Page 60 - Too Much and Never Enough - Mary L. Trump

At the time of the visit, Donald was at a crossroads. When Freddy had announced he was stepping away from Trump Management in December 1963, Donald had been caught flat-footed. His brother’s decision had come at the end of the first semester of Donald’s senior year, and since his name wasn’t Fred, he had no idea what his future role in the company might be, although he did plan to work there in some capacity. Because of that uncertainty, he hadn’t adequately prepared for his future beyond high school. When he graduated from New York Military Academy that spring, he had not yet been accepted into college. He asked Maryanne to help him find a spot at a local school when he got back home.
Freddy and Linda had a barbecue for lunch, during which Donald told them he was going to Chicago with their dad to “help” him with a development he was considering. Freddy’s relief was palpable. Maybe Fred was beginning to accept the new reality and had decided to take Donald on as his heir apparent.
Later in the afternoon, Freddy took the boys out on his “yacht” to do some fishing.
Despite Freddy’s best attempts to teach his brother the basics of the sport, Donald had never gotten the hang of it. Donald had still been at NYMA the last time they’d been on a boat together, along with Billy and a couple of Freddy’s fraternity brothers. When one of them had tried to show Donald how to hold the pole properly, Donald had pulled away and said, “I know what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, buddy. And you’re doing it really badly.” The rest of the guys had laughed. Donald had thrown his pole onto the deck and stalked off toward the bow. He had been so angry, he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking, and Freddy had worried that he might walk right off the boat. Donald’s fishing skills hadn’t improved in the interim.
When the three brothers returned from the harbor, Linda was preparing dinner. As soon as they came into the house, she could sense the tension. Something had shifted. Freddy’s good mood had been replaced by a quiet, barely contained anger. Freddy didn’t often lose his temper, not then, and she took it as a bad sign. He poured himself a drink. Another bad sign.
Even before they sat down for dinner, Donald started in on his older brother. “You know, Dad’s really sick of you wasting your life,” he declared, as though he’d suddenly remembered why he was there.