Steve Bannon now flies only by private plane — and has his own small security team that surrounds him 24 hours a day.

Reince Priebus spends Friday afternoons at the swanky Belle Haven Country Club in Alexandria, sipping Heineken on the patio and trying to break 90 over 18 holes. He is charging at least $50,000 to give private talks about the White House to CEOs and carries a phone that seems to ring nonstop.


Michael Flynn, meanwhile, floats in a sort of legal purgatory, with his siblings setting up a defense fund to help him foot the bills and TV cameras swarming outside his house, representing another group of White House aides who live in fear of the footsteps of prosecutors and early-morning knocks on the door.

Standing on a stage at the New York Hilton Midtown in the early hours of Nov. 9 almost a year ago, basking in his surprise victory, Donald Trump name-dropped each man. In the days and weeks that followed, he would appoint each to senior White House roles. Their days in the White House are long gone.

There have been few constants in Trump's White House, but personnel churn has proved to be one. Much of his inner circle has turned over since he took office, a remarkable pace surpassing any other West Wing in decades. Among the departures are a dizzying array of names: Flynn, Priebus, Bannon, Sebastian Gorka, Michael Short, Marc Lotter, Sean Spicer, Anthony Scaramucci, Tom Price, Keith Schiller, George Gigicos, George Sifakis, Michael Dubke, Katie Walsh, Josh Pitcock, Ezra Cohen-Watnick and even the White House usher.

Some are richer and cashing in on their work with the president. Some face significant legal risks. And some of them are just content to be out of the spotlight. But all of them seem happy about one thing: The morning tweets are no longer their problem.

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Steve Bannon

Bannon is on a diet — four pages of restrictions line a refrigerator in his Capitol Hill townhouse. Snacks are a no-no, but hummus is acceptable in a pinch as he attempts to lead a Trumpist revolution without Donald Trump. He drinks smoothies and tends to avoid red meat. Aides have strict orders on what groceries to buy.

He lost 12 pounds in his first week but has since regained much of it. Bannon has complained to friends that he is hungry, but he has bragged about his energy.

On a recent evening, Bannon stood underneath a chandelier in the Breitbart News headquarters turned personal office and took selfies with party guests. The political provocateur, with a fondness for layering several shirts on top of each other, had convened much of elite Washington into his house for a fete.

The former White House chief strategist — who has railed against establishment Washington — seemed to be in his element among the Dean & DeLuca beef tenderloin sandwiches, flowing vodka and spanakopita triangles. Bannon doesn't drink and didn't appear to eat even a bite. He was mobbed by supporters and surrounded by his informal army: Breitbart writer Matt Boyle whispered in his ear, former aide Gorka hovered near his side. The sweltering house was so packed that guests could barely move.

"I finally got my groove back," he said in a recent interview. "Life after the White House, every day is a holiday. Every meal is a banquet."

He has a private security force of burly former military officials guarding him at all times. He has told friends that he is a target of threats because of his views and fame. He has said he never plans to fly commercial unless there is no other option.

But in other ways, his life hasn't changed much since he was ousted from the West Wing in August. He still spends his days in constant talks with political candidates, think tank types, journalists and others. He is fixated on China, spending several hours a day talking to experts and reading books. Bannon is currently reading "Robespierre: A Revolutionary Life" by Peter McPhee.

Several allies say Bannon will often pack eight or ten meetings into one day, particularly with grass-roots groups that he believes "can raise hell," in the words of one ally. He continues to layer the shirts, topping the trio with a striped one at the recent party. He is sending texts at 11 p.m. and 5 a.m., friends say.

He doesn’t have hobbies, like playing golf or watching sports. He gave up cigars a few years ago. He occasionally drives to Richmond to see his father.

Bannon still talks to the president, who wants to hear what the Breitbart chief and his allies think. Friends say his wireless internet network is called "Honey Badger," his favorite mischief-making nickname. In his house is a picture of his daughter, a soldier, posing in Saddam Hussein's old mansion.

