Harrah's Atlantic City Casino - 2021 All You Need to Know ...

My first three craps sessions anecdote - Catskills and Atlantic City

Prologue:
Hey guys, I'm simply sharing my recent experiences gambling for amusement. This is more of a blog-like post than anything. I'm 24 and I don't live in a location where I can go out to gamble easily. It takes at least 2-3 hours to reach the nearest casino. I can only do it once in awhile and with a conservative bankroll (~300 dollars). I used to love playing texas hold em. I watched youtube videos, bought a book, and studied the game. I win easily in home games but I seemed to consistently get cooled in hands where I was statistically a favorite. Casino earnings wise, I am down at least $800 in texas hold em. After being consistently disappointed at the poker tables, I recently decided to give a new casino game a try. I was looking into baccarat and craps on youtube.
The Story:
Session 1
My parents receive free comp rooms and I had an idea to use their free room to just hang out and have fun with my girlfriend for a weekend. We ended up going to Resort Worlds in Catskills, NY. The vibe I got... wow everything is in red and clearly tailored for the Chinese clientele. Every sign is translated into Chinese and half the patrons are dressed in red to feed their superstitious mindsets (not saying that's bad, I am actually Chinese myself, if anything it made me feel more comfortable). The first night, my girlfriend and I used some free money, courtesy of my parents baccarat winnings, and just played the slots. To no surprise, we lost all of our free money. After eating some great food and sleeping the night at the hotel, the next day we started to use our own money. This began my first session playing craps.
I watched a Youtube video the night before on both baccarat and craps. When my girlfriend and I entered the casino, we were actually heading toward the baccarat tables first. One piece of advice that stuck with me when I did some research on craps was, "If everyone is cheering and ecstatic... check out the table... if everyone is miserable... run." I wanted to breeze by the craps table before heading to baccarat and see if there was any action going on. I heard some clapping while scouting out the craps tables and the faces of the people were generally happy. I told my girlfriend that I'm going to play at this table instead, and she left to go play slots.
Humorously, the table was segregated(not literally) into two sections/halves of White folk and Asian folk. There was one clear opening on the table where the white folk section was and I entered there. I mentioned that it was my first time playing craps to the guy next to me. He was an older white gentlemen who reminded me of Robert De Niro perhaps in his 50s-60s and he had his buddy next to him with a Vietnam war veteran hat on. He was very enthusiastic about teaching me the game, telling me how craps has the best edge in the casino and teaching me how to make the proper bets. He told me not to buy-in until the the point was hit. When I pointed and asked about something going on at the table he yelled "WAIT DON'T PUT YOUR HANDS OVER THE TABLE DURING A ROLL!" and shoved my hands back into me. It was clear that he was very superstitious about this game, and yes, he was also wearing red. He rambled about a lot of things about the game of craps and to be honest, I couldn't understand 60% of what he was saying. I bought in for $100 and mostly played the pass line and the odds bet, which is something I learned on youtube. The older gentlemen encouraged me on and told me that the odds bet is the best bet in the casino and to also make place bets on the 6 and 8 if I wanted. That is how I stuck to playing the whole time.
When the dice came to me, I noticed that previously everyone at the table set the dice in a particular manner. I followed along and simply chose numbers I felt comfortable with, which were double 3's. 3 has always seemed to be my lucky number in life. I now know that simply setting the top number alone is not really "dice setting" because you need to match the numbers on the side of the dice in a consistent manner too. My first three rolls were craps numbers, and I was a little disappointed in myself because I saw everybody losing money. But, the older gentlemen egged me on because he placed money on the "craps" horn bet to "protect himself", and he was still making money. Finally, the craps numbers stopped coming and I started to really roll. It felt like I had the dice for 15 minutes and hit 3 or 4 points.
The older gentlemen said to his friends "We created a monster boys, we have the Messiah here." What is very funny about this statement.... is that all my recent usernames for the videogames I play have been "The Messiah". Also, I was wearing a gold Jesus piece hanging from my neck that day. Perhaps my shooter nickname will now be the Messiah ;)
In the end, my girlfriend wanted to leave but I wanted to wait for a particular Asian fellow to roll the dice because I saw him on multiple hot rolls. The way I approached this first game was based solely off good vibes, patterns, and superstition. In the past, playing texas hold em was very methodical and strategical and that continued to result in me losing money. My mother who is a very superstitious person, always seems to win when gambling. And so, I decided to dump strategy and just go with my gut feelings. When the older gentlemen came back from a break he had, he asked me how the table was going. I said, "I'm about to leave the table but I wanted to wait for this Asian guy to be my last roll because he rolls really good". As soon as I say that, his next roll 7's out. The older gentlemen and I look at each other and we both understood what I "said wrong there". In the end I came out positive $140 and with my buy-in, 140% profit I felt was pretty darn good. I thanked the gentlemen for his help, colored up, and went on my way.
