June 6, 2016

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Trump University Customer: 'Gold Elite' Program Nothing But Fool's Gold

Bob Guillo attended a Trump University retreat session which cost $35,000. He learned little from the program and later asked for his money back.

Bob Guillo attended a Trump University retreat session which cost $35,000. He learned little from the program and later asked for his money back. Courtesy of Bob Guillo hide caption

toggle caption Courtesy of Bob Guillo

A lot of famous and important people have felt the sting of Donald Trump’s invective in recent months, including former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney, British Prime Minister David Cameron and even the pope.

And then there’s Bob Guillo, of Manhasset, N.Y.

The 76-year-old Long Island retiree found himself singled out by Trump in a speech on May 27 because he had criticized Trump University, one of the presumptive Republican presidential nominee’s most controversial business ventures.

Guillo paid nearly $35,000 to be part of Trump University’s “Gold Elite” program, taking money out of his individual retirement account to pay for it. It was a decision he would come to regret.

“At first it was embarrassing,” Guillo says in an interview with NPR. “Then I became very, very angry that the man that scammed me out of all that money had the audacity to run for president. And I’m still angry.”

Guillo’s involvement with the program began in 2009, when he accompanied his grown son, Alex, to a program that promised to teach people how to make money in real estate. The three-day event cost $1,495 to attend.

The session took place at a hotel on Manhattan’s East Side. Guillo remembers signs in the hotel lobby that read, “This Way to Success.” Inside the auditorium was a large cardboard cutout of Trump, and attendees had their picture taken alongside it.

The people running the session were more like motivational speakers than trained real estate professionals, and they were very persuasive, Guillo says.

“The first thing they said was, ‘Guys, Mr. Trump is a multibillionaire and he doesn’t need your money. He’s doing this to be benevolent and to allow people like you to become successful like he is,’ ” Guillo says.

Almost immediately, the speakers began pressuring people to sign up for more classes, and when someone balked at spending more money or asked for time to think about it, they turned up the heat, Guillo says.

“They try to embarrass you, saying, ‘Why do you have to talk to your wife? Why do you have to talk to your husband? Can’t you make decisions by yourself? We’re offering you an opportunity of a lifetime here,’ ” he says.

In fact, Trump University sales people were actively encouraged to sell programs to attendees and were taught ways to overcome their resistance when possible, according to confidential documents released last week.

After signing up for the Gold Elite status, a kind of year-long program of mentoring sessions and educational seminars, Guillo says he realized pretty quickly that the information it provided was largely worthless. Attendees were told to use the real estate website Trulia.com to find properties, or to go to the website of the Internal Revenue Service, irs.gov, to learn about federal tax deductions, he says.

“I knew about those websites before I walked into Trump University. So the more and more I got involved in Trump University, the more and more I found out that I had truly been scammed,” he says.

It’s a picture that Jill Martin, vice president and assistant general counsel at the Trump Organization, disputes.

Far from being worthless, the Gold Elite program featured numerous valuable seminars on different aspects of the real estate industry, allowing attendees to choose what they wanted to focus on, Martin says. In fact, many people complained the classes were too detailed, she says.

But, Martin adds, “No education can guarantee success. Education can only give the students the tools they need to apply in the real world to be successful.”

Ultimately, when Guillo contacted Trump University officials to demand his money back, he was turned down. He subsequently filed a complaint with the office of the New York attorney general.

The office already had heard numerous complaints about the program, according to current Attorney General Eric Schneiderman, and was about to file civil fraud charges against it. Meanwhile, class-action suits had been filed against Trump University in California.

Guillo subsequently appeared in an anti-Trump TV commercial funded by a group with ties to Sen. Marco Rubio of Florida, who was then running against Trump in the Republican primary.

Trump maintains that the legal challenges against the program are politically motivated. He also says the vast majority of attendees were satisfied with the program and filled out cards giving it highest marks. Among the critics he cited by name was Guillo.

