The one time I myself directly contradicted Rozelle’s testimony was over his description of a meeting the two of us had in March 1984. At the time, the USFL owners were still debating whether to move to the fall. The Porter seminar at Harvard had taken place several weeks earlier, and one of Porter’s main strategies for destroying the USFL had been to try to co-opt the strongest USFL franchise owners by promising us NFL franchises.
At Rozelle’s suggestion, I rented a suite at the Pierre Hotel for a meeting on March 12. I like to keep every option open in life, and I was certainly interested in what the commissioner of the NFL had on his mind. Rozelle testified at the trial that during our meeting I told him I was interested in purchasing an NFL franchise, and that I’d get out of the USFL if I could get into the NFL. It was ridiculous on the face of it. I never had any interest in owning a football franchise outside of the New York area, and I had long since determined that neither of the two New York-based NFL teams—the Giants or the Jets—was up for sale.
What really happened at the meeting is that Rozelle tried to woo me, plain and simple. He said he considered me a good candidate for an NFL franchise, whether it was the Generals, through merger, or an NFL team, which he said he could help me get. In return, he said, he wanted two things: that the USFL not move to the fall, and that the league not bring an antitrust suit against the NFL.
I had no doubt about what Rozelle was up to. He was testing the waters. If he could get rid of the USFL merely by absorbing a couple of our teams into the NFL, he was prepared to do that, I’m certain. At the same time, by merely dangling an offer he gave himself deniability, in the event that I turned him down. That’s exactly what I did. Sure enough, he rewrote the story of our meeting.
We called eighteen witnesses in all during the first month of the trial, and we scored a lot of points. Myerson showed how the NFL had bullied the three networks into refusing to consider giving the USFL a TV contract. He showed why the USFL could not survive without such a contract. He offered endless evidence—led by the Porter study—that the NFL had consciously and illegally set out to destroy the USFL.
By the time we’d finished presenting our witnesses, even the press was beginning to sense the possibility that we might win the case. The headline of a story in Sports Illustrated caught the mood best. GIVE THE FIRST ROUND TO THE USFL, it said, followed by an even more devastating subhead: “The embattled younger league has scored tellingly against the NFL in the trial of its $1.32 billion antitrust suit. Now the NFL has the ball.”
Looking back, I think our strength may have backfired, just as the NFL’s weakness ended up prompting the jury’s sympathy Myerson’s style—the silk handkerchief in the pocket of his perfectly tailored suit, his theatrical way of speaking, the methodical relentlessness of his attack—may have come off as too aggressive and too slick. By contrast, I think, the NFL came off as the beleaguered underdogs. Like Rozelle, who became sick and was so unconvincing during his cross-examination, the NFL lawyer, Frank Rothman, was so weak and ashen-faced the last days of the trial that everyone, including me, felt very bad for him. Many didn’t even believe he would be able to finish, and in fact he was rushed to a hospital for a major operation shortly after the trial’s conclusion. I believe Rothman’s troubles elicited further sympathy from the jury.
I was part of the problem. As a witness, I was well spoken and professional, I think—very much a contrast to Pete Rozelle. But that probably played into the NFL’s hands. From day one, the NFL painted me as a vicious, greedy, Machiavellian billionaire, intent only on serving my selfish ends at everyone else’s expense. “The USFL,” attorney Frank Rothman told the jury in his opening remarks, “is controlled and dominated by Donald Trump, who can buy and sell many of the owners in the NFL.”
In truth, of course, the wealthy, powerful NFL owners cowered only to the extent that it served their ends. In retrospect, we might have been better off to put on the witness stand several of the smaller USFL owners who’d lost their shirts and had genuinely sad stories to tell.
The other way the NFL beat us was in pure public relations. I’ve got to give this to Rozelle: he’s always been great at promoting his league. His chief spokesman is a guy named Joe Brown, and Rozelle deserves credit for using him well. After each day’s testimony, Brown would go to the halls and lobby the press masterfully, telling them what a great day it had just been for the NFL. It drove me crazy. I’d say to Harry Usher, our commissioner, “Why aren’t you out lobbying the press?” And he’d say, “It isn’t important. It’s the jury we’ve got to convince.”
Unfortunately, that’s not the way it works. Although the jury is instructed not to read any newspaper coverage or watch any television reports about the trial, it’s nearly impossible to resist reading about a case you’re part of, particularly one that’s getting massive attention. Even if some jurors did resist, they undoubtedly heard about the trial coverage from their friends and family. Why else, after all, would Rozelle assign Joe Brown to lobby reporters every day for six weeks?
For all that, when the jury finally began deliberations on July 25, 1986, I was convinced we’d made the more effective case, and that they’d find in our favor.
What I never anticipated was that we could win—and end up losing anyway. After four days of deliberation, the six-member jury concluded on July 29 that the NFL had violated antitrust laws by conspiring to monopolize professional football, and that they did illegally damage the USFL. But then they voted to award us only a token one dollar in damages. It was a hollow victory. Without damages, the decision had no teeth, since the NFL didn’t get punished for breaking the law.
