The news of the Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City’s impending closure this September sparked a vivid flashback to a day nearly three decades ago for Alan Rosenberg and his wife – a day that unexpectedly turned into a personal “travel plaza” of dreams coming true.
Back in March 1985, Atlantic City was emerging as a fresh casino destination, rivaling the established allure of Las Vegas. It’s almost hard to imagine now, but at that time, Nevada and New Jersey were the exclusive locations in the United States where casino gambling was legal. Except for a brief encounter with a practically deserted casino during their off-season Aruba honeymoon the previous year, neither Alan nor his new wife had ever truly experienced the casino scene.
Intrigued by the buzz, they decided to join a bus tour to Atlantic City to see what all the excitement was about.
The journey itself was part of the experience. A cheerful guide, a robust woman, led sing-alongs on the bus, setting a festive mood. Upon arriving at Trump Plaza – then known as Harrah’s Trump Plaza – she distributed entry forms for a raffle. The grand prize? A luxurious trip for two to London, Paris, and Rome.
“Someone’s got to win,” she announced optimistically. “It might as well be you.”
Following her encouragement, they dutifully dropped their completed forms into the large collection bin in the casino lobby and promptly forgot about it amidst the sensory overload of their first real casino experience.
Trump Plaza itself, to be honest, didn’t leave a lasting impression in Rosenberg’s memory. What stood out more were the iconic boardwalk, still retaining a faded charm despite Atlantic City’s decline as a premier tourist spot, and the stark contrast of the impoverished neighborhoods just blocks away from the glittering casinos, hinting at the city’s deeper struggles beyond the glitz.
Adding to the less-than-glamorous side of the trip was their accommodation – a rundown hotel secured through the tour company’s budget package. There, a startling burst of scalding hot water during a shower provided a jolt that was memorable for all the wrong reasons.
Life moved on, and two days after their return from Atlantic City, an unexpected phone call interrupted the workday at The Journal’s newsroom. The caller was looking for Alan Rosenberg and delivered astonishing news: he had won the European trip.
After expressing his thanks and gathering some initial details, reporter skepticism kicked in. Alan, being a journalist, decided to verify the unbelievable. He looked up the casino’s number via directory assistance (the pre-internet era required such efforts) and called Trump Plaza directly to confirm it wasn’t an elaborate prank.
“Oh, no, it’s absolutely true,” confirmed a pleasant voice from the casino office. It was April 2nd, and she explained they had intentionally waited a day to avoid any April Fools’ Day confusion.
The prize trip, taken a few months later, was indeed the kind of opulent European adventure that young newlyweds could only dream of affording themselves.
A sleek, black limousine arrived at their modest Dutch Colonial home in Warwick’s Gaspee Plateau, whisking them away to Logan Airport in style. At each European destination, a personal car and driver awaited, smoothly navigating them through customs and chauffeuring them to their luxurious hotels.
These weren’t just any hotels; they were four-star establishments in prime locations, from London’s prestigious Hyde Park to a spot mere steps from the Champs Élysées in Paris. They even customized the itinerary, exchanging a few days in Rome for an equal number of days at a breathtaking cliffside hotel overlooking the Mediterranean in Monte Carlo, deciding the French Riviera was an unmissable romantic indulgence. When they requested to extend their trip by a week in Germany, at their own expense, to visit the wife’s best friend stationed there with the Army, the accommodating Trump Plaza organizers readily agreed, even arranging flights to Munich and their return journey from there back to Boston.
Sightseeing tours, tickets to renowned West End plays and the dazzling Folies-Bergère, and exquisite dinners in top-tier restaurants – all were compliments of Donald Trump.
This remarkable generosity explains why, despite any criticisms of Donald Trump’s personality or politics, Alan Rosenberg still holds a degree of goodwill towards him. He was, after all, the benefactor who gifted him and his wife an unforgettable European experience – in unparalleled style.
Now, the Trump Plaza’s story is coming to an end. The hotel, a $210 million venture built by Donald Trump in 1984, couldn’t attract a $20 million valuation in today’s struggling Atlantic City casino market. It stands among four of the city’s twelve casinos facing potential closure by year’s end.
In the three decades since that life-changing win, Alan and his wife have visited numerous casinos, from Connecticut to Monaco. However, none have quite captured the initial excitement or perceived glamour of that first Trump Plaza experience. Even Monte Carlo, during a visit 29 years later, seemed to lack the expected spectacle of tuxedo-clad men and women in ball gowns at the baccarat tables.
From a business perspective, the closure of Trump Plaza is undoubtedly a logical decision. Its decline also serves as a cautionary tale for communities considering casino gambling as an economic savior, as Atlantic City once did. (The author subtly directs this observation towards Massachusetts and Newport).
Yet, hearing the news of its closure evokes a sense of nostalgia and melancholy.
For Alan Rosenberg, Trump Plaza isn’t just a defunct casino; it’s a personal landmark of his youth – the symbolic “Rosenberg Travel Plaza” where, against all odds, he hit his personal jackpot, creating cherished memories that continue to resonate.
Alan Rosenberg is The Journal’s managing editor for features.