“You have this guy, Bob Guillo,” Trump said during his May 27 speech. “He appeared in TV attack ads, even though he rated the programs a five — meaning excellent, the top mark, across the board.”

Guillo acknowledges that he gave the program high marks in comment cards submitted when it was nearly over, but says he and the other attendees were pressured to do so by instructors.

“They would say, ‘OK, if you don’t rate me a five, I’m not going to come back here, and I’ve got a wife and kids,’ and most of the people who were there said, ‘It doesn’t cost me anything,’ ” he says.

But Guillo says none of the attendees knew the cards would later be used by Trump as a defense against lawsuits.

Schneiderman, the New York attorney general, adds, “The Trump system was to have people fill out an evaluation form with the instructor standing right in front of them, and it was not an anonymous form.”

That exerted pressure on the attendees to give high marks, he says.

But Martin, the Trump Organization attorney, says those allegations are “not credible” and insists that instructors were not even in the room nearby when the cards were filled out.

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Muhammed Ali Vs. Sonny Liston: The 'Worst Mess In History Of Sports'

In remembrance of Muhammed Ali, NPR looks back at Robert Siegel’s conversation with filmmaker Gary Robinov, director of Raising Ali, about the 50th anniversary of the heavyweight boxing match between Ali and Sonny Liston in Lewiston, Maine. This story originally aired on May 22, 2015, on All Things Considered.

Transcript

ROBERT SIEGEL, HOST:

The death Friday of Muhammed Ali has had me remembering many stories I’ve heard over the years about the champ’s career. Here’s a story that we ran here a little over a year ago. It was about a fight in 1965. In those days, to be boxing’s heavyweight champion was to enjoy global recognition. A title bout was as big as the seventh game of the World Series or the NFL championship game. There was no Super Bowl yet.

But the 1965 fight in question went down as the worst mess in the history of sports. And for a fight that commanded worldwide attention, it happened in a very unlikely place – Lewiston, Maine.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

JOHNNY ADDIE: The main event – 15 rounds for the heavyweight championship of the world.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED BROADCAST)

SIEGEL: It was a rematch. The challenger was the former champion.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

ADDIE: Sonny Liston.

(APPLAUSE)

SIEGEL: In the other corner – the champ, who had recently changed his name.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

ADDIE: Muhammed Ali.

(APPLAUSE)

SIEGEL: Previously known as Cassius Clay. The ring announcer Johnny Addie used Ali’s new name there, but throughout that night’s radio broadcast of the match, the sportscasters called him by the name Ali had abandoned.

(SOUNDBITE)

UNIDENTIFIED CASTER #1: Cassius Clay, who’s shadowboxing right above us, weighs…

SIEGEL: This is what I heard that night on New York radio station WHN. I was almost 18 and wouldn’t have missed a heavyweight title fight. Twenty-two-year-old Phil Phil Greiss (ph) was listening too. He made this recording.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

UNIDENTIFIED CASTER #1: The referee has called the two fighters to the center of the ring, and let’s listen to the instructions.

UNIDENTIFIED REFEREE: I know you’re both in good condition…

SIEGEL: The most amazing thing about this fight before it began was that it was in Lewiston, a small Maine mill town. It was supposed to be in Boston, but the DA there wouldn’t have it. There were fears of organized crime being involved. There was a rumored death threat against Ali by members of the Nation of Islam.

GARY ROBINOV: So they scrambled to find a new venue, and most states wouldn’t touch it.

SIEGEL: Gary has made a documentary about the fight and its lasting effect on Lewiston. He says the fight organizers scrambled because tickets had already been sold for closed-circuit telecasts of the bout.

ROBINOV: And got hold of a gentleman by the name of Sam Michael. Sam was a pawnbroker and former economic growth counselor in Lewiston, and he was also a small-town fight promoter.

