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trumpettes
FANFARE FOR THE ORANGE MAN Founding Trumpettes Terry Ebert-Mendozza, Toni Holt Kramer, Janet Levy, and Suzi Goldsmith, photographed in the living room of Mar-a-Lago with the painting The Visionary, by Ralph Wolfe Cowan.
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Standing at the bar at Mar-a-Lago, the outrageously ornate Palm Beach, Florida, mansion built by breakfast-cereal heiress Marjorie Merriweather Post in the Roaring 20s and turned into a private club in 1995 by Donald Trump, I awaited the arrival of the 45th president-elect of the United States. He was coming that mid-November weekend, as he had done so often for the past 30 years. But in so many ways he was already there.
He was there in the minds of his club’s 500 members, who love the place enough to pay a $100,000 initiation fee, plus $14,000 in annual dues. He was there in the Trump wines we were drinking, from the Virginia vineyards run by his son Eric. And he was there in the adoring eyes of the bartender, who motioned to two portraits on the library bar’s walls, telling me, “That’s Marjorie Merriweather Post on the left and Mr. Trump—I mean, Mr. President—on the right.”
The portraits couldn’t be more different: Mrs. Post’s is small and plain, while Donald J. Trump’s, by Palm Beach artist Ralph Wolfe Cowan, is monumental. Clad in tennis whites, with a ray of heavenly Palm Beach sun beaming over his left shoulder, Trump is depicted as a bronzed, blond-haired god, or, as a plaque at the bottom of the frame proclaims, “The Visionary.”
Most of all, though, Donald Trump was there as the protagonist of the newest chapter in Palm Beach’s history: the loud, new-money outsider who came to town—one of the richest and most insular towns in America—and, through the titanic force of his personality, forced the scandalized Old Guard to bend to his will. And it begins, really, with the word “no.”
He was there in the minds of his club’s 500 members, who love the place enough to pay a $100,000 initiation fee, plus $14,000 in annual dues. He was there in the Trump wines we were drinking, from the Virginia vineyards run by his son Eric. And he was there in the adoring eyes of the bartender, who motioned to two portraits on the library bar’s walls, telling me, “That’s Marjorie Merriweather Post on the left and Mr. Trump—I mean, Mr. President—on the right.”
The portraits couldn’t be more different: Mrs. Post’s is small and plain, while Donald J. Trump’s, by Palm Beach artist Ralph Wolfe Cowan, is monumental. Clad in tennis whites, with a ray of heavenly Palm Beach sun beaming over his left shoulder, Trump is depicted as a bronzed, blond-haired god, or, as a plaque at the bottom of the frame proclaims, “The Visionary.”
Most of all, though, Donald Trump was there as the protagonist of the newest chapter in Palm Beach’s history: the loud, new-money outsider who came to town—one of the richest and most insular towns in America—and, through the titanic force of his personality, forced the scandalized Old Guard to bend to his will. And it begins, really, with the word “no.”
http://www.vanityfair.com/style/2016/12/how-donald-trump-beat-palm-beach-society-and-won-the-fight-for-mar-a-lago
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