By J. Patrick Coolican

Wed, Dec 20, 2006 (7:20 a.m.)

East of where Trump International is rising, past several Wal-Marts and adult bookstores and concrete slabs of apartments, sits Sam's Town.

Inside, beyond the quarter slots and low-stakes tables, past the indoor faux wilderness and the mechanical bear, up the escalator toward the McDonald's, the Trump Institute is meeting.

About 75 people have come to learn from Trump, or his paid teachers anyway, about getting wealthy the Trump Way.

They are at Sam's Town because they have probably seen The Donald starring in his own late-night infomercial - like the kind used to sell Miracle Mops and Dean Martin DVDs - in which a young blond woman interviews Trump about his business seminars, which will help make American insomniacs rich.

That's how we got to the Ponderosa Ballroom at Sam's Town on Tuesday.

"It was Donald Trump advertising, and I thought, who's better than him?" said Mary Woodworth, who mistakenly believed the man himself would appear.

Instead, a large video screen shows his visage: the protruding lips, the bizarre blond weave or comb-over or toupee.

"I've been able to make billions in real estate, gaming, television, publishing ... Great deals in hidden markets ... The Trump Way to build your real estate empire ... Live the lifestyle of your dreams." Trump praises the teacher, who's been "handpicked," although he doesn't name him.

Steve Wyman comes to the stage, wearing a headset microphone. He speaks rapidly, forcefully, constantly. In his snowman tie, he's a great salesman, and that's his first order of business.

Like the pitch for a Florida time share in exchange for a set of luggage or a camera, the point of Tuesday's free session is to sell attendees another two-day session, this one just $1,499, or roughly $100 an hour.

Oh, but rest assured, Wyman says, it's worth it: "What we cover in one afternoon can impact the rest of your life."

Wyman even shows photos on the large screen of competitors in the late-night TV real estate seminar game, including one Carleton Sheets: "None of the other seminars (is) on the Forbes 400. Donald Trump is a billionaire. Those others are thousandaires."

Of course, Trump had the advantage of inheriting millions from his father, Fred. And there's some dispute about Trump's wealth and his actual real estate prowess.

According to Timothy O'Brien's "TrumpNation," Trump's wealth is far less than $1 billion. Because his holdings are private, Forbes has often had to rely on Trump to determine his net worth. With so much of his public persona and brand tied up in an image of wealth and glamour, O'Brien argues, Trump has an incentive to inflate his riches.

Moreover, O'Brien reports that Trump doesn't necessarily own the buildings that bear his name: He receives a management and construction fee, and in exchange, the developer can use Trump in the title. (Trump has sued O'Brien and his publisher for the effrontery of underestimating his wealth.)

If true, though, it might help explain the infomercial and the seminar that promises money from government grants and no-money-down mortgages.

Sean Yazbeck, the current "Apprentice" victor and a Trump spokesman, said 500,000 people have attended seminars such as the one at Sam's Town this year. (There were five others in Las Vegas over the past few days.) He couldn't say how many had bought the $1,499 seminar, but even if it's only 10 percent, that's $75 million.

This is the current Trump genius: He has turned his very name into a set of symbols - private jets, penthouse towers, solid gold fixtures. And now he's selling it not to the wealthy, many of whom find him tacky and gauche, but to working people. He's the Wal-Mart of wealth and glamour.

The name Trump is almost mystical, and indeed, just substitute "God" for "Trump," and Wyman could have been a prosperity Gospel preacher: "Trump says, 'I'm giving you an opportunity here' ... Trump doesn't do anything shoddy." The stage was flanked by softly lighted banners, one a forgiving image of Trump's face, the other a simple black banner in Trump font: Trump Change.

The Wyman pitch had its moments of celebrations of American insatiability: "I said, 'This isn't enough. I want more. Isn't that OK? This is America!' "

(Around this time, Woodworth and her companion leave. "Not what we thought," one says.)

At other moments, Wyman offered a warning to the attendees: "If you don't plan, plan to fail. Nobody cares about you."

For those who stuck around to the end, there was a free paperback copy of "Think Like a Billionaire" in it for them.

Wyman's speech about the wonders of the real estate market might sound familiar to anyone who has been assaulted with an Amway pitch: More time with your family. Retire early. Enjoy your lifestyle.

When he told everyone it was time to sign up, "first come, first served," many broke for the back. At least 25 were signing up.

Carmen Turner, who works in a poker room on the Strip, said she was inspired.

"I've always wanted to do something I was good at, and I think I could be good at this," Turner said. "I have brains and a personality."

But Tracy Weiss, a waitress finishing her accounting degree and in the market for her first house, opted out.

"It seems a little expensive," Weiss said. "And I think with my own research, and my own intelligence, I can do this on my own."