The Destructive Impulses of the Trump Family

At least Donald comes by it honestly

My dad, in the wreck of Steeplechase.

Donald’s complete destruction of the East Wing of the White House to make room for his gaudy, obscenely expensive ballroom—after he promised he would not disturb the preexisting buildings—reminds me a little bit of some family history.

In February, 1965, my grandfather Fred, acquired the site of Steeplechase Park, one of three iconic amusement parks in Coney Island that had been in operation since the turn of the 20th century. Steeplechase, owned by the Tillyou family, had outlived two if its two rivals by decades, but several factors, including a high crime rate in the area and increasing competition for entertainment dollars, had persuaded them finally to sell the property.

Fred, who had known that Steeplechase might become available for development, set his sights on its acquisition in order to build another residential development in the style of Trump Village. A significant hurdle would need to be overcome, however. Current zoning laws, from public use to private construction, would need to be changed. While my grandfather waited for the opportunity to present himself, he began to lobby his old cronies for their support.

By the mid-sixties, though, my grandfather’s biggest and most lucrative projects were behind him, and he was losing sway. He didn’t have nearly as much clout as he once had. Knowing the project was not going to go as smoothly a those in the past, Fred offered to make his oldest son and my dad, Freddy, the lead on what would be an ambitious and potentially huge project if it went well. If the project failed, however, which my grandfather suspected it might, Freddy would be the face of the failure.

Freddy had quit Trump Management in 1964 to become a pilot for TWA, which, at the dawn of the jet age, was a big deal. But my grandfather never forgave him for leaving the family business, especially since my dad was the oldest son and namesake, and, presumably, heir to the empire.

Offered the opportunity to rehabilitate himself, my dad was frantic to prove himself to his father, even though the deck was stacked against him and he suspected it might be his last chance to prove himself to the old man.

My grandfather completed the purchase of Steeplechase Park for $2.5 million in July of 1965 and a year later Trump Management was still struggling to get the approvals and zoning it needed to move ahead with the project.

My grandfather was also battling public opposition to the project and at the end of the summer was over, my grandfather’s plans for Steeplechase were in peril, and he knew it. Fred had been counting on his longtime connections to the Brooklyn Democratic machine, which had, in the past, eased the way for so many of his developments while securing him hundreds of millions of dollars in government financing.

It became increasingly clear Fred was not going to get the re-zoning he needed, so he continued to make Freddy responsible for the near impossible – making Steeplechase a success. Suddenly, my dad, at 28 years old, had a more public role, giving press conferences and arranging photo ops, thereby becoming the face of the controversy.

In a last ditch effort to circumvent a push by local residents to have Steeplechase declared a landmark, which would’ve ended any possibility for a residential development, Fred decided to host an event at the Pavilion of Fun, which was built in 1907. The purpose of this event was to celebrate the park’s demolition. In other words, my grandfather was planning to destroy what the community was trying to save before landmark status could be secured.

The extravaganza featured models and bathing suits, and my grandfather wielding a sledgehammer.

Guests were invited to throw bricks, available for purchase, through the iconic stain-glass window which featured an enormous image of the park’s mascot, Tilly and his wide toothy smile.

The entire spectacle was a disaster. Sentiment, nostalgia, and community were concepts my grandfather didn’t understand. But when those windows were broken at his behest, even he must have realized that he himself had gone too far. He was unable to secure the zoning change he needed and was forced to back out of the Steeplechase development. The damage had been done.

This whole venture exposed Fred’s waning ability to move the ball down the field, because his power for decades had largely derived from his connections. After this debacle, Fred would never again pursue an original construction project. Trump Village, which was completed in 1964, would be the last residential complex ever built by Trump Management. Going forward, Fred and four of his children, excluding my dad, would make a considerable fortune turning rental properties into condos. Unable to accept responsibility, much as Donald later would be, Fred blamed Freddy for the failure of Steeplechase. And my dad, being who he was, blamed himself.

Throughout the years, the family’s destructive tendencies continues. As the New York Times recently mentioned, Donald has a long history of tearing things down. In 1980, he razed

the old Bonwit Teller building on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan so that he could raise up Trump Tower. He promised to preserve the treasured limestone friezes atop the old building but then went and jackhammered them into oblivion, infuriating the city’s beau monde.

Actually, he infuriated those of us who care about beauty. Those friezes were art deco masterpieces and had been promised to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But because removing them properly would have held up construction for a day or two at the cost of about $30,000, Donald went back on his useless promise and destroyed them. That’s who he is; but at least we know he comes by it honestly—nothing that stands in their way is safe.

The difference is that my grandfather’s power finally faded when a new guard of politicians and power brokers emerged in the late sixties and early seventies. But he still had enough clout to get them to grease the skids for his talentless, arrogant middle son.

That’s the beginning of where Donald got where he is. And who’s going to stop him now? The corrupt, illegitimate super-majority of the Supreme Court? The feckless DOJ that is now entirely in his pocket and acts like his personal defense firm? Or the fascist Republican Party that once again continues to cede all of its constitutional power and responsibilities to prop up a petty tyrant while failing to do what they were elected to do—protect the interest of the American people against anti-American traitors like Donald?