When the jurors were interviewed by reporters immediately after the verdict was announced, it turned out that they’d been deeply divided. At least two of them had wanted to award us substantial damages. One, a schoolteacher named Miriam Sanchez, had favored giving us damages of $300 million but said that she’d misunderstood the mechanism for doing so. “I didn’t understand the instructions,” she told reporters, “so I had to put my faith in the judge, hoping he would give the USFL more money.”
I wasn’t happy about the outcome, but in a way I was relieved. My attitude is that you do your best, and if it doesn’t work, you move on to the next thing. By the time the trial took place, I had lost quite a lot of money on the Generals—and the USFL had lost many times my number. Without the prospect of a fall network television contract, there wasn’t any point in investing more money.
Most of my fellow owners agreed. One week after the decision, the USFL owners met and voted to suspend the season. At the same time we voted to appeal the jury’s ruling. Unfortunately, the fans come out the biggest losers. The NFL’s monopoly power is secure again, and the owners have less reason than ever to consider adding new teams in cities that have long been seeking franchises.
Meanwhile the best USFL players have been picked up by NFL teams. Herschel Walker was signed by the Dallas Cowboys. Because I’d personally guaranteed Walker’s contract, he could have collected $1.2 million from me for each of the next six years and never played football. But Herschel’s a competitor, and the money was secondary.
As it turned out, I made a very good deal with Dallas. They could have refused to pay for his big contract. But figuring that Dallas was under intense fan pressure to sign Herschel, I told them I was interested in letting Herschel go only if they picked up the full cost of his contract. Sure enough, they agreed. It was good for me, it was good for Herschel, and it’s even turned out to be good for Dallas. Herschel joined the team in August, and although he had virtually no time to practice, he finished the season as the Cowboy’s leading combined rushing and receiving yardage gainer.
Jim Kelly also immediately became a star as quarterback for the Buffalo Bills. Freddie Gilbert, one of our defensive lineman, went to Atlanta and established himself as one of the team’s best players. Even Doug Flutie, who everyone said was too small for the NFL, was signed by the Chicago Bears. Dozens of USF
L players were signed to NFL contracts and many have become stars on their new teams.
Watching players like Herschel Walker and Jim Kelly play in the NFL does sometimes make me wish our league could have survived. I’m convinced that if the USFL had played last season, the Generals would have fielded one of the best teams in professional football.
Not that I’ve ever given up entirely. I’m a big believer in comebacks, and the USFL is appealing this ridiculous verdict. In recent months, I’ve received numerous calls from a very smart, very persistent guy who is trying to put together an entirely new fall league. He wants me to take the New York franchise—and I’m seriously considering it.
12
ICE CAPADES
Rebuilding Wollman Rink
I NEVER had a master plan. I just got fed up one day and decided to do something about it. On the morning of May 22, 1986, there was a story on the front page of the New York Times saying that New York City officials had decided to start all over in their effort to rebuild the Wollman Skating Rink in Central Park. If everything went well, said the city, the rink would be ready to reopen in approximately two years.
I couldn’t believe it.
First of all, there was no reason to believe anything would go well, much less everything. The Wollman Rink, built in 1950, had first closed for renovations in June 1980. The work was scheduled to take two and a half years. Even that seemed like a long time to rebuild an ice-skating rink.
Coincidentally, in June 1980, I broke ground for Trump Tower, a sixty-eight-story skyscraper with six floors of shopping, thousands of square feet of office space, and 263 residential apartments. Two and a half years later we completed Trump Tower, on time and on budget.
From my new apartment, I had a view of Wollman Rink. It was not a pretty sight. Although millions of dollars had already been spent on its renovation, it was obvious, even from a distance, that the rink was nowhere near finished.
Three more years passed, millions more dollars were spent, and things just got worse. So bad, in fact, that on this May morning in 1986 the city felt compelled to announce it was starting the whole process over from scratch.
I knew absolutely nothing about building ice-skating rinks, but I did know something about construction. If it took me two and a half years to put up a major skyscraper, surely it was possible to build a $2 million ice-skating rink in a matter of months. Two years earlier, when the job was already a disaster, I’d called Henry Stern, commissioner of parks, and offered to take over construction from the city, for no fee. He turned me down. Now, after reading about this latest debacle, I called Henry again and repeated my offer. He had the same response. “No, thanks,” he said. “We can do it ourselves.”
“That’s great, Henry,” I said, “except that you told me the same thing two years ago and look what happened.” I decided to write a very strongly worded letter to Ed Koch, the mayor of New York. I was appalled by the city’s incompetence. I genuinely felt I could get the job done, and I believed the rink was something hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers—including my own children—had a right to enjoy. Whatever anyone may think, my motive was that simple.
“Dear Ed,” my letter began. “For many years I have watched with amazement as New York City repeatedly failed on its promises to complete and open the Wollman Skating Rink. Building the rink, which essentially involves the pouring of a concrete slab over coolant piping, should take no more than four months’ time. To hear that, after six years, it will now take another two years, is unacceptable to all the thousands of people who are waiting to skate once again at the Wollman Rink. I and all other New Yorkers are tired of watching the catastrophe of Wollman Rink. The incompetence displayed on this simple construction project must be considered one of the great embarrassments of your administration. I fear that in two years there will be no skating at the Wollman Rink, with the general public being the losers.”
