OF JETS, PIPES AND WHEELCHAIRS

By Sue Bergeron

Donald Trump* ripped off my uncle. It's not a joke, it's not an exaggeration. I happen to belong to one of the unfortunate families that fell victim to Trump's dishonest business practices. 

My uncle was a plumbing contractor who was conned by Trump into joining the short lived renaissance of 1990's Atlantic City. I can still remember the day Dick stopped by my mother's house to share the news of the lucrative contract he'd secured with Trump, because it was so unusual that all of us should be together at the same time. I had long since married and moved to New England, so I was only able to visit my mother several times a year. Her brother's visits were even more random and infrequent because of his heavy work schedule; he was a self-employed plumbing contractor.

Lynda and Dick

He and my aunt sat on the sofa in Mom's den excitedly sharing their newfound "fortune" in meeting "the builder of the Taj Majal!" They were a striking couple. Dick was a big strapping blonde, with an athletic build from years of physical labor. He was movie star-handsone with a winning smile. Lynda was a genuine raven-haired beauty, a retired airline attendant from the days when the skies were friendlier, the skirts were tighter and heels were higher---when they were called 'stewardesses.' 

Mom passed around the beer and pretzels and the story unfolded. Lynda had been taking flying lessons in a little Piper jet, Dick in the jumpseat, at Teeterboro Airport in New Jersey. As they touched down, the instructor pointed to Trump's plane on the tarmac and said, "Oh, look, Trump's just coming in. Would you like to meet him?" That was the fateful moment when they should have run. But Lynda, fascinated, said, "Sure!" The pilot waited for Trump to deplane and approached him with the attractive couple in tow. As it is well known, The Don is all about attractive people. I'm quite sure Mr. "I Can Do Anything I Want" must have jumped at the chance to get a closer examination of my gorgeous aunt with his x-ray eyes. 

According to the couple, they had an extended meeting at Teeterboro and when Trump inquired about what my uncle did for a living, Dick produced his business card. Trump jumped for joy, as he explained he'd been searching for a plumber to install high quality hand dryers and chrome fixtures in the new Taj Majal Casino in Atlantic City. Dick didn't really expect to hear from him but, unfortunately, a member of Don the Con's team soon reached out and the shady deal was begun.

Some time during the early 1990's, as reports of bankruptcy at the Taj Majal began to circlate, my mother told me of the troubles my uncle was having with Trump. He was baffled that the "billionaire" was unable to pay his contractors. Phone calls and letters went unanswered. Finally my uncle had to get a lawyer. The terrible news came back: Trump's lawyer was saying, "Take 10 cents on the dollar or end up with nothing. There are too many creditors in front of you. You'll never win this battle." Although I've never been able to get a solid answer from the family about the size of the contract, it was estimated to be in the area of $800,000. 

My uncle is passed from this life now. The last time I saw him alive was at a nursing facility where he was dying of cancer. Often befuddled by 'chemo brain,' that particular day, he was rather lucid. He was in the physical therapy room surrounded by a circle of about a dozen elderly and sick patients. I sat next to him engaging in more than just small talk, sensing I'd probably never see him again. 

I asked him about a long festering sore---Trump. "Uncle Dick, when you see Trump in the news these days and you hear that he's thinking of running for president, how does that make you feel? After how he stole from you---does it make you mad?" The circle of wheel chairs edged in closer. I guess all those old-timers hadn't realized they'd been living among a celebrity. Everyone stared wide-eyed at Dick, then he spoke. "I forgive him." A faint smile spread across his face, now so gaunt and pale from the cancer. The circle of wheelchairs tightened. I was incredulous. Forgiveness was not a family trait. His own mother once refused to speak to her sister for nine years. "But how? I asked him "After everything he put you through---he lied to you, stole from you, and he keeps doing it to others. And now he wants to be president!" 

The wheelchairs were practically on top of us now. My uncle's attendant pulled up a chair, to listen, too. "Look, Susie, I know I'm going to die soon. Your aunt doesn't want to face it but it's true. I know I'll be gone soon. And when you know God's coming for you, you love everything, you love everyone. You hope God will forgive you for all the bad things you did in life. So you forgive everyone." The speech had taken a lot out of him. I gently kissed him goodbye on his forehead and the wheelchairs moved away to make room for my departure. 

Today, whenever I share my story with rabid Trump fans, I'm enraged when they respond with stupid ignorant excuses like: Everybody does it, or That's business---they just write it off on their taxes. Here's my reply to them: Everybody does NOT do it! Making excuses for unethical and fraudulent business practices, and stealing from your workers does not "Make America Great Again." And who ends up paying for that tax write-off, asshole!?

Trump would run one more time for president. And this time he would win. On November 10, 2016 I called Lynda to tell her how sorry I was that this man who had done this terrible thing to her family decades ago was now president of the United States. We both cried together on the phone. She was crying for her lost husband, I was crying for my lost country. "I want you to tell me something to reassure me you'll be OK," I blubbered into the receiver. "Oh, now don't you worry, honey," she told me, her voice now softened with age, "I'll be OK. You'll be OK, too. And America will be just fine. She always comes out OK." 

I tried so hard to believe her. And I tried so hard to follow Dick's advice about forgiveness. But as the years rolled by and my aunt slipped more and more into illness and sadness it became clear to me that she was not OK. And America would probably not be OK, either.

*Third impeached president of the United States