though to an even smaller audience. Every so often, he squeaks an op-ed saber-rattling against America’s cities into print.
The man who once actually ran things now tours things, points at things, and retweets things. Law-and-order swagger, theoretically national microphone— but no one is listening.