Then I got to the real point:
“I am offering to construct and pay for a brand-new Wollman Ice-Skating Rink and have it open to the public by November of this winter. I would lease the rink from the city at a fair market rental, and run it properly after its completion.”
I sent the letter to Ed Koch on May 28, 1986. He wrote me a response by return mail. Somewhat to my surprise, he belittled my offer. The city wasn’t about to let me operate the rink, he said, but they’d be delighted if I’d donate the $3 million to rebuild it and supervise the construction. He made a few more sarcastic comments and ended by saying, “With bated breath I await your response.”
The tone of the mayor’s letter irritated me. Fortunately, I wasn’t the only one who was put off by it, and I have Koch himself to thank for that. I hadn’t released my letter to the press because I didn’t want to be accused of grandstanding. Koch, however, decided to release his letter. Apparently, he figured that if he made fun of my offer publicly, I’d just quietly slink away.
He totally underestimated the press reaction. First, the press thrives on confrontation. They also love stories about extremes, whether they’re great successes or terrible failures. This story had it all. Perhaps most important, many reporters tend to see themselves as consumer advocates. Almost nothing gets them as outraged as a boondoggle that victimizes average citizens. The city’s fiasco at the Wollman Rink was an absolute classic.
Even I was surprised at how totally the press took my side. Obviously, that doesn’t always happen. But this time, within three days, there were dozens of articles and editorials attacking Koch for his reaction to my offer.
“The Koch administration,” said the Daily News in an editorial, “is hemming and hawing over Donald Trump’s offer to rebuild and operate Wollman Rink in Central Park. Why? The offer is genuine, with no apparent strings attached. Koch should grab it and heave a sigh of relief that a long-running, costly disaster is off his hands. So far the Mayor has raised a lot of phony objections.… Maybe the problem [is that] Koch & Co. are embarrassed that they’ve squandered $12 million on Wollman.”
“Trump is offering to take over the Wollman project, to rebuild the rink, and to have it open by November at no cost to the city,” wrote the New York Post. “After the whole 13-year multimillion-dollar debacle, you would think that they’d be jumping for joy. Not so. City officials seem more interested in thinking up reasons not to go forward than in making a deal. The city should give Donald Trump a speedy hearing—the Wollman farce has been running long enough.”
“Let him have a go at it,” said Newsday. “After all, the city has proved nothing except that it can’t get the job done.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from dealing with politicians over the years, it’s that the only thing guaranteed to force them into action is the press—or, more specifically, fear of the press. You can apply all kinds of pressure, make all sorts of pleas and threats, contribute large sums of money to their campaigns, and generally it gets you nothing. But raise the possibility of bad press, even in an obscure publication, and most politicians will jump. Bad press translates into potential lost votes, and if a politician loses enough votes, he won’t get reelected. If that happens, he might have to go out and take a 9 to 5 job. That’s the last thing most politicians want to do.
What you have to understand about Ed Koch is that he’s a bully, pure and simple. Bullies may act tough, but they’re really closet cowards. The only people bullies push around are the ones they know they can beat. Confront a strong, competent person, and he’ll fight back harder than ever. Confront a bully, and in most cases he’ll fold like a deck of cards.
Sure enough, the tide turned, overnight. No sooner did the press jump on Koch’s case than he reversed field completely. Suddenly, the city was virtually begging me to take on the Wollman Rink job. On June 6, I sat down in my office with city officials, including Henry Stern, to negotiate the terms under which I’d rebuild the Wollman Rink. Until then, the city had insisted on competitive bidding, as is required on any city-financed construction job. I sugges
ted a simple solution. I’d put up all of the money for the construction of the rink myself. In turn, I’d be reimbursed, over as many years as it took, from any profits the rink earned. In other words, I’d not only supervise construction, I’d also lend the city $3 million for an indeterminate period—and forever if the rink didn’t prove profitable.
The city, in its infinite wisdom, balked. “There’s no way we’re going to allow that,” city officials told me. “There’s no way we’re going to allow you to make a profit on the rink.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I said. “If the rink does make money, I’ll use it to reduce my loan. I’m not looking for personal profit. In fact, if I ever do get my money back, I’ll give any subsequent profits to charity.” To my astonishment—and to the astonishment of my own lawyers—the city wouldn’t budge. Instead, they came up with a counterproposal. I’d still put up the $3 million, as a way of getting around the competitive-bidding issue, but on the day I finished, the city would reimburse me in full.
It’s fortunate for those city officials that they chose to go into city government rather than business. The deal they were suggesting was far worse for the city than the one I’d originally offered. I wasn’t about to fight them at my own expense.
By the end of the day on Friday, June 6—ten days after my original offer—we came to an agreement, subject to final approval by the city’s Board of Estimate. I’d put up the construction money and agree to complete the work by December 15. At that point, the city would reimburse me for my costs, up to a cap of just less than $3 million, but only if the rink worked. If I came in under budget, the city would pay me back only what I’d spent. If I went over budget, I’d cover the overruns myself. That much the city was graciously willing to let me do.
Trump Page 24