I was on the air at WMAS doing my morning show when the mail came in. Jonathan, the news/mail goober made some snide remark about this rather large envelope from the Taj Mahal. I had been there maybe three times in my life, so I figured they finally tracked me down and were sending me an itemized bill for damages or whatever. When I chisled through the weld of glue on the flap, I was greeted with an invitation to his Taj Mahal Christmas party. This card was guilded, with caligraphy like my buddy Jonathan couldn't even come close to, and the message was quite clear, informing me that my wife and I were invited to spend the weekend as The Donalds guest at the Taj Mahal and attend the yearly party in Ballroom "B" or whatever, a week from Friday night. Please call the toll free number to confirm.
OK...What's goin' on?
I get home that morning and say to herself, " Hey, herself, look at this."
She reads the thing, looks at me and says, "OK..What's goin' on?"
I had no idea, so I call the number as instructed to do. I am informed we have a room for Friday and Saturday night and all expenses incurred are comped. So I pick up the phone off the floor, tell the wife, and simultaneously we look at each other and say," OK..What's goin' on?"
For the next 10 days or so, I am doing my best to figure out how it is that me, a relatively unknown, red haired sleepy gnome gets invited to a Christmas party thrown by a guy who has more cash in his pocket at any given time than I will have amassed in my lifetime.
The day of the excursion to Atlantic City arrived, I packed my only suit, ( some things never change ),and the two of us embark on our trek to the Donalds little get together. On the way down there, the discussion turned to who might be there. The mayor of New York? Of course, Donald wouldn't forget him, nor Elizabeth Taylor, Sinatra, Steve and Edie..Letterman perhaps? Whoever was there this was going to be big.
We arrived and for the first time ever, I decided to do the valet parking thing. I don't know why, it just seemed if this was all comped, I could afford the $1.25 for the driver. If you have never been there, the front of the Taj Mahal has an enormous drive around shaped somewhat like a horseshoe. I am driving through this highly congested Friday afternoon traffic snafu looking for a place to pull over and it is mobbed. Except for one area brandishing two signs that read the following: "Mr. Trumps Christmas Party",it was the only place I could pull over. OK, what's goin' on? I pull in and the Beefeater there comes running up to the car and asks to see the invitation. I comply. He says, "Thank you Mr. Murphy," then goes to a phone, talks to someone, the car doors are open, they take my one suitcase that I wrestle away from some guy and we enter the building. Remember, this is Friday late afternoon, a week or so before Christmas, and there are lines of people at every counter...except one. Yup, the counter with the banner that reads,"Mr. Trumps Christmas Party Only." There's nobody there. We cautiously approach, and at about 5 feet from the counter, this stunning girl on the other side says, "Good Afternoon, are you the Murphy party?" Ok, What's goin' on? How could she possibly know who I ...oh, wait..that's who the Beefeater outside must have called.
As we signed in, we are told we stay there courtesy of Mr. Trump, all food for the weekend is gratis and the wet bar in the room is no charge. She gives us two plastic cards for the room and good at the restaurants or room service, and finally gives me a real key. I asked her what the key was for. She said the elevator. Now I'm wondering why the hell a place like this locks the elevator, and not wanting to sound really stupid, I just thanked her, and away we went. The elevator opened and we got in, I hit the button for the 16th floor, but it didn't work. Now, we're going up and down in the elevator trying to figure out how to get this thing to the 16th floor. The wife says we must be in the wrong elevator, we should look for one you have to unlock. I said shut up. I finally got off the thing and found a suit and told him of my plight. He said in order to get to the 16th floor, I had to put the key in, turn it, then press the 16th floor button. Oh...I knew that.