Session 2
Only a few weeks from the first session, my coworkers and I have been talking about planning a trip to the casinos. After my first session, it bolstered my idea to use my coworkers free comp rooms and hangout together in Atlantic City. I also invited my girlfriend to this trip. For my second session, I went to the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City, New Jersey. It didn't matter to me which casino I went to but my coworker wanted to check out this newer built casino because she didn't have a chance yet. Ultimately, we separated to eat food right off the bat, and due to poor phone service and a poor coincidence, I ended up playing craps alone for about 3-4 hours while waiting for my girlfriend to finish work and drive over to head to our free comp room at Harrah's casino.
I hit the tables and was hoping to find a $5 minimum but unfortunately they were all $10. There were only two $10 tables and all the tables were packed, so I had no selection choice this time and simply parked myself into a vacant spot. This time around, I made friends with a younger 30s black gentlemen who looked like an un-kempt Morris Chestnut. Let me tell you, this guy was loud, obnoxious, and just very emotional the entire time. What ruined the vibe a bit, was that he kept shitting on his girlfriend for being a terrible roller. He made statements like "Everytime I bet money on you, I know you're gunna lose. Why do I even bother anymore? You are absolutely terrible and useless". This was not said in a joking manner, and he literally announced it to the entire table. The dealers were clearly getting annoyed with his attitude. He was happy to be with me though because for the most part, I continued to roll well, similar to my first session. Unfortunately, the table as a whole was a bit dry and I ended up losing my first $100 buy-in. I took a 45 minute break to get rid of the mojo, and reentered a new table, but to my surprise, I was standing yet again next to the younger black gentlemen. This time, he put me in between himself and his girlfriend, because he was screaming that his girlfriend was a bad luck magnet. It's funny however, that his girlfriend actually was rolling very terribly that night. She 7'ed out in less than 2-5 rolls every single time. I may need to pull out some Don't Passes in the future for this type of roller ;)
At first, I set the dice with double 3's but it didn't go as well as I had hoped. And my philosophy is, "if it ain't working, change it up". So I ended up switching the set to two 6's. Now, let's not argue about whether dice setting even works, I just do it. My strategy was still the same, pass line and odds. However, I did two place bets every round and solely chose them based on patterns and feelings. For example, I was rolling a lot of 10's that night so I often put place bets on 10 when I rolled. Surprisingly, this strategy actually worked very well for me, and most of the time my two place bets hit very often. And after about 8 rolls, I would usually pull out of my place bets before the 7 out and this worked wonderfully too. The table ended up switching to $15 but I still needed to kill some time before my girlfriend came, so I moved to another $10 minimum table.
There was nothing special about the table except these group of late 30s-mid 40s white women who were on their yearly high school reunion. All blonde and very pretty and definitely what you'd consider MILFS. They said they would only join the table if it had good vibes and if everybody was cheering and clapping for one another. I told her that its not like that currently, but we would love to have you bring that energy here. They ended up buying in right next to me. I was next to the stick on the right side with absolutely nobody on my right side, so they ended up completely filling that spot. One of the girls was standing uncomfortably close to me right behind the stickman and was asking me weird questions. She was clearly piss drunk. Luckily the pit boss noticed this and asked her if she would be more comfortable standing next to her friends. Thank you pit boss....
They wanted to know the names of every roller at the table and constantly cheered and livened up the table for every roll. Unfortunately, the other half of the table wasn't as enthusiastic. One interesting thing that happened this session, is I had a place bet on 6, and turned it off after approximately 8 rolls like I usually do. This ended up not working in my favor, because the woman to my right ended up rolling seven 6's in a row.... WHAT THE HECK.
In the end, I won back the $100 I lost and also went positive $70. I was happy with this result.
