Jon Tevlin: That time I met Donald Trump

I got to spend a minute with Donald Trump in 2006 behind the stage at a "motivational seminar" at the Minneapolis Convention Center.

Trump was the keynote speaker at the all-day event, which featured a lineup of hucksters selling books on how to flip houses or CDs of motivational patter. Some of the "courses" cost more than $3,000, but, as the saying goes, "There's a sucker born every minute."

Whoever said that was a slow counter.

The event began with women in miniskirts and a guy throwing rubber vomit into the crowd to make a point about bad sales pitches. Looking back, it doesn't seem so outrageous now. Boxer George Foreman even made some pithy remarks about success, then got down to the job of selling his grills.

Before I went to the event, I called a couple of economics professors to ask about the value of these programs. Daryl Koehn, director of Center for Business Ethics at the University of St. Thomas in Houston, told me the seminars were "part of the long-standing tradition in America of the get-rich-quick scheme. I've heard America has more words for 'con' than any other language," he said, presciently.

Just before Trump's speech, a few reporters got in a couple of questions. I told Trump that a recent book questioned his business acumen and actual wealth, as did several stories in prominent business publications. His show had also dropped several million viewers that season. "So, why should people take your advice?" I asked.

Trump stared at me, then slowly looked me over, from my proudly comb-over-free bald head to my Men's Warehouse sport coat and scuffed Timberland loafers.

As for the critical book, "We've sued them and they are very concerned," Trump said. (The suit was dismissed).

"Any more nice questions?"

I chuckled and his smirk turned to the kind of phony smile you saw on Jack Nicholson's Joker.

This was all a lark and we were both part of it. He knew it. I knew it. And he knew that I knew it. He got his name in the paper, I got a great quote. How could these interactions possibly lead somewhere more sinister?

It turns out the event was just the early phase of a bad reality show that might be titled "American Spectacle."

I asked one if she really supported Trump. "I'm just here to see his comb-over," she said.

Trump finally emerged onstage, surrounded by beautiful women as fake money and confetti rained down, the refrain "Money, Money, Money, Money" blaring over the sound system.

The people with the Trump signs gleefully raised them above their heads, as directed by Trump's handlers.

We were all there for this, for the hollow promises of great wealth, for the money falling from the sky, for the women in miniskirts, for the fake vomit and the comb-over.

We were part of a great, gaudy caper that day. We still are, all of us.