A Humble Presidential Library

Despite his girth, Trump has been flying under the radar when it comes to bribes. 

He’s not been shy about it. Just the opposite. He very particularly modeled his second official presidential portrait on his mug shot taken after his arrest on racketeering charges.¹ At the end of September, when all were aghast at the possibility of a government shutdown, he took a hundred-million-dollar bribe in broad daylight. 

Let’s face it. People have things to do, kids to get ready for school, jobs to get to on time, demanding work standards to fulfill (like keeping awake), bosses to please, dinners to fix, budgets to balance, credit card debt to track, the Congress and Supreme Court to worry about, the status of critical government agencies to check, lives to live. This stuff takes time, concentration, and not a little flair. Sure, a flagrant bribe made to the president of the United States, one he accepts, no less, is something we normally would notice, something we might object to. But, we aren’t on 24/7 about presidential bribes, we can’t be. Therein lies the problem. 

Trump is a 24/7 bribe taker, and he has burned us out. He’s won. We have to admit it. He’s getting away with it. We don’t even call them bribes anymore. They’re donations; grants; contributions; sponsorships; gifts; bequests; million-dollar-a-plate fundraisers; super-generous settlements to lawsuits Trump would never have won in court; gestures of good will toward, tokens of faith in, and pledges of material support for Trump. All which tribute Trump gathers to himself on a daily basis as the humble bee gathers pollen.² No one says a word. It’s simply business as usual in our new Trump world.

The latest pack of fat cash was slipped to Trump on September 30 in the form of a parking lot. Located in downtown Miami, the 2.63 lot has a waterfront view of Biscayne Bay, can be readily accessed by public transport, and is flanked by the historic Freedom Tower, once used as a processing facility for Cuban immigrants fleeing the Castro regime.³ Across the road is Kaseya Center, the home arena for NBA’s Miami Heat. Over a short bridge lies the main port terminal for departing cruise ships. In other words, just a parking lot. 

The various handoffs that resulted in awarding Trump the property occurred in the following very casual way: On September 16, the trustees of Miami Dade College received a letter from Florida’s Office of Cabinet Affairs requesting them to “convey” the parking lot to the state of Florida. It did not tell them why. No matter. As Trustee Board Vice Chairman Roberto Alonso expressed it, “There’s not many options — we’re appointed by the governor.”

Accordingly, on September 23, with no discussion and still no knowledge of why the state wanted their parking lot, the college trustees voted unanimously to transfer it to Florida’s Internal Improvement Trust Fund (IITF).⁴ Immediately after the vote, not even lunchtime yet, Florida Attorney General James Uthmeier X’ed what all the fuss was about, and now even the college trustees knew: “Next week, the Florida Cabinet will vote to dedicate land at Miami Dade College to house the Presidential Library of Donald J. Trump. I’ll be voting yes!”⁵

What was especially nice about DeSantis’s gift — well, there were many things. You see, the lackluster description of parking lot deceives.

Unable to think of any reason why they might need to consult the public about their decision, the Board of Trustees of the IITF (to wit, the TIITF) voted unanimously on September 30 to “convey” the parking lot to a private entity that would, they unanimously felt, take much better care of the property than the state or college could ever do and return a far greater yield in terms of public benefit due to all the economic development activities Governor DeSantis seemed very sure would be happening on that shabby patch of land. The private entity DeSantis and cohorts voted to turn the property over to, and which Uthmeier so generously, though prematurely revealed, was none other than the Donald J. Trump Presidential Library Foundation Inc. (Trump Finc⁶), a nonprofit birthed to “steward, preserve, and celebrate the legacy and historical record of President Donald J. Trump and his presidency.”⁷⁸

Minutes after TIITF’s vote, the president of Trump Finc and presidential son number two, the illustrious Eric Trump, X’ed his hearty thanks. And probably Trumped⁹ his dad. 

