Rebranding for Profit and Elections
Though he came through his financial near-demise with flying colors, he was chastened by it, and confirmed in his belief that he was better off promoting himself than any particular product or service. He had great admiration for his father, and learned from him the basic business of building, renting, and selling real estate, and dealing with the political system, as one had to do as a big New York builder. But in his desire for celebrity, he had crossed the East River into Manhattan, residentially, vocationally, and in his personality. He was first addicted to the glitz and gossip of rich Manhattan, and then became a leading subject of it, though an outsider to the exalted lions of Fifth and Park Avenues. Then he built upon his public status to project a powerful television personality across America.
Spinning off his television success, he approached premier shirt-maker Phillips-Van Heusen, which had earlier brushed him off, taking the standard, sneering upscale New York view of Trump as a discharged near-bankrupt and blustering mountebank—But his celebrity opened doors, and Trump attended upon them personally in the garment district, and convinced them to design the line of Donald Trump clothing that he wished to market: dark, sober business suits, white shirts, and plain or striped, but not patterned, neckties, that were long enough to reach the waist of even a portly man. This arrangement continued for eleven years. Trump did not put up a cent but received more than a million dollars in royalties every year.
Trump licensed out his name to a startling range of consumer products, beyond clothes to mineral water, fragrances, furniture, décor, sunglasses, wallets, and mattresses. Apart from marketing by the licensees, his products could be had at the Trump Store in Trump Tower (adjacent to Trump’s Bar, the Trump Grill, and the Trump Ice Cream Parlor). Donald was never one for half-measures, but, as it happened, he was over-propelled in his branding enthusiasm when he unveiled Trump University at the Trump Grill in March 2005, and declared, apparently with a straight face, that “If I had a chance of making lots of money or imparting lots of knowledge, I think I’d be as happy to impart knowledge as to make money.” In fact, what he was proposing was that he make lots of money for imparting a modest amount of knowledge that could be had elsewhere for less. Thus was founded the ill-starred overreach of Trump University.
It was initially an effort to capitalize on the booming real estate business, and there were free seminars in almost every major metropolitan area in the United States. Attendees were led to believe that if they took the real estate success course offered by Trump University, they would prosper beyond their dreams. The authors of this dubious enterprise were careful not to guarantee results, but it was a mass-hustle, that almost replicated the fervor of some of America’s most avaricious evangelists and promoters, spanning Aimee Semple McPherson and P. T. Barnum. (Like McPherson, Trump is substantially sincere in most of what he says, even when it is topped out by “truthful hyperbole.”) The free recruitment sessions would have a video from Donald, the theme song was the O’Jays’ “For the Love of Money,” and the chairman of the occasion would end his pep talk with something like “You guys ready to be the next Trump real estate millionaires?”
It was always claimed that Trump himself had hired the “professors,” and the whole pitch was get rich quick; “buy it, flip it, forget about it” was one of the mantras.1 Those who enrolled were assured of “the next best thing to being a Donald Trump’s apprentice.”2 When the real estate market softened in mid-decade, Trump University tweaked its pitch to one of taking advantage of a down market. The basic program was $1,495, but the session chairmen were instructed to deduce from the questionnaires the attendees filled out who might be susceptible to upselling, preferably all the way up to the $34,995 “Gold Elite” program. The “alumni” of this highest echelon got a certificate and a photograph with a cardboard cut-out of Donald Trump. This was capitalism of the rawest kind—outrageous, magnificent, unethical, and amusing—and it made Donald Trump a lot of money. (Incredibly, there were six hundred Gold Elite recruits—$21 million for Trump.)
