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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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072489
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07248900.025
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1990-09-17
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PEOPLE, Page 66The Queen Stands TrialGreed and corned beef at the Helmsleys' palaceBy Priscilla Painton
Her trial is barely under way, but the verdict from curbside
and cartoonists is already in. "You rich people, you ought to go
to jail. You're guilty," a stranger told her, leaning into her face
as she lunched on tuna salad in the courthouse cafeteria. The day
she met her jury, she was caricatured in New York's Daily News in
full royal garb -- striding through a jail.
The object of this vengeful anticipation is Leona Helmsley, 69,
a Brooklyn-bred hatter's daughter who undertook to transform her
face into a symbol of privilege and pampering. After her
billionaire husband Harry Helmsley, 80, proclaimed her president
of his Helmsley Hotels in 1980, she staged her own coronation in
a multimillion-dollar ad campaign for the Helmsley Palace, offering
fantasies of fealty to those who could afford $215 double rooms.
"The only palace in the world where the Queen stands guard,"
trumpet the ads that still appear in glossy magazines.
Now Leona is trying to persuade a jury to ignore the
princess-and-the-pea image she paid so much to acquire. She is
accused, along with two former executives in the $5 billion
Helmsley real estate empire, of having evaded federal taxes by
diverting money from business properties to fund $4 million worth
of personal fripperies, including a $130,000 indoor-outdoor stereo
system. Most of these allegedly fraudulent charges were for items
intended for the couple's own $11 million palace in Greenwich,
Conn., where, in a bucolic tableau worthy of Marie Antoinette,
Leona once gamboled with four sheep. Her husband is not at her
side: a judge ruled last month that he was mentally incompetent to
stand trial. Leona has been indicted separately for extorting money
and such small-ticket items as liquor and television sets from
suppliers who wanted to do business with her hotels. The most
devastating testimony yet in what is expected to be a two-month
trial came from the former housekeeper of her 28-room Connecticut
estate, who testified that Leona told her in 1983, "We don't pay
taxes. The little people pay taxes."
To the retributive delight of many New Yorkers, Leona finds
herself impaled on the cusp of the self-indulgent '80s and the
sobersided '90s. "We're going from Nancy Reagan's real pearls to
Barbara Bush's fake pearls, and Leona's unapologetic enjoyment of
her wealth doesn't amuse us anymore," says Jane Maas, an
advertising agent who, like many of Leona's employees, was mothered
at first and fired a short time later. But Leona's social
indictment is not just the result of bad timing. "She has
continuously and repeatedly abused people," says Michael Moss, the
author of Palace Coup, a recent book on the Helmsleys. Says society
chronicler Dominick Dunne: "Not even the nouveaux riches gyp their
help."
Leona's petty tyranny over her employees is legendary, in large
part because she has wanted it to be. During a segment of CBS's 60
Minutes, she badgered and scolded ten employees, in some cases just
for standing idly at their posts. But Leona's unofficial tantrums
are what have escalated her reputation from exacting boss to
coldhearted and greedy Marie Antoinette. "She made me fire a whole
department -- eight people -- right before Christmas in 1985,"
Joseph Licari, a financial adviser and one of Leona's
co-defendants, once said. "She felt they were stealing from her...
She gets this obsession that people are ripping her off."
Moss recounts that she disliked a corned-beef sandwich she
ordered late one night at the Palace Hotel, so she refused to pay
the meat supplier's $8,500 bill. Donald Trump, himself a favorite
New York City villain, described her as a "disgrace to humanity"
in a letter that was mysteriously leaked to the newspapers. Even
her lawyer called her a "tough bitch" when attempting to convince
the jury that her personality was not on trial.
After Leona refused to pay about $353,191 worth of bills from
contractors renovating her Connecticut home, they chose not to walk
away. Some of them complained to the press and then to the grand
jury, where they gave heated testimony on the methods used to cover
the bills she did pay. Now her lawyer, Gerald Feffer, finds himself
explaining to a jury that money, after all, is relative. "Let's
face it," said Feffer in his opening argument, "a million dollars
to the Helmsleys is not the same as a million dollars to you and
me." That may not sound very convincing to a group that includes
an electrician and a baggage handler.