Some large business man may yet […] comprehend and unreservedly act upon the fact that the money base line of business traffic is thoroughly unstable and may readily be manipulated […] and it will be worth going out of one's way to see the phenomenal gains and the picturesque accompaniments of such a man's work.

Donald Trump's Hyatt and Tower projects were real estate developments, impressive ones no doubt. Their exalted ambitions bounded well past Fred Trump's production of ordinary working- class apartments. Still, the new buildings followed familiar templates. Their finance, planning, construction and salesmanship exhibited no radical departures in entrepreneurship. Like Fred's Brooklyn projects, Donald's resulted from a shrewdly fixed wedding of political influence, government supports and requisite mob ties. They coupled optimistic, but reasonably serious, business plans with hyperbolic salesmanship. Donald did what Fred did, only more so, with greater glitter and flair and on a much larger stage. He spared no effort to show off. To his Tower he added a fictional ten stories to hike the building's prestige and prices. He clothed the building's doormen as English grenadiers, a standing royal guard for his princely domain. Along with his new wife, Ivana, Trump jetted to Italy in quest of rare marble for his atrium, breccia perniche, tossing aside as waste the half that seemed blotchy and inconsistent. Once installed in the lobby, his perfect marble surrounded an 80- foot waterfall. Opulence was everywhere; Trump's desire to leave impressions of wealth and power infused every niche and corner. He did regret, though, a decision to place ficus trees all about; they concealed his cherished marble—so he ordered them removed, another $75,000 wasted. Then there was his own 53- room triplex apartment, modeled on billionaire arms merchant Adnan Khashoggi's Olympic Tower showplace, featuring an 80- foot living room, a private waterfall and a frescoed ceiling that Donald compared with the Sistine Chapel. As Gwenda Blair described the apartment, “everywhere there was gilt, on chairs and moldings, column capitals and bathroom faucets.” Trump thought it marvelous. Nothing like it had been built in 400 years, he announced to Time magazine. Careful study of architectural history did not ground his judgment. Observing the residence with more jaundiced eyes, Trump biographer Timothy O'Brien concluded that the place “looked as if the high roller's suite at Caesar's Palace had been airlifted to a perch high above Fifth Avenue.”