Session 3
After sleeping a night at Harrah's Casinos, my girlfriend and I woke up to gamble. She went for the slots again and I went to the craps tables. Hard Rock Casino seems to have a much livelier environment, filled with bright lights and younger people. For me, Harrah's was downright dark, depressing, and filled with a lot of older people. Before my girlfriend left to play slots, I wanted to show her what craps was like and show her the ropes a little. I entered at absolutely the most perfect time.
The man to the right of the stick, a 30s year old white gentlemen who looked like Colin Farrell, was on a hot roll. He made 4 points in a row, on his very first dice roll after the come-out, all 4 times. The dice came to me and I decided to roll the dice differently again. Although I did use the double 6 again, I stacked them on top of each other. Again, my rolls were hot and although I only hit 2-3 points, I had the dice for at least 10 minutes, not 7'ing out easily. The 30 year old gentlemen and I passed compliments at each other after fist bumping. He ended up leaving with his wife and I asked him how well he did. He said he won over $500.
Unfortunately as the game progressed, a rude Indian guy two spots to my left kept passing comments about how slow the game was and how slow the players were. He kept pressing on to tell everyone to hurry the fuck up. Based on the rolling pattern of a roller on a wheelchair to my left, I had a gut instinct that he was going to hit a 12 or 2 because he had been hitting them a lot. I threw in 1 dollar for high and 1 dollar for low at the very end of the betting cycle. The Indian guy then started to yap, whine, and complain about how the progress of the game keeps getting slowed by these molasses players (ie me). In the end, I hit the high 12 and make an easy $30 (yeah screw you). Because of his vibe, I decided it was time to leave and colored up.
I ended up positive $170, and happily took my earnings away to go find my girlfriend. This is where the story becomes a bit more interesting.
My girlfriend used $100 but lost $70. She was sad to have only $30 left and asked me what she should do with it. Should she just dump it into the slot machines, she asked? Before she had left to play slots prior, I offered her to roll the dice at my table, but she was a bit squeamish about doing so without much knowledge of the game, and rightfully so, because craps has always been an intimidating game. However, with only $30 left, and a dream to be had, I told her I would teach her how to play craps, and so we went onward to the craps table!
With a $30 buy in and a babyface, the dealer immediately asked my girlfriend for her ID. When we got our chips, I did not touch the money at all, but simply told my girlfriend where she should place her bets (pass line) and the choices she could make if she wanted to(odds and place bets). The table was alright, allowing our buy in to stay pretty at around $30. The goal was simply to make her $100 back. When the dice came to her, she stepped up to the plate. She decided to random roll it and placed one dice on top of the other. I told her "just throw it at the wall". She proceeded to go on an amazingly long streak. She ended up hitting 4 points and was about to hit the 5th point. The other half of the table were practically off their seats waiting for their "FIRE BETS" to hit the 5th point and make their 230:1 odds. Unfortunately, my girlfriend missed the wall with a light throw and threw them at some chips. And you know what they say.... "when it hits the money, it lands funny." And upon this throw, she ended up 7'ing out, and the other half of the table whined aloud "AWWW". This rude black gentlemen to our left actually insulted my girlfriend and said "Why the fuck would you throw the dice at the chips like that? You have all this room on the table... aim for the damn wall and the open space." I proceeded to tell him that this was her first time rolling and for him to calm down. He responded in disbelief and said, "That is definitely not her first time rolling stop lying. I saw you two at the golden nugget yesterday.... Right...?"
No.... I was not at the golden nugget yesterday. The dealer fought back and also said "HEY, shes just a baby." The man ended up apologizing, yet it makes me think to myself... why people are so unappreciative of a great roll when the end result is always going to be a 7 anyway. And even if we WERE at the golden nugget and this WASN'T her first time rolling, how it would be acceptable for you to talk like that anyway.

ANYWHO, these were my first 3 sessions playing craps. Thanks for reading if you got this far. I hope somebody got some amusement reading these stories. I really enjoy craps because of the camaraderie and energy that the tables can have and the feeling (or illusion) that you can control your fate by being the one to roll your own dice. Also, historically I have not been lucky at gambling games like texas hold em and blackjack, so to win 3 times in a row at craps was a great refresher. Furthermore, the idea of winning money off other people's luck is also very appealing!

tl;dr I played 3 sessions of craps that went really well and my girlfriend also rolled incredibly well her first time. I was planning to play baccarat but actually never did after playing craps.
