During the 1980s, Donald Trump had strutted across the American landscape, boastful, flamboyant, the Liberace of real estate. But by the early 90s, he was so over-leveraged that when one piece after another of his holdings did not perform at a high enough level to service his massive debt, the whole jerry-built empire began to totter. He bankrupted both Trump’s Taj Mahal Casino in Atlantic City and the Plaza Hotel in New York, and was close to losing the heavily mortgaged Mar-a-Lago.

“Trump loved Mar-a-Lago so much that he was willing to do almost anything to hold on to it,” says his former Palm Beach lawyer Paul Rampell. Trump petitioned the town to build eight homes on the 17-acre property, but was so disliked in the resort community that he was turned down. That led him to the idea of turning the massive grounds, once the home of Marjorie Merriweather Post, into a private club.

Mar-a-Lago held its grand opening in December 1995. The theme was “Déjà Vu.” Trump re-created an evening in the late 20s, when the estate had been the scene of the most exclusive social events in the wealthy resort community. To foster Trump’s fantasy, 20 workers spent six months turning the ballroom into a black-and-silver cabaret from the Jazz Age. That evening a moon would be shining down on the formally dressed guests gathered around the swimming pool, but Trump wanted to light up the scene like day itself, and he brought in 72,000 watts of additional lighting. Parked along the Intracoastal Waterway were vintage Packard automobiles, another nod to the Roaring Twenties.

The club had actually been open to members since April, but Trump wanted a spectacular evening to shine attention on his accomplishment and lift him even higher in the mass consciousness. “People can’t believe how many members we have,” Trump told a Palm Beach Daily News reporter, looking out on the 350 members and guests. “The place sells itself.”

Trump believed that boasting about hundreds of Palm Beachers throwing their checks at him would cause a stampede for memberships. His enemy was always the literal truth, and what he was saying wasn’t quite what had happened.

Despite Trump’s assertion that he had initially charged $50,000, doubling the amount to $100,000 after the informal opening, most of the first 100 members paid $25,000. The money had been kept in escrow, and if the club never opened, they would have gotten their money back.

For some, it was cheaper than that. “I had half a dozen clients that didn’t pay to get in,” said C.P.A. Richard Rampell, whose brother, Paul, was Trump’s attorney. “Trump comped them because he thought that they would bring in other people.” Trump gave one man free membership in return for carpeting and cut almost as many different deals as there were members. For all his braying and boasting, Trump needed to attract new members who would shell out major money, and this showy gala was one way to do it.

Trump was still rising out of a financial debacle that included four business bankruptcies and a sale of many of his assets. “Half of his body was out of the quicksand, but the other half was still there,” says one early member. “Several New Yorkers warned me not to join. They said Trump was going down, taking Mar-a-Lago with him.”

The invitees entered the driveway past a gauntlet of cameramen filming for CNN, Fox, and other television outlets. No one else but Trump could have gotten national television networks to cover a party promoting a private club, but there they were. As the guests arrived through the main gates, they were serenaded by a row of violinists culled from classical musicians in South Florida, and as new arrivals entered the mansion, waiters offered cocktails, flutes of champagne, and hors d’oeuvres. The guests moved outside, where professional dancers dressed as flappers and their beaux danced the Charleston.