But not everyone was amused. The university was the subject of several class action suits, and the attorney general of New York, Eric Schneiderman, a former longtime Democrat state senator, and whom Trump called (somewhat charitably) a “political hack,” sued Trump for misuse of the word “university.” Trump put up his customary feisty resistance to legal pressure and only changed the name to Trump Entrepreneur Initiative shortly before he shut the whole thing down in 2010. Trump had promised to give all proceeds to charity, but did not; one of his lawyers claimed that he used it instead for legal fees. In fairness to Trump, the program wasn’t entirely a scam, the information provided was a survey crash course in the basics of real estate, and likely no worse than similar courses, and only about a quarter of those who registered asked for their money back. But Trump University was certainly not one of Donald’s cleverer moves, and he must surely regret ever having launched such a shabby enterprise.
The real fruit of the branding initiative was harvested in letting out the name Trump for ambitious buildings and building complexes all over the world. Though not without controversy either, this was a mighty bonanza. It was an absolute no-lose game for Donald Trump, and its invention must stand as one of his many remarkable accomplishments. He lent his name to projects, required an up-front payment, and demanded that as an investor he be put first in line among creditors, and had no shortage of suitors. It must perpetually astound the large gallery of his detractors, who have been repulsed for decades that anyone would pay anything to identify with Trump, but many did, and for many it was a wise investment.
In support of his franchisees (to adapt slightly the normal commercial ambit of the word), Donald Trump sometimes implied or even affirmed that his investments in projects bearing his name were much greater than they really were. The most embarrassing example of this was when Trump wrote, of the Trump International Hotel and Tower in Waikiki, Honolulu, in a letter published in the Wall Street Journal on November 28, 2007, that “This building is largely owned by me and is being developed by me.” In fact, he had no equity interest in the building, nor was he or his company managing it. In a deposition required in a subsequent legal proceeding, he claimed that he had “such a strong licensing agreement that it’s a form of ownership.” This was bunk of course, but like so much of the unguent liberties he has taken in smoothing his career forward, it is not exactly a lie, though it lends enhanced elasticity to his notion of “truthful hyperbole.” There were many other discrepancies between what was strongly implied as the level of Trump’s participation in projects and the facts. It is a credit to his record as a quality builder that the use of his name was so prized, by developers, lenders, and unit buyers or tenants. His contracts lending his name to projects generally were extremely advantageous to him, giving him authority over design to assure quality, and leaving him a complete right to walk if the developer faltered or if Trump decided that he was not adhering to Trump standards.
There were many legal problems with disgruntled participants in unsuccessful projects, but Trump had plausible deniability in all cases. Despite the allegations of his enemies and the assorted aggrieved, it was caveat emptor, and he was selling his brand, not guaranteeing performance, and his presence did provide at least a partial assurance that the project would meet fairly high standards. It wouldn’t win the gold star of the Better Business Bureau, but it was rarely the subject of successful litigation from complainants. It is only fair to emphasize that the great majority of these projects were successful, and that the Trump name added real value. It is easy, as Trump’s enemies have done, to find the turkeys and highlight their often hilarious shortcomings and their impact on pitifully naïve subscribers to the magic of the Trump name. But he never underwrote any of these projects and most of his co-contractants were honest people who succeeded and felt their deals with Trump were valid transactions for received value. Donald Trump the businessman was very aggressive and took all corners on two wheels, but despite some ethical lapses, the licensing of his name to buildings and building projects was much more often than not successful for all parties involved.
In 2007, he created the “Trump Hotel Collection,” and roped in a group of genuine luxury hotels happy to put the Trump name atop them. Trump was targeting the most prosperous 5 percent of travelers and between 2005 and 2015 his name sprouted up on grand new hotels in Baku, Dubai, Istanbul, Jakarta, Mexico City, Panama, Toronto, and elsewhere. Some, such as Baku and Panama, had a very troubled history. There were some that didn’t get off the ground, but the “Trump Hotel Collection” was a reliable profit center to Trump. Like much of the outright promotional business, it was both clever and cheesy. Trump, a very good golfer, also lent his name to golf courses. Sentimentally attached to his mother’s home country, his organization owns not one but two golfing and resort complexes in Scotland, one of which, in Aberdeen, became terribly contentious because of Trump’s vehement opposition to a government plan to build offshore wind turbines that he says would destroy the view. As ever, Trump insists that, controversies aside, he is in fact very popular in Scotland, and that while these investments have yet to move into the black, they eventually will, because of the enormous care he has taken in improving the properties, of which he is inordinately proud.