We get in the room and two words come to mind...holy crap. This room cost more that my house. Huge canopy bed, bathroom you could bowl in..( wanted to, but didn't bring my ball )and you could see Havana from the window above the jaccuzi in the corner of the other bathroom. But, Murphy's Law kicked in. A remote, but no TV in the room. Now why have a remote, but no TV? So I press the "ON" button, and I hear odd noises and the sound of a tv as this thing rises out of a console which I thought was a bureau. The wet bar was loaded with booze..and I thought, yeah, life is good.
So now it's about 7:45 PM, and the phone rings. It is the front desk, informing me that our table is ready in the Grand Ballroom "B". This is nuts. I brought a cassette tape recorder with me, because I was going to interview the Donald and all the celebrities there.
We arrive at the "B" room. Doors like the ones that kept King Kong out of the village on Monster island. Two security guards, a little smaller than the doors. We show some other guy the invite. He welcomes us, and hands it to some other guy inside. We are escorted in, as we are now royalty, and all the while, wafting through my mind are the words, "OK, what's goin' on?"
This place was gigantic. The entire back wall was nothing but food. There was a 15 piece orchestra in the corner. Service people everywhere, and at each seat, a gift from Donald himself.
The room was filling fast, everyone escorted to their seats, and we scanned the room and the door constantly looking for those famous friends of Mr. Trumps who surely would be arriving.
When the room filled, some guy thanked us all for coming, and said the food was now being served. Oddly, it was like a smorg, but if it wasn't on that mile long table, it wasn't worth eating, and the food was spectacular. The orchestra was fabulous. There was only one thing that was a mystery. Who the hell are all these people? Not only was Trump not there, but there wasn't a soul in the room that was even remotely familiar. Ok..What's goin' on?
We had a fine meal, listened to great music, and clown that I am, I introduced my wife an I to everyone at the table, and we were having a great time doing oragami and playing with our free gift, a pair of champagne glasses emblazoned with the Taj Mahal logo.
It was around 10PM or so I just had to start asking some of these folks just how exactly they knew Donald Trumph. Most of them didn't, and a few also thought the place would be full of celebrities and Trump himself. Alas, now I have a problem. I had been hyping this trip on the air to my audience, and a lot of people were interested in hearing all these world known celebrities on my program come Monday morning. What to do, what to do? AHA! I have the solution. By this time, I had convinced everybody there I was nuts, so I told them I was going to tape a quick interview with them only they had to make believe they were someone famous. I got Sinatra, Steve and Edie, Barbara Streisand, Joan Rivers and half a dozen others. It was hilarious. None of these people had any talent, they used their real voices and all in all were terrible. I put this thing on the air on Monday and people actually called and thought they were listening to the real people. They sounded nothing like the real people, but mystery of mysteries the thing worked and to this day I am stymied how this group of people no one knew convinced my audience they were the real McCoy.
We wined and dined till after midnight and all went our separate ways, back to our fine rooms, all wondering why we were there.
The next morning, we went down to this restaurant to have breakfast, and seated next to us was Jackie Mason. People were bugging him for his autograph, and I thought that was tacky, so as we were leaving, I gave him a napkin with my autograph and told him I felt bad because everyone was bugging him, so I decided I'd sign a napkin for him. He started laughing like hell. Two years later, I had him on my show and recounted that experience, and before I could finish, he said, " I remember that, and you gave me your autograph on a napkin."
We had not much else to do the rest of that weekend but play the slots and loose, but the booze and food was all gratis.
We left early Sunday afternoon, and again pondered the reason we were invited to a party, at no cost to us, with hundreds of everyday people that nobody knows. I am sure there were important folks there that are used to attending this thing every year, and I think I have come up with the solution as to why we were invited to this thing.
I believe that year there was a very well to do Trump friend in New York City who always got invited to this party
. A very wealthy man. Somehow, because I had been there a few times before, this man, we'll even use his name. George Murphy. Somehow the man who should have recieved this invitation was snubbed, and I believe that the night of this party, that he knew about, he sat steaming mad at Trump. Alone in his high rise penthouse, I am positive he uttered the words, OK..what's going on?"
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