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Trump's Personal Wealth - A conspiracy dating back to 1976.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/trump-lied-to-me-about-his-wealth-to-get-onto-the-forbes-400-here-are-the-tapes/2018/04/20/ac762b08-4287-11e8-8569-26fda6b404c7_story.html?utm_term=.4e5c8e06303b
In May 1984, an official from the Trump Organization called to tell me how rich Donald J. Trump was. I was reporting for the Forbes 400, the magazine’s annual ranking of America’s richest people, for the third year. In the previous edition, we’d valued Trump’s holdings at $200 million, only one-fifth of what he claimed to own in our interviews. This time, his aide urged me on the phone, I needed to understand just how loaded Trump really was.
The official was John Barron — a name we now know as an alter ego of Trump himself. When I recently rediscovered and listened, for first time since that year, to the tapes I made of this and other phone calls, I was amazed that I didn’t see through the ruse: Although Trump altered some cadences and affected a slightly stronger New York accent, it was clearly him. “Barron” told me that Trump had taken possession of the business he ran with his father, Fred. “Most of the assets have been consolidated to Mr. Trump,” he said. “You have down Fred Trump [as half owner] . . . but I think you can really use Donald Trump now.” Trump, through this sockpuppet, was telling me he owned “in excess of 90 percent” of his family’s business. With all the home runs Trump was hitting in real estate, Barron told me, he should be called a billionaire.
At the time, I suspected that some of this was untrue. I ran Trump’s assertions to the ground, and for many years I was proud of the fact that Forbes had called him on his distortions and based his net worth on what I thought was solid research.
But it took decades to unwind the elaborate farce Trump had built to project an image as one of the richest people in America. Nearly every assertion supporting that claim was untrue. Trump wasn’t just poorer than he said he was. Over time I have learned that he should not have been on the first three Forbes 400 lists at all. In our first-ever list, in 1982, we included him at $100 million, but Trump was actually worth roughly $5 million — a paltry sum by the standards of his super-monied peers — as a spate of government reports and books showed only much later.
The White House declined to comment for this story. The Trump Organization did not respond to a request for comment.
I was a determined 25-year-old reporter, and I thought that, by reeling Trump back from some of his more outrageous claims, I’d done a public service and exposed the truth. But his confident deceptions were so big that they had an unexpected effect: Instead of believing that they were outright fabrications, my Forbes colleagues and I saw them simply as vain embellishments on the truth. We were so wrong.
This was a model Trump would use for the rest of his career, telling a lie so cosmic that people believed that some kernel of it had to be real. The tactic landed him a place on the Forbes list he hadn’t earned — and led to future accolades, press coverage and deals. It eventually paved a path toward the presidency.

Malcolm Forbes came up with the idea of the Forbes 400 in 1981 and assigned me to spend a year traveling around the country and interviewing wealthy people and those who worked with them about one another. The most challenging sector was private real estate wealth. My grandfather had been an accountant to a number of major New York developers, so I had the advantage of knowing many of the players there. But the reporting was opaque, because so few of the relevant financial documents were public; we relied disproportionately on what people told us. As the project progressed, other experienced reporters and editors joined what would become the most successful annual special issue in Forbes history.
From the beginning, Trump was obsessed. The project could offer a clear, supposedly authoritative declaration of his status as a player, and while many of the super-rich wanted to keep their names off the ranking, Trump was desperate to scale it.
When I first contacted him for the inaugural issue, Trump pulled out all the stops to convince me that he was the wealthiest real estate developer in New York. At an afternoon-long meeting in his cavernous Fifth Avenue office, he argued that his family was worth more than $900 million and deserved to be higher on our list than any of the far more accomplished developers (with names like Rose and Rudin) who had spent generations building top-tier housing in the golden borough of Manhattan. His father, Fred Trump, was well known for building nearly all the apartments that the Trump Organization owned before Donald even joined the company, so it amazed me when Donald claimed that he, and not his father, possessed 80 percent of the 23,000 apartments he said they had in Brooklyn, Queens and Staten Island. He added that these were almost debt free and worth $40,000 each.
I questioned his valuation. Trump shrugged and said, “Okay, then $20,000 each.” That would mean his family was worth some $500 million, still atop our list for New York real estate tycoons.
But that figure seemed high. I estimated the apartments to be worth about $9,000 each: They could not easily be converted to lucrative co-ops, and Trump had falsely described the location of the Queens buildings. He’d claimed they were in Forest Hills when, in fact, they were in the far less valuable Jamaica Estates neighborhood a few miles away. Since Donald’s new projects were still in development or unproven, the outer-borough apartments formed the basis of a Trump family net worth estimate of $200 million.
