Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created the World's Most Dangerous Man by Mary L. Trump; Page B
Authors: Mary L. Trump;
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time, the built-up moisture seeped into the drywall, softening it. By December, the wall around the unit in my parentsâ bedroom had deteriorated so badly that a frigid draft constantly blew into the room. My mother tried to cover the wall around the air conditioner with plastic sheeting, but the arctic air continued to pour in. Even with the heat blasting, their bedroom was always bitterly cold. The superintendent at the Highlander never responded to their request to have a maintenance crew sent up, and the wall was never repaired.
New Yearâs Eve 1967 was particularly inclement, but despite the rain and wind, my parents drove out east to celebrate with friends at Gurneyâs Inn in Montauk. By the time they were ready to drive back to Jamaica in the early hours of New Yearâs Day, the weather had turned even colder and the steady rain had become a downpour. When Freddy went outside to warm up the car, the battery was dead. Dressed only in his shirtsleeves, he got drenched trying to get the car to start. By the time he and Linda returned to the apartment and their windblown bedroom, he was sick.
Between the stress of the last two years and his heavy drinking andsmoking (by then he averaged two packs of cigarettes a day), Freddy was in bad shape to begin with. His cold rapidly worsened, and after a few days he wasnât getting any better as he shivered, wrapped in a blanket, unable to escape the drafts. Linda repeatedly called the superintendent but got no response. Finally she called her father-in-law. âPlease, Dad,â she begged, âthere must be someone who can fix this. Maybe from another building in Jamaica Estates or Brooklyn? Freddy is so sick.â My grandfather suggested that she speak to the Highlander super again; there was nothing he could do.
Because for so long their life had been lived in the confines of Fred Trumpâs domain, it didnât occur to either one of them to hire a handyman who wasnât on Fred Trumpâs payroll. That wasnât how it worked in the family; Fredâs permission was sought whether it was needed or not. The wall was never fixed.
A week after New Yearâs, Lindaâs father called to tell her that her mother had had a stroke. My mom didnât want to leave my father, but her motherâs condition was serious, and she needed to fly down to Fort Lauderdale as soon as she could arrange child care.
Not long after, Gam called my mother to tell her that Freddy was in Jamaica Hospital with lobar pneumonia. Linda immediately got onto a plane and took a taxi straight to the hospital as soon as she landed.
My father was still in the hospital on January 20, 1967, their fifth wedding anniversary. Undeterred by his poor health and worsening alcoholism, my mother sneaked a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses into his room. Regardless of what was happening around them or what state her husband was in, they were determined to celebrate.
Dad had been home from the hospital for only a few weeks when Linda got a call from her father. Her mother was doing better after her stroke, he told her, but he hated leaving her at the mercy of nurses while he put in full days at the quarry. The stress of work, the expense of his wifeâs care, and his constant worry about her were taking their toll on both of them. âIâm at the end of my rope,â he said. âI donât see how we can continue.â
Although Linda didnât know exactly what her father was implying, he sounded so distraught she was afraid he meant that both he and her mother would be better off dead and, out of desperation, might do something about it. When she told Freddy about her parentsâ precarious situation, he told her not to worry and called his father-in-law to tell him he was going to help out. âQuit your job, Mike. Take care of Mom.â Money wasnât an issue, at least not then, but Freddy wasnât sure how his father would react
New Yearâs Eve 1967 was particularly inclement, but despite the rain and wind, my parents drove out east to celebrate with friends at Gurneyâs Inn in Montauk. By the time they were ready to drive back to Jamaica in the early hours of New Yearâs Day, the weather had turned even colder and the steady rain had become a downpour. When Freddy went outside to warm up the car, the battery was dead. Dressed only in his shirtsleeves, he got drenched trying to get the car to start. By the time he and Linda returned to the apartment and their windblown bedroom, he was sick.
Between the stress of the last two years and his heavy drinking andsmoking (by then he averaged two packs of cigarettes a day), Freddy was in bad shape to begin with. His cold rapidly worsened, and after a few days he wasnât getting any better as he shivered, wrapped in a blanket, unable to escape the drafts. Linda repeatedly called the superintendent but got no response. Finally she called her father-in-law. âPlease, Dad,â she begged, âthere must be someone who can fix this. Maybe from another building in Jamaica Estates or Brooklyn? Freddy is so sick.â My grandfather suggested that she speak to the Highlander super again; there was nothing he could do.
Because for so long their life had been lived in the confines of Fred Trumpâs domain, it didnât occur to either one of them to hire a handyman who wasnât on Fred Trumpâs payroll. That wasnât how it worked in the family; Fredâs permission was sought whether it was needed or not. The wall was never fixed.
A week after New Yearâs, Lindaâs father called to tell her that her mother had had a stroke. My mom didnât want to leave my father, but her motherâs condition was serious, and she needed to fly down to Fort Lauderdale as soon as she could arrange child care.
Not long after, Gam called my mother to tell her that Freddy was in Jamaica Hospital with lobar pneumonia. Linda immediately got onto a plane and took a taxi straight to the hospital as soon as she landed.
My father was still in the hospital on January 20, 1967, their fifth wedding anniversary. Undeterred by his poor health and worsening alcoholism, my mother sneaked a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses into his room. Regardless of what was happening around them or what state her husband was in, they were determined to celebrate.
Dad had been home from the hospital for only a few weeks when Linda got a call from her father. Her mother was doing better after her stroke, he told her, but he hated leaving her at the mercy of nurses while he put in full days at the quarry. The stress of work, the expense of his wifeâs care, and his constant worry about her were taking their toll on both of them. âIâm at the end of my rope,â he said. âI donât see how we can continue.â
Although Linda didnât know exactly what her father was implying, he sounded so distraught she was afraid he meant that both he and her mother would be better off dead and, out of desperation, might do something about it. When she told Freddy about her parentsâ precarious situation, he told her not to worry and called his father-in-law to tell him he was going to help out. âQuit your job, Mike. Take care of Mom.â Money wasnât an issue, at least not then, but Freddy wasnât sure how his father would react
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