What was especially nice about DeSantis’s gift — well, there were many things. You see, the lackluster description of parking lot deceives. The plot of land comes with favorable zoning and building rules attached to it, such as the unusual lack of a residential parking requirement. An urban planner and expert on Miami’s zoning code said the “highest and best use” of the parcel would be “towers up to 100 stories high” housing “some 2,500 condo units.” A real estate consultant was so indiscreet as to call the DeSantis’s gift to Trump a “cash cow.”¹⁰

Of course, none of that obtained for property destined to hold a presidential library until it was brought to Trump’s attention — one of his great whoopee moments of 2025 — that, under the terms of the Floridian transaction, not all of the parking lot had to be used for a library, that components of that parking lot could, in fact, serve as a site for, say, a 100-story tower. Maybe two. Maybe a casino. During his rapid assessment of this his most recent windfall — during such assessments Trump deploys an awesome panoramic perspicacity — one must assume that he adjudged the 2.63 acres to be inadequate to accommodate a golf course. Nor was he sure about his Qatari Boeing 747-8 jet. 

A special task force of one was formed to curate the collection of books the Trump library should contain.

Of all the activities Donald Trump has been noted for, reading is not one of them. In fact, books never consumed too much of his time. That’s why a special task force of one was formed to curate the collection of books the Trump library should contain. Simultaneously, a much larger real estate development committee convened and positively fizzed with ideas about how to divvy up the property for all the towers they felt should be built there. 

By the time feverish planning reached the no-going-back stage and blueprints were rolled out across pushed-together card tables, their curling corners carefully weighted down with perfectly clean, but surprisingly heavy ashtrays, the library task force person, on carefully reviewing the drawings, asked, “Where’s the library?”

A ruckus broke out until the group nerd produced the document that explained DeSantis’ transaction and read aloud to the group: “It is not requisite that an actual library occupy the entirety of any quid-pro-quo site designated for a presidential library project.”

“Quid pro quo in there?” someone snorted.

The nerd looked up from the document and smiled. “Not really.”

“What d’y mean ‘not really’?” came the irate retort. “Is it or isn’t it?”

“No,” the nerd answered, his smile fading. “It’s just that DeSantis’ term expires — ”

“Anyone got any zip ties?” the offended party bellowed, reaching for an ashtray.

The nerd disappeared with the document and that would have been the end of any foolish discussions about libraries, except — 

It happened to be the case that there were two books Donald J. Trump wanted in his presidential library. After a sweaty, strident brainstorming session that lacked any factual basis — the nerd did not return — it was decided that a small room could be spared for housing Donald’s books and that there just happened to be a shed at the edge of the lot reminiscent, they thought, of the type of woodshed seen in rural Illinois around the time of young Abraham Lincoln’s great-grandchildren, which made it critical not to alter the shed in any way, but just move the books in there as is. Being a shed had the advantage that only one person at a time could look at the collection, thus inhibiting any rash remarks about its size. 

Trump’s collection was to comprise nothing less impressive than the two most important books known to civilization.

As for the collection itself, it was to comprise nothing less impressive than the two most important books known to civilization: the Trump Bible and Trump’s The Art of the Deal. Now this didn’t mean the collection would be limited to two volumes, oh no. The Trump Bible had been issued in two resplendent editions, both of which were to be on display. And as for Trump’s The Art of the Deal, an entire array of editions existed, tracing the progress of Trump’s changing opinion about what to call the book. 

The issue about whether to display all those editions kicked up a little fuss. For the sake of history, which Trump’s library was all about, the cognoscenti of Trump literature urged all editions of that awe-inspiring book be displayed.¹¹ On the other hand, those titles weren’t all so great, either, the cause of the dithering. 