After exiting the White House, former chief strategist Steve Bannon resumed his post as chief of the Breitbart News site. | Getty Images

He remains involved in the minutiae of Breitbart, suggesting stories and ideas on daily calls.

There are entire days when he doesn't step outside his Capitol Hill townhouse and gloats that everyone — including establishment strategists and politicians — now have to kiss the ring. He took particular glee in having Rep. Steve Stivers of Ohio, thechairman of the National Republican Congressional Committee, come to him earlier this month.

Since leaving the West Wing, Bannon has embraced his public profile, traveling for speeches and donor meetings, from Colorado to New York to California. After his party on a recent evening, his entourage was seen carrying his bags out the front door for a red-eye flight on a private jet.

He sees himself at war still with the Republican establishment, giving fiery speeches and promising to choke off Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell from his donors. It is unclear how much lasting power he will have on the national political stage.

It is also unclear where he gets all his money. Forbes said in April that financial disclosures put his worth at between $9.5 million and $48 million, and that his wealth is mostly held in real estate properties and entertainment companies, including Bannon Strategic Advisors and Bannon Film Industries. Several friends say he has returned to his companies. The townhouse that doubles as his residence and the nerve center of his revolution is owned by Breitbart.

He is returning to his Breitbart radio show and thinking of getting a new residence in New York.

Reince Priebus

The stately foyer draped with red curtains, the dangling chandeliers, the sweeping views from the rooftop patio of the Belle Haven Country Club are indicative of a new life for Priebus: less power, but more money.

Under drizzling rain on a recent Friday, he shot 87 — and called it a good day. Virginia’s elite sat around, drinking beer underneath a large flagpole and between leafy fairways. Priebus, wearing a striped golf polo, frequently ducked into the clubhouse from an umbrella-covered table to take calls.

After he was driven away from a rainy tarmac in late July, pushed out as chief of staff on Twitter by a president sitting on Air Force One, Priebus has crossed the country and world, talking to CEOs and other business figures in places such as South Korea and New York about Trump and life in Washington. If groups can pay $50,000 or more, Priebus will hold court for a couple of hours and tell the secrets of the Trump administration.

For six months, he was on the front line of the administration after six years at the Republican National Committee. Now he is making money, returning to his old Wisconsin law firm and taking clients. His position in recent years of straddling the worlds of Trump and establishment Republicans like Paul Ryan and Mitch McConnell has made him an attractive speaker to business and political groups.

"I'm not a lobbyist," Priebus said in a recent interview, when asked whether he is part of the "swamp." "I'm not selling access. I'm merely providing strategic advice and helping them handle their problems."

He stays involved at the RNC, keeping close tabs on donors and members — allies say he was obsessed with operations even while in the White House. He is planning to start doing more TV hits. He'd like to launch a super PAC or become involved in one.

Priebus might have suffered the most torture in the West Wing, facing constant scrutiny and rumors about losing his job.

“I miss the daily political drama — and the fight with the media,” former Chief of Staff Reince Priebus said. | Getty

Publicly, he insisted he was all-in for Trump, even as the president continually needled him for suggesting that the "Access Hollywood" tape would doom his chances of taking the White House.

“It’s been an honor,” Priebus gushed on election night when Trump called him to the lectern and gave him a turn to speak. He would repeat the sentiment at an early Cabinet meeting at which he said: “On behalf of the entire senior staff around you, Mr. President, we thank you for the opportunity and the blessing that you've given us to serve your agenda and the American people.”

Moments like that made Priebus a frequent target for criticism. Aides still joke about him sprinting down the West Wing halls. Still, he contends he misses parts of the job.

Asked about his regrets, he paused for about 15 seconds.

“I would have loved certain things to be different,” he said in an interview. “But you also get the cards that you’re dealt and you work with the cards in your hand.”

He later added: “We did more in six months than any previous administration, and I’m proud of the work there.”

Business officials, he said, don't understand Trump and how Capitol Hill works. So he can help. He attends Redskins games with clients. He golfs in Alexandria. He tells war stories at lunch with Corey Lewandowski, who as campaign manager was also vanquished.