Also controversial were Trump’s forays into mortgages and health care, with Trump Mortgage and Trump Network. Trump Mortgage was launched in 2006, just as the mortgage market started to soften, before crashing altogether in the autumn of 2008. This new business was promising swift approvals of applications, but as conditions darkened, Trump took appropriate action to reduce his risk, and as defaults occurred, the volumes were not so numerous that his company had trouble seizing the encumbered properties and holding them until conditions had stabilized. He sold the name Trump Financial to Meridian Mortgage in 2007, and reverted to the sale of his name without risking any of his own money.
Trump Network was a new name Trump sold to Ideal Health, for a share of their revenue, which peddled a vitamin supplement based on analysis of the urine sample provided by buyers. With his customary profit-fueled enthusiasm, Donald Trump announced to a convention of thousands of users in Miami in 2009, that “The Trump Network wants to give millions of people renewed hope…with an exciting plan to opt out of the recession.…Let’s get out of this recession right now with cutting edge health and wellness formulas and a system where you can develop your own financial independence. The Trump Network offers people the opportunity to achieve the American dream.”3 In fact, it offered $139.95 for a urinalysis, $69.95 monthly for the vitamins, and $99.95 for a follow-up urinalysis every six months. It would be a little harsh to call it a scam, and subscription was voluntary and nothing miraculous was promised, only hoped for, but it was another thoroughly questionable promotion. There were eventually a number of complaints, as was inevitable, and Trump withdrew from the venture when the licensing contract expired in 2011. He was not successfully sued, but it was another dodgy flimflam operation that tarnished the emblazoned name though doubtless at a profit, since, once again, he had not invested a penny.
The next rollout of the equal opportunity, no-fault Trump publicity-generating machine was his foray into international wrestling, which cannot be confused with the continuation of authentic college, Greco-Roman, and oriental wrestling, which are regulated sports. These are the extravaganzas of rigged matches with practically no rules, uproarious antics, and outrageous abuses of officials, but staffed by very talented performers, even if they are not entirely traditional sporting figures. The brilliant but outlandish impresario of wrestling, Vince McMahon, operator of the World Wrestling Federation, happy hunting ground of great celebrities and showmen like Hulk Hogan and André the Giant, became a commercial friend of Trump’s when Trump hosted WrestleMania at the Trump Plaza in Atlantic City in the late 1980s.
They agreed to combine their crowd-gathering talents in a mighty roundup of the susceptible called “the Battle of the Billionaires.” They had a “show-down” in the Pontiac Silverdome near Detroit, before almost ninety thousand people, on July 19, 2001. In what was portrayed as a contest of their great egos, they sponsored a wrestler to represent each of them in a grudge match to determine which of them was preeminent. They marched down the ramps (fully-clothed fortunately) to the ring and strutted about like giant full-figured roosters before their proxies, the 270-pound Bobby Lashley for Trump, and the 350-pound rippling mountain of tattoos, Umaga the Samoan Bulldozer, for McMahon.
It was an extravaganza of unutterable hucksterism: at a “Fan Appreciation Night” for McMahon a few weeks before in Dallas, pushing the great battle, Trump suddenly appeared on a huge overhead screen and the crowd was littered with dollar bills fluttering down from the ceiling like miniature paratroopers. In another preparatory session, Trump apparently flipped McMahon over a table after a center-ring exchange of vulgarities. After a few more of these warm-ups, the main event finally got going to an immense pay-television audience, and Trump’s wrestler won, enabling Trump to shear the hair off McMahon, which he did in a joint triumph of absurd histrionics.
