Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created the World's Most Dangerous Man by Mary L. Trump; Page A
Authors: Mary L. Trump;
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Fred blamed Freddy for the failure of Steeplechase. Eventually, Freddy blamed himself.
It didnât help that Donald drove back to the House from Philadelphia almost every weekend. It turned out that he wasnât any more comfortable at Penn than he had been at Fordham. The work didnât interest him, and itâs possible that he suddenly found himself a small fish in a big pond. In the 1960s, NYMA had been at the height of its enrollmentâa little over five hundred students in grades eight through twelveâbut Penn had several thousand when he attended. At the military academy, Donald had survived the first couple of years as an underclassman by using the considerable skills heâd acquired growing upin the family house: his ability to feign indifference in the face of pain and disappointment, to withstand the abuse of the bigger, older boys. He hadnât been a great student, but heâd had a certain charm, a way of getting others to go along with him that, back then, wasnât entirely grounded in cruelty. In high school Donald had been a decent athlete, a guy some people found attractive with his blue eyes and blond hair and his swagger. He had all the confidence of a bully who knows heâs always going to get what he wants and never has to fight for it. By the time he was a senior, he had enough cachet with his fellow students that they chose him to lead the NYMA contingent in the New York City Columbus Day Parade. He didnât foresee any such success at Penn and saw no reason to spend any more time there than he had to. The prestige of the degree was what really mattered anyway.
During the most crucial juncture of the Steeplechase deal, its unraveling, and its aftermath, Donald did a fair amount of armchair quarterbacking. Freddy, who had never developed the armor that might have helped him withstand his fatherâs mockery and humiliation, was particularly sensitive to being dressed down in front of his siblings. When they were younger, Donald had been both a bystander and collateral damage. Now that he was older, he felt increasingly confident that Freddyâs continuing loss of their fatherâs esteem would be to his benefit, so he often watched silently or joined in.
My father and grandfather were conducting a Steeplechase postmortem in the breakfast room that, on Fredâs side, was acrimonious and accusatory and, on Freddyâs, was defensive and remorseful. Donald casually said to his brother, as though completely unaware of the effect his words would have, âMaybe you could have kept your head in the game if you didnât fly out to Montauk every weekend.â
Freddyâs siblings knew that their father had always disapproved of what was now merely Freddyâs hobby. There was a tacit agreement that they wouldnât talk about the planes or the boats in front of the Old Man. Fredâs reaction to Donaldâs revelation proved the point when he said to Freddy, âGet rid of it.â The next week, the plane was gone.
Fred made Freddy miserable, but Freddyâs need for his fatherâs approval seemed to intensify after Marblehead and even more after the demise of Steeplechase. Heâd do whatever his father told him to do in the hope of gaining his acceptance. Whether he realized it consciously or not, it would never be granted.
----
When they first moved into the Highlander, Freddy and Linda had been concerned that the other tenants would bother the landlordâs son with their complaints. Now they found themselves at the bottom of the list when they needed repairs.
The windows in my parentsâ ninth-floor corner bedroom offered expansive southern and eastern views, but they were also vulnerable to strong gusts of wind. In addition, the Highlander had built-in air conditioners in every room that hadnât been installed properly, so condensation accumulated between the drywall and outer bricks whenever the AC was running. Over
It didnât help that Donald drove back to the House from Philadelphia almost every weekend. It turned out that he wasnât any more comfortable at Penn than he had been at Fordham. The work didnât interest him, and itâs possible that he suddenly found himself a small fish in a big pond. In the 1960s, NYMA had been at the height of its enrollmentâa little over five hundred students in grades eight through twelveâbut Penn had several thousand when he attended. At the military academy, Donald had survived the first couple of years as an underclassman by using the considerable skills heâd acquired growing upin the family house: his ability to feign indifference in the face of pain and disappointment, to withstand the abuse of the bigger, older boys. He hadnât been a great student, but heâd had a certain charm, a way of getting others to go along with him that, back then, wasnât entirely grounded in cruelty. In high school Donald had been a decent athlete, a guy some people found attractive with his blue eyes and blond hair and his swagger. He had all the confidence of a bully who knows heâs always going to get what he wants and never has to fight for it. By the time he was a senior, he had enough cachet with his fellow students that they chose him to lead the NYMA contingent in the New York City Columbus Day Parade. He didnât foresee any such success at Penn and saw no reason to spend any more time there than he had to. The prestige of the degree was what really mattered anyway.
During the most crucial juncture of the Steeplechase deal, its unraveling, and its aftermath, Donald did a fair amount of armchair quarterbacking. Freddy, who had never developed the armor that might have helped him withstand his fatherâs mockery and humiliation, was particularly sensitive to being dressed down in front of his siblings. When they were younger, Donald had been both a bystander and collateral damage. Now that he was older, he felt increasingly confident that Freddyâs continuing loss of their fatherâs esteem would be to his benefit, so he often watched silently or joined in.
My father and grandfather were conducting a Steeplechase postmortem in the breakfast room that, on Fredâs side, was acrimonious and accusatory and, on Freddyâs, was defensive and remorseful. Donald casually said to his brother, as though completely unaware of the effect his words would have, âMaybe you could have kept your head in the game if you didnât fly out to Montauk every weekend.â
Freddyâs siblings knew that their father had always disapproved of what was now merely Freddyâs hobby. There was a tacit agreement that they wouldnât talk about the planes or the boats in front of the Old Man. Fredâs reaction to Donaldâs revelation proved the point when he said to Freddy, âGet rid of it.â The next week, the plane was gone.
Fred made Freddy miserable, but Freddyâs need for his fatherâs approval seemed to intensify after Marblehead and even more after the demise of Steeplechase. Heâd do whatever his father told him to do in the hope of gaining his acceptance. Whether he realized it consciously or not, it would never be granted.
----
When they first moved into the Highlander, Freddy and Linda had been concerned that the other tenants would bother the landlordâs son with their complaints. Now they found themselves at the bottom of the list when they needed repairs.
The windows in my parentsâ ninth-floor corner bedroom offered expansive southern and eastern views, but they were also vulnerable to strong gusts of wind. In addition, the Highlander had built-in air conditioners in every room that hadnât been installed properly, so condensation accumulated between the drywall and outer bricks whenever the AC was running. Over
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