Allies say Priebus wants to run for political office again one day — he ran unsuccessfully for Wisconsin state Senate in 2004 — and has struggled to slow down. Priebus said he was getting better at adapting to his new life.

“I miss the daily political drama — and the fight with the media,” Priebus said as he prepared to hit the links. “As much as it was very difficult, you still miss being in the ditch with your friends fighting the war — something strange about it that becomes addictive and part of your life. When you don’t do it anymore, you actually miss it.”

Sean Spicer

The night Spicer quit his job as Trump’s press secretary, he went out to drink with Michael Dubke, Trump’s first communications director who bailed after just a few months on the job. The meeting was an orientation into life after the Trump White House.

As the public face of the administration, Spicer had become a household name, and for many of the wrong reasons. Regularly pilloried on “Saturday Night Live” and mocked across the political spectrum, Spicer became a symbol for the White House’s dearth of credibility. He quit in July over the hiring of Anthony Scaramucci as communications director (“The Mooch” would be gone in less than two weeks).

He was shouted out in public, heckled at the Apple store. Now, Spicer says, people are nicer to him.

"I can count on one hand the number of publicly negative experiences I've had," he said in a recent interview. "One hundred percent, I get treated better."

Spicer sought a quicker public re-emergence than others who preceded him out of the West Wing. It did not go particularly well. He was widely panned for appearing at the Emmys and joking about making false claims about the crowd size at the inauguration in one of his first appearances at the White House briefing room.

He also held a series of lectures at the Harvard Kennedy School, where he was a visiting fellow, and defended his performance as press secretary while sticking to his penchant for attacking the press, according to news accounts of his time there. His post-White House life has also included hiring a lawyer and being interviewed by special counsel Robert Mueller’s investigators.

Spicer has privately told friends he is glad to be out of the White House — and he is now maintaining a lower profile, even though he misses the occasional event, and still talks with aides. He chafed at negative coverage of his Harvard experience, saying privately that many of the students were engaging and even wrote him notes. His struggle to get a TV contract was frustrating, several friends said.

Now, he is planning to give talks in Iowa, Chicago, Oklahoma City and New York in upcoming weeks, he said. Industry groups and others want speeches on how the White House works — and he will consult for executives, who pay monthly retainer fees, on dealing with the Trump administration.

He may earn more in two months than he did the rest of the year, allies and friends say.

"People aren't paying me to come give speeches on molecular science," Spicer said.

He has enjoyed experiences that weren't available during his time at the White House: an All Saints' Day parade with his children, a Boston Red Sox game where he was spotted as a celebrity, and a Navy game, where Spicer said he didn't check his phone much for three hours — and didn't miss much.

"The one thing it took a while to recognize — it wasn't just eight-plus months — it was six previous years at the RNC," he said, marveling at the grind he used to maintain. "The pace you go at for that prolonged time, coming down from the campaign, coming down from almost seven years of very intense rhythm on a daily basis."

Michael Flynn

After Flynn was fired from the Obama administration, Trump’s campaign offered him redemption, and the retired Army lieutenant general labored as one of Trump’s most loyal and vocal supporters on the trail before landing the high-profile job of national security adviser.

The redemption was short-lived.

Former national security adviser Michael Flynn. | Saul Loeb/Pool Photo via AP

Fired after just 24 days for lying to the vice president about contacts with the Russian ambassador, Flynn has kept his head low since leaving the White House. But that has not kept him out of the headlines.

From undisclosed lobbying work for the Turkish government to repeated conversations with Ambassador Sergey Kislyak during the transition, Flynn has proved a ripe target for Mueller.

Now, as other former Trump aides take stock of their new lives, plotting establishment takedowns or their next opportunity to polish their golf swing, Flynn remains largely holed up in his Alexandria home, with black security cars sitting outside.

He is trying to find a way to pay his lawyers. Allies and White House aides are bracing for an indictment, though he hasn't been accused of any wrongdoing. Grand jury testimony has continued in recent weeks, and subpoenas have flown.

Flynn's lawyer declined to comment.



CORRECTION: This story has been updated to correct Peter McPhee's name.