The first and most valuable edition bore a title Trump had come up with all by himself: Donald Trump: The Greatest Conman on Earth. Consultants too expensive for him to ignore had talked him out of that. Next followed a veritable riot of creative suggestions from the world’s greatest real estate hustler: The Art of Theft, The Art of Thieving, The Art of Easy Stealing, The Art of Pickpocketing, The Art of Sliding Cash Out of Anywhere, and The Art of the Steal.¹² Donald had been extremely fond of them all. One title he was partial to promised enticingly, he thought, an intimate look at the highly technical details of the Trump expertise riddled throughout his masterpiece, a title that would land it at the top of the best-seller list of scientific works for sure, to wit: The Art of Adjusting Personal Asset Values to Capture Optimum Rates for Insurance Premiums or Best-Interest Loans, Depending on What You’re Applying For. Luckily, it was a fairly straightforward matter for his bevy of experts to point out that the title was too long to fit on the cover. Donald, who sort of already knew that, let it drop without moping. 

One thing Donald’s consultants knew not to fuss with was “The Art of.” Their talented author client wanted that in the title no matter what. Luckily, in a spasm of inspiration, one genius suggested The Art of the Deal, Donald loved it, and the final edition was printed and sent by the ton just everywhere.

Having his library in a corrugated metal shed towards the poor end of the lot near the garbage pickup route doesn’t bother Donald one bit. He doesn’t want anybody in there anyway. If his books don’t get stolen, they’ll get smudged. 

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1. Trump’s mug shot was taken in 2023 at the Fulton County Jail in Atlanta after his arrest on racketeering charges related to efforts to overturn his 2020 election loss in Georgia. He obviously thought the shot captured the real him. ↩︎
2. Unlike the bees, Trump knows just how to keep all the honey to himself. ↩︎
3. Where Marco Rubio’s parents were likely welcomed. Fittingly, it’s a museum now, as that kind of welcome has been withdrawn under the Trump administration. Rubio’s ilk are now being granted the mandatory privilege of getting carted back gratis.  ↩︎
4. The Internal Improvement Trust Fund of the State of Florida is the entity that holds title to state-owned lands in Florida. It was established, exists, and labors solely to improve the insides of Florida. Board members are the prestigious governor of Florida and the prestigious members of the Florida cabinet, to wit, the prestigious attorney general, the prestigious chief financial officer, and the prestigious commissioner of agriculture and consumer services. ↩︎
5. https://www.miamiherald.com/news/politics-government/article312214466.html ↩︎
6. Pronounced “fink.” ↩︎
7. The not-for-profit was incorporated in May by Donald J. Trump’s son Eric Trump and President Trump’s son-in-law Michael Boulos. https://search.sunbiz.org/Inquiry/CorporationSearch/ConvertTiffToPDF?storagePath=COR%5C2025%5C0523%5C00177827.Tif&documentNumber=N25000006299 ↩︎
8. There were those who could think of a reason to consult the public before that vote, to wit, historian Dr. Marvin Dunn. Dunn filed a lawsuit October 6 that maintains that Miami Dade College violated Florida law in gifting the land for President Trump’s library. The suit says says the college board violated the state’s “Government in the Sunshine Law,” enacted in 1967, which requires public boards or commission meetings be open to the public, that they provide reasonable notice of such meetings, and that they include recorded minutes. “This is an egregious abuse of public trust. Miami’s public lands should not be used as political gifts,” Dunn remarked. ↩︎
9. Trumping someone refers to sending them a message on Donald J. Trump’s social media platform most accurately known as Trump Social. It is also possible to reTrump someone, considered a serious move involving some hazard to the recipient.  ↩︎
10. https://www.nytimes.com/2025/09/30/us/miami-property-trump-library.html ↩︎
11. Discussion was also heated about whether visitors should be allowed to pick up, touch, or leaf through these books or whether they should be directed by a security guard to the Trump Bookshop on the main floor of Miami Trump Tower not 200 paces away to buy copies of their own.  ↩︎
12. Those of us who were so snide as to tweak the book’s title to get a rise out of the man may be disappointed to know that Trump himself came up with that title ages ago, was quite pleased with it, and keen on using it until his high-powered consultants said no. He let them talk him into discarding it, but never did figure out what was wrong with it. ↩︎