And they got hold of Sam, and Sam got hold of the then-state boxing commissioner George Russo. And they both got in touch with the governor. The governor agreed to let the fight be held there, and the governor signed the announcement on May 7. So these guys had, you know, 17, 18 days to put together a world heavyweight championship fight in Lewiston, Maine.

SIEGEL: (Laughter) In a city of about 40,000 people, in an arena that had only 2,500 paying customers – and such a mess. It began with the Broadway star Robert Goulet singing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” I can remember this.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

ADDIE: Ladies and gentlemen, national anthem.

ROBERT GOULET: (Singing) O, say can you see by the dawn’s early night…

ROBINOV: That’s true. There are several stories behind it that he had been entertained by family and friends before the fight and maybe had a couple of cocktails. Another was that he was so nervous that he had written the lyrics on the palm of his hand, and he was so nervous and sweating that they blurred on the palm of his hand.

But he got out of sync with the organist and messed up a couple of words, and it followed him for the rest of his life.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

GOULET: (Singing) O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

(APPLAUSE)

SIEGEL: So the night begins with a bungled “Star-Spangled Banner,” and then comes one of the strangest heavyweight title bouts that anyone ever saw or, like me, heard on the radio.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

UNIDENTIFIED CASTER #1: They’re staring at each other. There’s the bell, and here’s (unintelligible).

UNIDENTIFIED CASTER #2: And Clay throws a right hand to the head and scores right away, comes in with a left and crosses with a right.

SIEGEL: What went on? How long did it last?

ROBINOV: It varies. The punch – or the phantom punch, as it’s referred to – occurred at a-minute-44 into the first round.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

UNIDENTIFIED CASTER #2: Liston now, his head bobbing – and goes to his knees.

ROBINOV: There’s mass confusion caused by a calamity of events, one of them being that Jersey Joe Walcott, the former heavyweight champ, was actually the referee that night and, being a little inexperienced in that capacity, got out of sync with the official knockdown timekeeper. Muhammad Ali didn’t immediately go to a neutral corner, which delayed the count.

And by the time things got rolling, we’re about a-minute-56 in. Liston’s back up, and the two fighters re-engage. They actually fought. Most people don’t realize that those guys actually started fighting again.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

UNIDENTIFIED CASTER #1: Clay on top of Liston, goes to the left to the top of the head now.

ROBINOV: And at that point, Liston is beckoned over to the timekeepers, and it’s actually a gentleman by the name of Nat Fleischer – was sitting behind the knockdown timekeeper.

SIEGEL: A famous man in the world boxing.

ROBINOV: Yeah. He’s the editor – founder and editor of Ring magazine, and he is waving his arms, saying he’s been down for more than 10; he’s been down for more than 10. This fight is over. So actually, in some strange way, the editor of Ring magazine officially called the fight over.

SIEGEL: (Laughter).

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

UNIDENTIFIED CASTER #1: Now here comes Jersey Joe Walcott…

JERSEY JOE WALCOTT: He’s out.

UNIDENTIFIED CASTER #1: …And says it’s all over. They (unintelligible), and it is all over. And they are going wild in the center of the ring.

SIEGEL: I’m trying to imagine what it was like for the people of Lewiston, Maine, to have in there, in this town of about 40,000 people, a huge press corps. There were hundreds of reporters there, yeah?

ROBINOV: Yeah. There was about 600 reporters. The arena held about 4,500 people. They sold 2,400 tickets. They figure with press, people that snuck in, vendors and the like, the tickets they gave away, about 4,000 people were present.

SIEGEL: In addition to the quantity of people who were there, there were some superstars.

ROBINOV: Yeah. The Cinderella Man was there, James J. Braddock. It was an amazing parade, a who’s who of boxing dignitaries. Add to that Liz Taylor, Frank Sinatra, Jackie Gleason. Celebrities from all around the country and the world are flying into this little town, Lewiston, Maine, to attend the world heavyweight championship, the biggest title in all of boxing held in the smallest town ever, to the smallest-attended audience ever. And the whole thing’s over in a-minute-44 seconds or two minutes and two seconds depending who you ask.

