Trump Tower Acquires a New Allure, Even for New Yorkers
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Version 0 of 1. Since its debut in 1983, Trump Tower has belonged for New Yorkers to the same galaxy, if not the same constellation, as the Plaza, the United Nations and Donald J. Trump himself: part of the urban firmament, perhaps, yet largely irrelevant to daily life. Not many city residents had ever cared to venture inside the 68-story building at Fifth Avenue and 56th Street, unless to visit the in-house Starbucks. That was then. With the ascent of its owner and developer as the favorite for the Republican presidential nomination, Trump Tower has attained some of the trappings of a true city landmark, drawing the same mix of scorn and reverence as its occupant in chief. It has the tourists, more eager than ever to see the celebrity candidate in his natural habitat; it has won the fleeting, semi-grudging attention of New Yorkers, who now regularly pause outside the doors for selfies. And in a city that has never hesitated to unburden itself, it has become a 664-foot magnet for a series of protests large and small, the slightly more verbal equivalent of one long Bronx cheer. It is an unlikely — and unruly — bit of urban theater for a block better known for Audrey Hepburn’s early-morning window-shopping, just next door, in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” In September, a protester dressed in a Ku Klux Klan-style hood and carrying a “Make America Racist Again” sign scuffled with Trump Tower security guards. In December, roughly 200 more protesters marched there. In mid-March, on the day Mr. Trump racked up victories in three state primaries, demonstrators assembled a large sign on the sidewalk outside that asked Mr. Trump to “Build Kindness Not Walls.” The next day, dozens of anti-gun activists held a die-in on the same spot to protest Mr. Trump’s assertion that he could “stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody” and still accrue votes. The largest protest so far came a few days after that, when hundreds marched from the Trump International Hotel and Tower at Columbus Circle to its Fifth Avenue sibling. Technically speaking, the tower lobby is public space, if privately owned — one of more than 500 privately owned public spaces that litter the city. Though the Trump Organization was recently forced to remove a Trump kiosk on the main floor that the city said violated the zoning agreement that made the lobby public, it is unclear whether the designation allows for protest. Owners are allowed to set their own rules for the spaces, said Jerold Kayden, a Harvard urban planning professor who has written about them, as long as they are “reasonable.” The Police Department did not respond to requests for comment on the protests at Trump Tower, or the challenges of policing the building. On this super-deluxe stretch of Fifth Avenue, where Bergdorf Goodman, Harry Winston, Henri Bendel and other elders of retail Olympus make their home, Mr. Trump’s brand of bedazzlement, particularly since the advent of Trump 2016, can make for an alarming fit. Yet an unscientific survey of several Bergdorf’s saleswomen, nearby security guards and a pedicab operator found that the campaign had not brought much disturbance to the avenue. But even in the absence of formal demonstrations, the building often inspires spontaneous political discourse. “We’ve been watching the news about him on TV here,” said Karen Latter, 54, who, with her husband and two daughters, was visiting from Leicester, England, where Mr. Trump also tends to monopolize the airwaves. “To be honest, it doesn’t come across well.” “Not at all,” agreed one of her daughters, Suzanne Latter, 24. “We find his name funny, actually.” She explained that in their part of England, “trump” is slang for passing gas. But Trump Tower receives its share of more respectful visitors, including a registered Democrat turned Trump volunteer named Al Wilson, who had enlisted an 18-year-old friend of his granddaughter to hand out pro-Trump fliers on the sidewalk. (“Don’t give it to the tourists,” he instructed his apprentice, thus ruling out nearly everyone in the vicinity. “They can’t vote.”) He was proud, he said, to claim the mogul for their shared hometown. “I never met Donald in person,” Mr. Wilson said, “but I feel like I have, because I grew up around him in New York.” Inside, where Starbucks-sipping tourists leaned against the lush salmon-pink marble walls, there were few hints of Mr. Trump’s White House aspirations beyond the “Make America Great Again” baseball caps for sale and a single campaign sign, glimpsed in an open elevator. Not that the building left any doubt as to the identity of its creator. (It is more discreet about its other residents, who at one time included Chuck Blazer, the former soccer official now entangled in the federal investigation into FIFA, soccer’s global governing body. Mr. Blazer, The Daily News reported, kept two apartments at Trump Tower: one for himself, and one for his cats.) Double rows of golden T stickers gilded the doors; a concierge stand bore two giant Ts. Trump Bar offered cocktails, Trump Grill a $23 prix fixe menu. Glass cases displayed Ivanka Trump’s jewelry line, Trump-branded cuff links and a book, “Trump Tower,” that advertised itself as “The Sexiest Novel of the Decade.” “Inside, it’s, like, all mirrors,” observed Kendall Wright, 19, a Mercy College student who had not explored Trump Tower, beyond the Starbucks, until last week. Other appraisals have been mixed — more so since Mr. Trump’s ascendance in the delegate count. Yelp, to take one measure, gives Trump Tower a three-star rating out of five. (There was, however, universal applause for the cleanliness of the public restrooms.) “This was definitely a tall building, but much left to be desired upon entering,” Rebecca W. of Baton Rouge, La., wrote in January. (Three stars.) “You really sense the wealth that dwells in its brass walls,” Jason M. of Manhattan wrote in July 2014. (Five stars.) “Money clearly can’t buy you good hair,” Terri S. of Carmel, Ind., wrote in early April. (One star.) In Mr. Trump’s absence, some of the gawkers and the haters settled for John Thomas, doorman to Trump Tower for eight hours a day. For the masses, he is the next closest thing — bow tie, striped waistcoat, white gloves and all. He estimates that he is photographed in front of the brass-edged glass doors roughly 100 times a day. “I’ve had some people take pictures of me,” he said on a recent afternoon, shortly after linking arms with two grinning young women for the camera’s benefit, “and then they send me the picture back, and I’m part of their Christmas card.” |