Six weeks after my initial interview, I received a call at my desk from Trump’s secretary and gatekeeper, Norma Foerderer . She said she wanted my work address so Trump could send me an invitation to a company party. Then she abruptly added: “Oh, Donald was just passing by! He said that he wanted to have a few words with you.”
I switched on my audio recorder — my normal practice — as Trump expressed his concern for what he called “your little article.” He invited me for a follow-up interview with him because, he said, because he was richer than the rest. “I don’t think that you have your facts 100 percent correct” about his standing vis-a-vis other New York developers. I was contemplating a too-low appraisal of his net worth, he said. “You had us down in a certain category, and then you mentioned other names, and there’s no contest, you know. I mean, there’s no contest. So I just wanted to mention that.”
Trump knew I had doubts about his assertions, so he had his lawyer, Roy Cohn, call me. Cohn spent most of his time threatening lawsuits, schmoozing with mobster clients and badgering reporters with off-the-record utterances that made his clients look good and their enemies look bad. Cohn surprised me at my Forbes desk that summer: “Jon Greenberg,” a scrappy voice bellowed, before I could connect my tape recorder. I took notes by hand. “This is Roy. Roy Cohn! You can’t quote me! But Donny tells me you’re putting together this list of rich people. He says you’ve got him down for just $200 million! That’s way too low, way too low! Listen, I’m Donny’s personal lawyer, but he said I could talk to you about this. I am sitting here looking at his current bank statement. It shows he’s got more than $500 million in liquid assets, just cash. That’s just Donald, nothing to do with Fred, and it’s just cash.” He concluded: “He’s worth more than any of those other guys in this town!”
I offered to have a messenger pick up the bank statement at his office. Cohn protested that the document was confidential. “Just trust me,” he said. I told him I wouldn’t take his word without seeing the paperwork. “It’s confidential!” Cohn yelled.
My Forbes editors and I spent many hours deliberating about where to place Trump. Based on what little we knew — his claims; a 1976 New York Times profile that said the Trump Organization owned 22,000 apartments; and Fred’s reputation for housing a generation of working-class New Yorkers in Brooklyn and Queens — we ranked Donald and Fred in the bottom tier among major real-estate developers, each with half of a $200 million apartment empire.
Even though I learned later that this was far more money than Donald possessed, it did not satisfy him for the following year’s edition. During his 1983 interview, Trump claimed that there were actually 25,000 apartments and that his net worth had ballooned because of the success of his new projects, Trump Tower and the Grand Hyatt Hotel on East 42nd Street, as well as a pending casino deal in Atlantic City.
Then Cohn called again, this time to say Trump was worth more than $700 million. I recorded our chat. He opened with an outrageous claim that Trump had personally received $250 million from the recent sale of a 50 percent interest in his new project to build a Harrah’s casino in Atlantic City. “A certain amount was cleared, say, around a hundred million,” Cohn said. “. . . But the balance was used by him to liquidate certain other things, which made his overall position very impregnable. Trump Tower has been going like a house afire, and the profits on that are much higher than had been anticipated, and the same is true with Grand Hyatt. On top of which he’s been in a series of private transactions, and he files with banks for between $700 to $750 million, as well as with Equitable” — Equitable Life Assurance, the company that financed Trump Tower — “which backs him in all of his deals.”
Again, Cohn refused to show me a statement, but armed with misinformation about Trump’s casino payout and claims about cash flow at other properties, I inflated his (and his father’s) net worth to $200 million each. In retrospect, Fred Trump was probably worth half that amount, and Donald, once again, should not have been on the list at all.
The next year I received two calls from “John Barron,” the fictitious Trump executive who told me that Donald had taken “in excess of 90 percent” ownership from Fred. He also suggested that Trump was on track to earn a $50 million profit every year from his first Atlantic City casino. And so, in 1984, we increased Donald’s net worth estimate to $400 million and left Fred in, for his last year on the Forbes 400, at $200 million. (Barron also bad-mouthed the competition, saying that developer George Klein had struck a “bad deal” to redevelop Times Square — a bid Trump had lost — and was “going to go down the tubes.”)
Although Trump, posing as Barron, asked Forbes to conduct the conversation off the record, I am publishing it here. I believe an intent to deceive — both with the made-up persona and the content of the call — released me from my good-faith pledge. In a 1990 court case, Trump testified that he had used false names in phone calls to reporters. In 2016, when The Washington Post published a similar recording, Trump denied it was him.
