No Trump (Anymore)

 The first time I ever heard the name Donald Trump was in April 1983 during a trip to Atlantic City.

I was looking for a short getaway in mid-April and a write-up in the weekend paper about the recovery from decadence of the once popular oceanside resort caught my eye. The Playboy Hotel appealed to my hedonistic instincts. I booked everything through a travel agency in the building where I worked.

I boarded a Toronto to Philadelphia flight and took a shuttle for the one-hour drive to Atlantic City. The hotel was just as glitzy as I’d imagined. I had a nice room with a great view of the ocean. The room rates were in line with other hotels on the Boardwalk but that’s where the comparison ended. The restaurants were priced way out of my comfort zone and the minimum table bets in the casino were for the high rollers only. For a sum I didn’t dare ask you could get a Playboy bunny hanging off each arm everywhere you went and have pictures taken as proof of your appeal to the ladies.

I found reasonably priced restaurants elsewhere on the Boardwalk and I gravitated to the nearby Golden Nugget where I could afford the minimum table bets. My game was craps. I had studied it intently before I left on the trip.

I soon got the hang of casino protocol. You have to play with chips. To get chips you wait for a pause in the action and place your money in the middle of the table. The dealer grabs your cash, counts it and deftly passes you a stack of chips. When you leave the table you take whatever chips you have to the cashier, where you exchange them for money. The cashier asks if you have any “markers.” These are like IOUs representing amounts that the casino has loaned you on credit. It’s something I would avoid like the plague.

I was lucky at the dice table. I was dressed to the nines and when it was my turn to roll the dice I was in my glory. At one point I began “rolling numbers.” That’s when you roll a 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 or 10 (a point) on your first shot. Then you have to roll that number, or point, again but if a 7 comes up first, you lose. I kept rolling and rolling but got neither the “point” nor a seven. Word got around that there was “a guy rolling numbers at the craps table.” When that happens a crowd usually shows up and starts putting money down. If you keep rolling and don’t “seven out,” the observers stand to make good money. I rolled the dice for quite some time until I finally made my point. I was a popular guy. If I had rolled a 7, everyone’s bets would have been wiped out and I’d have been a pariah. As it turned out they did quite well. So did I.

I cashed my chips and went to the bar which was on the top floor with a beautiful ocean view. While pouring my drink the young bartender talked effusively about “Mr. Trump.” Mr. Trump, genius, Mr. Trump brilliant businessman, blah blah. Okay then. I finished my drink and went back to the craps table. I made some more money. I carried an armload of chips to the cashier and headed back to the bar. “Scotch and soda,” said the bartender immediately upon seeing me. I was impressed. Once again it was Mr. Trump this, Mr. Trump that.

I had dinner at the Golden Nugget. It was very good and not too expensive. This server as well was all about Mr. Trump this, Mr. Trump that.

The next day I tried another casino, Caesars Boardwalk close to the Playboy. Once again I was dressed to the nines but my luck started to change. I started off winning but then ran into a losing streak - or, in craps parlance, the table got cold. I was up about $600 when I decided my best strategy would be to stop gambling. I bought a souvenir wall display from Caesars and called it quits.

But I had another full day in Atlantic City and there wasn’t much else to do there but gamble. There was no entertainment to speak of in those days. It was mid-April, so the beach wasn’t an option. And as one song goes (I think), you can only go up and down Boardwalk so many times.

With my winnings I decided I could afford a dinner at my hotel, the Playboy. It was a Japanese restaurant where you sit with others around a common table. I explained to my fellow diners that I still had another full day and a bit to go but I wasn’t going to gamble anymore so I wouldn’t lose what I’d already won.

“Yes you are,” teased the stunningly attractive young lady next to me. “I can tell by the glimmer in your eye.”

“No! No I’m not!” I somehow managed to hold firm. The Boardwalk to this day has the ruts from my pacing back and forth for a solid day and a half.

The Golden Nugget that had been so good to me actually wasn’t owned by Donald Trump back then, but he was probably involved in some kind of negotiations because he took it over in 1985 and called it Trump’s Castle. He later tired of the castle theme and made it into Trump’s Marina. He sold the venture in 2011 and the name reverted to the Golden Nugget.

Hugh Hefner sold the Playboy Hotel in 1984 and it was renamed the Atlantis. Trump got his paws on it in 1989, called it Trump World’s Fair and, you guessed it, drove it into the ground. The hotel was demolished in 2000 leaving a vacant lot between S Florida Avenue and S Bellevue Avenue that remains to this day.

Thus began the tradition, chronicled by Rick Wilson, of Everything Trump Touches Dies.

Today, the last vestige of Trump's sway in Atlantic City is being expunged. At 9:00 am, the Trump Plaza will be demolished by a Las Vegas Style implosion. Over the next weeks, it will be good riddance to bad rubble.