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By Taki Theodoracopulos February
24, 2001 (The Spectator)
The jet-set is in mourning and, like Electra, it becomes it. Marc Rich
has called off his Las Vegas-theme party in St Moritz this weekend….
The reason given was the bad publicity and the hounding of the host by
the press…. The last time Marc Rich called off a party was in Spain,
about five or six years ago. His Mossad-trained bodyguards were tipped
off that his private jet would be forced down the moment it left Swiss
airspace by Yankee F-16s, so he stayed put. No reason was offered back
then. Although the US government was out to grab him, Rich had the proverbial
ace up his sleeve.
By giving lotsa moolah to Israel, he was being fed
information by Mossad that even the top brass of the Pentagon weren't
getting. Mossad knew that the snatch was on by listening in on the Americans.
They tipped off the fugitive fraudster, a move that eventually made Bill
Clinton rich, pun intended.
Last week I wrote in my own 'Taki's Top Drawer'
that, as America was not as
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"The way to Uncle Sam's heart
runs through Tel Aviv and Israeli-occupied territory"
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yet Israel-occupied territory, the 200 million
Rich gave to those nice guys, who attack rock-throwing youth with armor-piercing
missiles, should not count as philanthropy where America is concerned.
To my great annoyance the sentence never appeared.
When I rang in an Orlando Furioso mood, I was told by a very polite flunky
that 'we were trying to protect you, this is New York'….
Well, there you have it. Marc Rich I have never
met and hope never to. I once went out to dinner following a Norman Mailer
book party with a Greek called Olga and Norman's son, my buddy Michael
Mailer, the boxer and film producer, who happened to have an Estee Lauder
blonde(common but not too bad) in tow. The blonde thought my girl was
from the lower classes because she (Olga) stood up to shake hands with
her. She snubbed her throughout the evening. (Actually, she's a Greek
royal.) We went to Elaine's, and after lotsa boozing, I asked the blonde
her name. 'Daniella Rich', came the answer. Being well oiled, I told her
it was not her fault her father was a Christian-basher who had caused
more harm to Broadway and the theatre in general than Bomber Harris had
to Dresden. She looked nonplussed. 'My father hates the theatre, never
goes,' or words to that effect. Then the penny dropped. Papa was not fat
Frank Rich of the New York Times. Papa was the crook who was to pull off
the impossible: drag the whore Bill Clinton down to his level.
But back to the party which never was. A pretty
American girl called Serena Boardman was coming all the way from Noo Yawk
for it. When I asked her whether she would go to a party given, say, by
John Gotti, the dapper Don, as the Big Bagel tabloids refer to him, she
told me it was not the same thing. 'Yes,' I said. 'Gotti is dumb and in
jail; Rich, the far bigger criminal and traitor, is in St Moritz.' That's
the way it goes, sports fans. The truly big crooks get away with it and
go to St Moritz and Gstaad, the little guys go to the big house up the
river. And if any of you believe that Rich has not passed money under
the table to Bill Clinton, then you should also believe that I'm Monica
Lewinsky's mother.
Marc Rich, however, has done us a favor. By
bribing everyone and sundry, he managed to expose the side of Clinton
so many leftists and liberals refused to see. He also proved what we soi-disant
anti-Semites for daring to protest about soldiers shooting at kids, always
knew. The way to Uncle Sam's heart runs through Tel Aviv and Israeli-occupied
territory. Rich and Clinton deserve each other. Both make everyone around
them seem bigger.
 
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