Fred Trump turned down my attempts to interview him for the Forbes 400. He allowed Donald to say whatever he wanted about the family’s business. In the only major interview he gave after Donald seized the limelight, Fred told the New York Times in 1983 that “Donald has a competitive spirit and I don’t want to compete with him. . . . He amazes me. He’s gone way beyond me, absolutely.”

Eventually, nearly every one of Trump’s pronouncements about his wealth unraveled.
The number of apartments was the first problem. The commonly cited figure — that his family owned 25,000 units — began with the mention of 22,000 apartments in that fawning 1976 New York Times profile. In 1988, after I left Forbes, I counted the units and found fewer than 8,000. (I was working briefly on a documentary about Trump that was never completed.) Another Forbes reporter that year, John Anderson, found the same thing. He called the Trump residential management organization, he told me then, and asked an executive named Harry Green how many apartments the company owned. “About 10,000,” Green told him, meaning that our 1982 family valuation of $200 million should have been just $90 million (below the cutoff at that time for inclusion on the list). A few minutes later, Green called Anderson back and corrected himself: Now there were 25,000 again.
Another brazen claim was that Trump, not his father, owned the company’s outer-borough apartments, which his father built beginning in the 1930s. Based on what Trump said during our 1982 and 1983 interviews, I’d assumed that Donald and Fred each owned half, resisting the son’s insistence that he had purchased 80 percent of the units or consolidated the holdings himself. Still, this comment went into the Forbes 400 records, and in 1985, after I left the project, Trump was estimated to be worth $600 million, and his father was off the list.
It would be decades before I learned that Forbes had been conned: In the early 1980s, Trump had zero equity in his father’s company. According to Fred’s will (portions of which appeared in a lawsuit), the father retained legal ownership of his residential empire until his death in 1999, at which point he left it to be divided between his four surviving children and some of his grandchildren. That explains why, after Trump went bankrupt in the early 1990s, he borrowed $30 million from his siblings, secured by an estimated $35 million share of his future inheritance, according to three sources in Tim O’Brien’s 2005 biography, “TrumpNation.” He could have used his own assets as collateral if he’d had any worth that amount, but he didn’t.
The most revelatory document describing Trump’s true net worth in the early ’80s was a 1981 report from the New Jersey Casino Control Commission. O’Brien obtained a copy for his book. Trump had applied for an Atlantic City casino license, and regulators were able to review his tax returns and personal and corporate debt, giving them the most accurate picture of his finances. They found that he had an income of about $100,000 a year, while his 1979 tax returns showed a $3.4 million taxable loss. Trump’s personal assets consisted of a $1 million trust fund that Fred Trump provided to each of his children and grandchildren, a few checking accounts with about $400,000 in them and a 1977 Mercedes 450SL. Nowhere did the report list an ownership stake in the Trump Organization’s residential apartments. Trump also possessed a few parcels of valuable but highly leveraged real estate, financed with $22.5 million in debt, all of it secured by his father’s assets. He did not own a safe deposit box or stocks in publicly traded companies. In sum, Trump was worth less than $5 million, not the $100 million that I reported in the first Forbes 400.
During our first interview in 1982, Trump informed me that he had bought the Barbizon Plaza Hotel and the adjoining 110 Central Park West for just $13 million, a steal. While I was in Trump’s office, a broker supposedly called to offer him $100 million for the property. Trump refused the offer while looking me in the eye; he pointed out that his net worth should include an equity boost of $87 million profit. I believed then that he used a staffer to stage the call, and I resisted the fictitious valuation. But the $13 million price tag for a valuable parcel was recorded in Forbes 400 files, and it soon showed up in other publications, such as New York magazine . It remains on Wikipedia today. Yet tucked away on Page 63 of the Casino Commission report was a section describing Trump’s purchase of the property for $65 million, facilitated by a $50 million loan to Trump by Chase Manhattan Bank. As with many of his buildings, Trump’s debt was far higher, and his true equity far lower, than he claimed.
Roy Cohn had told me that Trump received $250 million from Holiday Inn for its half-interest in the Atlantic City casino. But according to O’Brien, Trump’s actual income from the deal was a construction and management fee (not profit) of about $24 million, while Holiday Inn financed the construction of the $220 million casino.