However fatuous the whole business may have been, Trump enjoyed himself, communicated very well with the low-end blue-collar and juvenile following of the sport, and tucked away another fine profit on an initial investment of zero. Apart from the money, Trump was opening up a following with an entire new echelon of the public who would no more have thought that a man of his wealth and education would get involved in wrestling and all its nonsense than that David Rockefeller would appear in a prize-fight in Madison Square Garden. It was a remarkably ambitious and imaginative course for Trump to broaden his base in the multi-layered, intensely cross-threaded society of America, for whatever unspecified ultimate purposes he might choose.
He was also already well embarked on an ambitious schedule as an inspirational speaker, receiving $100,000 per session, telling packed houses how to bootstrap themselves up from obscurity, pick themselves up after a serious setback such as he had endured, and reach for the top. He was giving a couple or more of these speeches most months, and it was another profit center, but also another way for him to meet the public and tap into the opinions and thoughts of middle-class, want-to-get-ahead Americans.
He leveraged his celebrity for cameo roles in other well-known television programs outside The Apprentice, including Sex and the City and Saturday Night Live (the latter of which, nevertheless, has been extremely hostile to him as president). Comedy Central tendered him a full roast, where he showed he could absorb the most barbed ridicule of his many foibles and he responded with self-deprecating egomania, comparing his hair to a wet raccoon, and saying “It must be a great honor for you to honor me tonight.” (The only barb Trump could not abide was the charge that he was not really a wealthy man.)
One of Trump’s advantages was his versatility, and his willingness, indeed eagerness, to appeal to widely different sections of people. Most celebrities are famous for one thing. They are political or religious leaders, military heroes, movie or television stars, great athletes, or even scientific figures, like Einstein. Trump was different because Trump became famous for a trait, success, an achievement, wealth, and more or less simultaneously as a mark of quality in everything from hotels and casinos to golf courses to wine. He was a developer, a TV star, and even something of a sage, authoring books on success, giving lectures, and unafraid to comment on politics. Trump’s garishness and gaucherie often blinds his critics to his talents, which are as manifold as his offenses are to their sensibilities. His critics, even at time of writing, are not perceptive observers; they are straight-men in a monstrous send-up of conventional opinion, tumbled over and rendered absurd in the mighty updraft of the main event of Trump’s career.
To a man of Donald Trump’s self-confidence, the idea of his becoming president of the United States was not at all outrageous. He had brushed shoulders with politicians and met presidents, and he was not at all intimidated by them and did not believe that they had any special powers or talents or mystique that he lacked. In fact, he had qualities that some of them didn’t. He was a rich celebrity whose tastes were not to hobnob with the swells and socially eminent benefactors, but, crucially for a presidential candidate, to harvest the affection of the lower middle and working classes of America who were not appalled, but rather, to some degree, inspired, by his bravura, buffoonery, and raw egotism, for behind it they saw an outrageously successful version of themselves, and one who, they intuited, understood them and their desires, fears, and hopes.
It was in this period that this author first got to know Donald Trump beyond mere social pleasantries. My associates and I owned the Chicago Sun-Times and its low-rise building on the Chicago River just south of the Wrigley Tower. The building was an obvious candidate for redevelopment, which to us was a potential source of a windfall profit. We commenced a normal bid process, and as Trump appeared to be the competitive winner, our American directors all warned me to “keep (my) hand on the company’s wallet,” that Trump was a scoundrel who could not be relied upon for anything. We were accordingly cautious and vigilant when he was the winning bidder, and followed advice to assure that he could not lay off on us any superfluous expenses such as jet fuel bills for his airplane. But he came in on budget all the way through and there were no significant issues. He started out promising to build the world’s tallest building, but after the September 11, 2001, attacks on the World Trade Center, he scaled the project back to about 1,270 feet, still an imposing sight on the skyline.
