Before Donald Trump became a celebrity, before he became The Donald, even before he was regularly pilloried in the pages of the old Spy magazine as a “short-fingered vulgarian,” New Yorkers knew his name thanks to one thing in particular. Not the in-and-out-of-bankruptcy real estate empire he inherited, or his flamboyant love life, but the Wollman Rink in Central Park.
I do think his largely interchangeable opponents underestimate his appeal at their peril.
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Friday, September 4, 2015
Trump, Death Wish, the Wollman Rink, the Damn Fence, and the White House
Labels:
Central Park,
Donald Trump,
Wollman Rink
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