The Law, The Failed Game Show Host, and Chico
As stated in this blog's mission statement, I write a lot of stuff about Chico Marx. Here's some more--and in the best way possible.
On Tuesday, September 26, 2023, in the New York State Supreme Court, a new monkey wrench thrown into the already busted up gears in the post-presidency of our first failed casino owner ever elected to high office. For decades it was an open secret in Manhattan real estate circles that Donald J. Trump (the J is for Jackass) swung a lot of blustery braggadocio about his business acumen. It fooled no one. The powerbrokers within the upper echelons of Manhattan real estate circles knew that Donald J. Trump (the J is for Jutting Jowls) spent decades lying about…well, everything. What’s more, there was a certain flaunting of ethics by their peer that crossed the line from business relationships into the realm of “special friendships.”
In the early 1980s cement truck drivers of the New York Teamsters Union went on strike. Construction throughout Manhattan and the other boroughs slowed to the consistency of hardened concrete. You couldn’t build so much as a new McDonalds in New York without cement. Yet one edifice had no interruption as it rose into the skyline: that eponymous tower of Donald J. Trump (the J is for Jaundiced Jagoff). The Master Builder used his tiny little hands to pull strings, call in favors, and do what he needed to complete Trump Tower.
An Offer He Couldn’t Refuse
How? Well, strike or no strike, Donald J. Trump (the J is for Junto Junta) often did business and socialized with the kind organizational managers who knew how to get their good pal all the cement he needed. Guys like Paul “Big Paul” Castellano and Anthony “Fat Tony” Salerno of the Genovese crime family, along with their attorney/consigliore and mutual Trump pal, Roy Cohn. That’s the same “where is my Roy Cohn” Roy Cohn that Donald J. Trump (the J is for Jilted) wished he could have appointed to serve as United States Attorney General.
The other secret that wasn't a secret was just how brazen Donald J. Trump (the J is for Jinxed) was exaggerating the value of his real estate holdings. He overstated it by a lot. And when I say, “a lot”, I mean at eye-popping fraudulent levels, the kind of stuff where you move a decimal point here, another over there, and oh, you missed one, put it after those seven “zeroes” on the spreadsheet.
I suppose you can get away with that when you're a real estate magnate with some well-connected friends. Not that I'm suggesting that's what happened. Cough! Cough!
But when you're the President of the United States, you're subject to a little extra scrutiny. Like to the tune of a civil lawsuit totaling $250 million. When the news broke that Donald J. Trump (the J is for Juddering) had cooked his books way past the boiling point, no one was surprised. The esteemed magistrate overseeing the case, Judge Arthur Engoron of the New York Supreme Court 1st Judicial District, issued a 35 page point-by-point ruling, ripping into Donald J. Trump (the J is for Jurisdictionally Jolted) for the flagrant lies in the failed reality show host’s balance sheets.
The ruling was scathing, taking the entire Trump Organization to task for inflating their total worth to $3.6 billion. Also named in the lawsuit: the scam university founder’s sons Eric F. Trump (the F is for Floundering Failed Fraud) and Donald J. Trump Jr. (the J is for Jerkoff Junior).
Judge Engoron is not one to suffer fools gladly—particularly Donald J. Trump (the J is for Justice Jumbled). Here’s my favorite part of the document, found on page 21. Note the footnote citation at the end of the paragraph:
Here's the footnote itself:
Chico Marx and Duck Soup! The scene Judge Engoron quotes is one of the movie’s best. Chicolini (Chico) is a hapless spy trying to frame Rufus T. Firefly (Groucho), ruler of the mythical country of Freedonia. Chico is disguised as Groucho, complete with greasepaint mustache, glasses, and leering eyebrows.
As Firefly exits the boudoir of his patron Mrs. Gloria Teasdale (Margaret Dumont), Chicolini pops out from his hiding place beneath the bed, much to Mrs. Teasdale’s consternation. “Your Excellency!” she cries, “I thought you’d left.” Chico, using that marvelous Italian accent central to his character, says, “Oh, no. I no leave.” “But I saw you with my own eyes,” says Mrs. Teasdale. Responds Chicolini, “Well, who you gonna believe? Me or your own eyes?”.
Why A Duck?
Judge Engoron could have quoted any number of legal sources. Instead, he set the right precedent. He straight to the Marx Brothers, using as legal citation one of the best lines Chico ever delivered.
We all know that every time Donald J. Trump (the J is for Jail Bound!) gets indicted, he screams that he’s being persecuted by Marxists. Well, in this case, he's right. And it’s Marxism of the finest kind.
The failed football league tycoon may hope that his lawyers can save his orange hide using some kind of legal sanity clause. But as Chico (playing the character Fiorello) said in A Night at the Opera: “You can’t fool me. There ain't no Sanity Clause.”
Here’s Judge Engoron’s complete 35 page ruling.
Thanks for reading The Typewriter's Collage. Share your thoughts in the comment section or on my various social media, all of which are linked on my website: www.arniebernstein.com.
This was such a treat!! Laughed out loud( in public) several times!!! Thank you Arnie!
Every time I ask myself how did he get away with such obvious NYC flimflam for so long, I remind myself that our very own federally indicted Alderman Ed Burke gets to retire on full city pension, and he has yet to begin his trial.