He delivered exactly what he had promised under our contract, and it is a generally admired building, ninety-eight stories designed by the distinguished firm Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, and undoubtedly built to an extremely high standard. Donald and Melania came voluntarily to our annual shareholders’ meeting in 2003, and he intervened to speak very flatteringly of the manner in which my associates and I had conducted our side of the complex negotiations over the Chicago property, and I will say that I found Trump a good deal more ethical and honest than many other businessmen and corporate directors I have known.4 Melania was charming and her arrival in Donald’s life seemed to settle him. Trump’s marriage with Marla Maples had semi-publicly broken down in syncopated lurches, as it had begun, but without public acrimony.
Donald had happened upon Melania Knauss at the famous Kit Kat Klub in 1998, and was so astounded by her startling beauty and sultry, confident poise, that he effectively ditched his date, the formidably attractive and capable Norwegian businesswoman, and bearer of a famous name in that country, despite its awkwardness in English, Celina Midelfart. Melania modeled her way out of late-socialist Slovenia to Milan, then Paris, and in the mid-1990s, New York. She seems to have led a fairly restrained private life, and has had no difficulty silencing media that have insinuated otherwise (collecting 2.5 million pounds from the London Daily Mail in 2014 for writing that she had something to do with an escort service). Once she was Trump’s companion, she had a relaxed view of the relationship, as in her cameo appearance on Howard Stern’s radio program confirming the couple’s robust sex life. She appeared on the cover of the British edition of GQ in January 2000, lying sideways on a bed in Trump’s airplane, naked except for diamond jewelry, with the headline “Sex at 30,000 feet. Melania Knauss earns her air miles.”
Donald and Melania were married at Palm Beach’s Bethesda-by-the Sea Episcopalian Church on January 22, 2005. This and the Roman Catholic St. Edward’s Church just beyond the Breakers Hotel and Everglades Club to the north, are two of America’s better known society churches. The events board in front of Bethesda a few weeks before the Trump wedding had announced a visiting homilist who would speak on the theme “The Lord is my Shepherd, even in Palm Beach.” The denomination was apparently a compromise between Donald’s Presbyterianism, which doesn’t have a suitable church in Palm Beach, and Melania’s Roman Catholicism, where marriage to a twice-divorced man would have required a few prior formalities before it could be conducted in a church. It was a packed congregation, studded with celebrities from the entertainment, media, casino, and political worlds (including the Clintons), but with little representation from the couple’s neighbors in the great salons of Fifth and Park Avenues and South Ocean Boulevard. (The author’s wife had a very convivial conversation with flamboyant promoter and impresario Don “Only in America” King who was sitting just behind us in the church, before the bridegroom appeared, looking very serious, with a slight pout and his soon to be famous contumelious lip.) A very grand reception went very late at Mar-a-Lago.
The relationship has apparently lasted smoothly for nearly twenty years and has produced Donald Trump’s fifth offspring and third son, Barron (the name he gave himself on the telephone when pretending to be his own public relations advisor during previous marital problems). Melania is a devoted mother, ignores the snide imbecilities of her husband’s media lampooners, is well-liked and respected by the public, and always makes an excellent and tastefully glamorous impression when she goes abroad. She is neither an employee of her husband nor a rival nor a scene-stealer; she is neither cloying nor bossy. She is confident and relaxed, cool and poised, looks whimsically on some of her husband’s eccentricities, but is always very supportive. Her English is markedly accented but perfectly fluent and comprehensible. (She speaks several other languages also.) She exudes an exotic and mysterious composure that is often more becoming than the opinionated and busy nature of some of her recent predecessors as first lady. She never appears to the public to be either short-tempered or over-eager to please or impress. Her only historic rival as a glamorous chatelaine in the White House is Jackie Kennedy.
The decks were already fairly clear for Donald Trump to try his theories of celebrity in a race for president, but he would have to be patient. He was seeking the office, not the other way around.