In 1885, a young man named Freidrich Trump, arrived as an immigrant in New York City.
What happened next? Well, let's quote directly from The New Yorker Magazine, discussing a book called "The Trumps," by Gwenda Blair. The New Yorker tell us:
Then, suddenly, in 1891, Friedrich was off to Washington State before going to the Klondike regions, where he pursued a colorful career providing food, liquor, and women to miners—a period that is well-documented by Gwenda Blair.
“…and women?” Did she just say "and women?"
Yup. Probably with miners lined up just outside the tent. Step inside, pay your two bucks, drop your drawers and have a go at it. Taking off your muddy boots before you get into bed with poor Achin' Annie? I'm going to guess that was optional.
But surely the money was cleaned up by….um…time, right? Isn't time the great money launderer? Passed through a filter of the decades, smoothed, and pawed, reinvested and lovingly handled by three generations of Trumps, the dirty Trump money became clean again, right?
Well, not exactly.
Freidrich’s son was named Fred. And guess what?
His son, Fred, took advantage of New Deal policy, using government subsidies and loopholes to construct hugely successful housing developments in the 1940s and 1950s. The profits from those enterprises paved the way for Donald's roller-coaster ride into the new century.
Far be it from me to spoil your July 4th barbecue with a litany of Donald Trump’s lies, foreign emoluments, ruinous bankruptcies, not-so-blind trusts, inappropriate social behavior, the mass ripoff that was Trump University.
Suffice it to say that only in America could the grandson of a poor immigrant pimp grow up to be a rich, crooked President.
Celebrate that, America! Happy July 4th.