SIEGEL: (Laughter).

ROBINOV: And by the time they’re seated and sipping on their first beer or adjusting their coats, the fight’s over.

SIEGEL: Gary Robinov, thanks a lot for talking with us.

ROBINOV: It’s been my pleasure. Thank you so much, Robert.

SIEGEL: That was Maine filmmaker Gary Robinov talking to us about Muhammad Ali’s fight in Lewiston, Maine, in 1965. He made a documentary about the fight called “Raising Ali.”

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

MUHAMMAD ALI: Didn’t I tell the world that I had a surprise and that if I told you the surprise, you would not come to the fight? With me was almighty Allah and his messenger, and I’ve been saying my prayers regular, living a righteous life…

UNIDENTIFIED MAN: Right.

ALI: And as you see what happens.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN: Wait a minute, now let me ask you this if I may. Wait a minute.

Copyright © 2016 NPR. All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions pages at www.npr.org for further information.

NPR transcripts are created on a rush deadline by Verb8tm, Inc., an NPR contractor, and produced using a proprietary transcription process developed with NPR. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Accuracy and availability may vary. The authoritative record of NPR’s programming is the audio record.

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For Doctors And Patients, 'Veterans Choice' Often Means Long Waits

Psychologist Diane Adams devotes a portion of her private practice in Renton, Wash., to veterans. But she said the bureaucracy involved in the Veterans Choice program has proved frustrating and veterans have had a hard time getting approval to see her.

Psychologist Diane Adams devotes a portion of her private practice in Renton, Wash., to veterans. But she said the bureaucracy involved in the Veterans Choice program has proved frustrating and veterans have had a hard time getting approval to see her. Patricia Murphy/KUOW hide caption

toggle caption Patricia Murphy/KUOW

When clinical psychiatrist Cher Morrow-Bradley and other health care providers call the Veterans Choice program, they are greeted with a recorded, 90-second “thank you” from Veterans Affairs Secretary Bob McDonald.

It’s not having the intended effect.

“Why don’t you make this easier? The process is so cumbersome, and I have to listen to you thanking me for spending all this time and then I get put on hold,” says Morrow-Bradley, adding that she hasn’t figured out how to skip the message.

She and many others say this is emblematic of the Veterans Choice program that was intended to quickly work through the backlog of vets waiting for medical care. Anyone more than 40 miles from a Veterans Affairs facility or waiting more than 30 days for an appointment could go get private care outside the VA system.

But nearly two years in, there are more vets waiting than before. Health care providers are frustrated with the program, which makes it hard to keep them in the network. Without enough providers to see them, vets end up waiting anyway.

Or, in Morrow-Bradley’s case, the vets get the care and the doctors don’t get paid in a timely fashion, if at all.

She moved to North Carolina to work with veterans, first at the VA and now in a small private practice. Previously she gave VA patients care as a private doctor through a program called PC3. When Veterans Choice started in 2014, she was happy to participate, because she knows VA mental health specialists are overwhelmed.

A Satisfied Patient

One Afghanistan vet, Jacob Hansel, gives Morrow-Bradley a rave review.

“I believe therapy is stronger than medicine,” says the former Marine, who returned from deployment with serious anxiety and depression issues. When the local VA told him it would be a four-month wait for a therapist, he used the Choice program to see Morrow-Bradley.

“I have days when I almost have panic attacks. … A lot of it is just realizing when the anxiety comes; she’s helped me figure how to keep it under control,” says Hansel.

Morrow-Bradley has treated Hansel since last year, along with others in the Choice program. She has submitted her bills to a company called Health Net, which administers Veterans Choice across most of the Eastern United States.

“I just assumed I was being paid. I found out six months later I had five, six [thousand dollars] outstanding to Veterans Choice,” says Morrow-Bradley.

It took her most of a year to get paid. Health Net refused requests for an interview.