Later attempts by Trump to paint himself as fantastically wealthy were also duplicitous. In 1989, Trump sent Forbes journalist Harry Seneker a statement of his $3.7 billion net worth. I have obtained the letter. It indicated $900 million in liquid assets. “I am more liquid than any major developer in the United States,” Trump wrote, inducing the magazine to increase Trump’s listing from $1 billion in 1988 to $1.7 billion in 1989.
But according to the New Jersey Casino Commission, which issued another report in 1991, by the end of 1990 Trump’s entire cash position — in both his business and personal accounts — was just $19 million. The amount was insufficient to pay the debt on his over-leveraged casino and real estate holdings while still covering his personal expenses of $1 million per month. His net worth, the commission estimated, was $205 million — less than 6 percent of what he’d told Forbes. In 1990, the magazine dropped Trump from the list and kept him off it for five years.
Forbes declined to comment for this article, but its top editor, Randall Lane, interviewed then-candidate Trump for the Forbes 400 in 2015 and wrote about the magazine’s long struggle to accurately assess his net worth in an article titled “Inside The Epic Fantasy That’s Driven Donald Trump For 33 Years .” Of the 1,538 tycoons who had been on the “Rich List” through the years, Lane wrote, “not one has been more fixated with his or her net worth estimate on a year-in, year-out basis than Donald J. Trump.”

I was a leading New York real estate reporter through the 1980s. I left the Forbes staff in 1983 but continued to freelance for the magazine while writing major investigative features as a contributing editor for the new Manhattan, Inc. magazine, as well as New York, Avenue and New York City Business. I knew all the key players. I thought I had a handle on this material.
But Trump was so competent in conning me that, until 35 years later, I did not know I had been conned. Instead, I have gone through my career in national media with a misinformed sense of satisfaction that, as a perceptive young journalist, I called Trump on his lies and gave Forbes readers who used the Rich List as a barometer of private wealth a more accurate picture of his finances than the one he was selling.
The joke was on me — and everyone else. Trump’s fabrications provided the basis for a vastly inflated wealth assessment for the Forbes 400 that would give him cachet for decades as a triumphant businessman.
In truth, almost nobody had a clear picture of Trump’s books. In 1990, Trump brought in Steve Bollenbach as a new chief financial officer to respond to lender concerns about his crippling debt. “When Bollenbach began delving into the organization’s finances, he got a surprise,” The Washington Post’s Michael Kranish and Marc Fisher write in “Trump Revealed,” their comprehensive 2016 biography. “The small staff on the twenty-sixth floor of Trump Tower included three accountants. Each knew about pieces of the fraying empire — the casinos, for instance, or the condos. But no one knew the overall picture; there were no consolidated financial reports.”
In the absence of a functioning balance sheet, the list didn’t just make Trump feel like a winner, according to O’Brien; it may have provided some of the documentation he needed to borrow reckless sums of money — vast loans that he used, for years, to actually make him a winner. “The more often Forbes mentioned him, the more credible Donald’s claim to vast wealth became,” O’Brien said, arguing that Trump and the list were “mutually reinforcing”: “The more credible his claim to vast wealth became, the easier it was for him to get on the Forbes 400 — which became the standard that other media, and apparently some of the country’s biggest banks, used when judging Donald’s riches.”
Trump returned to the Rich List in 1996 with a reported net worth of $450 million and an editor’s note that he claimed to be worth $2 billion. He never fell off it again. In his book, O’Brien criticized Forbes for rewarding Trump’s fabrications, citing interviews with “three people with direct knowledge of Donald’s finances” who estimated his true net worth after debts to be “somewhere between $150 million and $250 million.” Trump, who had told O’Brien he was worth $6 billion, sued for libel — and lost. When he lost his appeal in 2011, a New Jersey appellate judge wrote, “The largest portion of Mr. Trump’s fortune, according to three people who had had direct knowledge of his holdings, apparently comes from his lucrative inheritance. These people estimated that Mr. Trump’s wealth, presuming that it is not encumbered by heavy debt, may amount to about $200 million to $300 million. That is an enviably large sum of money by most people’s standards but far short of the billionaires club.”
The opacity persists. In 2016, Trump’s presidential campaign put out a statement saying the candidate had a net worth “in excess of TEN BILLION DOLLARS.” But he has never released his tax returns, and he has said that the core Trump Organization asset is the ownership of his brand — an ineffable marketing claim that is impossible to substantiate or refute.
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