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TIME: Almanac 1993
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TIME Almanac 1993.iso
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1992-09-23
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PEOPLE, Page 66The Queen Stands Trial
Greed and corned beef at the Helmsleys' palace
By 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.