Dr. David Shulkin, the head of the Veterans Health Administration, acknowledges this problem has hindered the Choice program in getting providers big and small.

“One thing I know is that when you perform a service, when you see a patient, you want to be paid. And these hospital systems don’t have the cash flow to be waiting around for months and months to get paid,” he says.

Shulkin points to one rule that has been scrapped to speed up reimbursement — originally providers wouldn’t get paid until they had returned an updated medical record to the VA.

Challenges In Getting Certified

Other providers say they want to join the Veterans Choice program but can’t jump through the hoops to get certified.

Psychologist Diane Adams devotes a portion of her practice in Renton, Wash., to veterans, saying it’s something she considers important.

She sees patients at her home office at the midpoint of a steep winding hill. Adams has provided counseling to veterans as part of the VA’s community care programs for nearly a decade.

Last July, she got a letter inviting her to join the Choice program, from TriWest Healthcare Alliance, the company that administers Veterans Choice in most of the Western U.S.

Adams went online together to begin the credentialing process. It all seemed pretty straightforward.

“We checked that box and waited and waited,” Adams said.

In December, after hearing nothing for five months, Adams finally gave TriWest a call.

“I spoke with somebody and yes, they had received my information and they thought, well maybe it’s just taking a long time for the contractual process,” Adams said.

Adams called back again in January and March. Each time a courteous TriWest representative took a message. No one called back.

Tri West’s chief medical officer, Frank Maguire, acknowledges the Veterans Choice program isn’t exactly nimble.

“Things have gotten much better but I’ll tell you we still have persistent educational confusion issues. The program itself is not uncomplicated,” Maguire said.

As a result, small mistakes can mean big problems. Turns out, way back, when Adams filled out the first form, she checked the wrong box. And that held everything up. Finally, in March, Adams was informed that she’d been credentialed since January and should have gotten a welcome letter. It never arrived.

Maguire says the program is still new and may need more time.

“We think we’ve done consistently a much better job as time has gone on,” Maguire said. “At the same time there’s not a lot of patience. People want it perfect right away and it’s a new program. I think still needs more time to mature.”

Now that she’s in, Adams faces a new hurdle: Some of her regular veteran patients can’t get Veterans Choice to approve visits to see her.

Vets are supposed to be able to call the number on the back of their Choice card and get an appointment. But so far it’s been like climbing that steep winding hill to her office — more phone calls, more faxing, more forms.

“I guess what I’m worried about is what happens to the veterans who can’t handle it and they just don’t have the internal resources to put up with it and so they throw up their hands and they give up,” Adams said.

Interrupting Care

A possible interruption in treatment is a particular problem for mental health care, where continuity is paramount.

It’s no accident that both Adams and Morrow-Bradley are mental health care providers. That’s one of the areas in shortest supply at the VA. Unfortunately the Choice program hasn’t been well-suited to fixing that problem.

In North Carolina, Morrow-Bradley keeps seeing her Choice patients. Some come free. Others use secondary insurance that at least pays some of the bill. She says she can’t just halt treatment.

“It’s not like I’m a dentist. If I start working on your teeth then you could go [elsewhere to] be seen and the work would be completed,” she said. “Post-traumatic stress disorder work is very sensitive. You need to have a relationship with the person; it’s stressful for the therapist and the client.”

And Healthnet won’t authorize enough visits at a time, she says. For patients she needs to see twice a week it would take a new authorization almost every month.

“People have been not very interested in participating,” said Chuck Ingoglia, with the National Council on Behavioral Health, a group of 2,800 mental health organizations nationwide.

He says the Choice program doesn’t cover much beyond basic therapy. If you do anything additional you won’t get reimbursed.

“Participating in the Vets Choice program would limit the kind of robust mental health and substance use treatment they have historically been able to provide to veterans.”

For those reasons and others, at least two states, Maine and Montana, have taken the extraordinary step of excluding mental health care from their Choice program. They use other programs to pay for it and have sent harshly critical letters to the VA about the Choice program.

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