Little Pink House Part 16

Von Winkle, Matt Dery, and Tim LeBlanc tried to coax Susette down from her porch. "C'mon, Red," Von Winkle said, "you gotta go."

She kept sweeping, oblivious to the danger. "They're making such a mess." Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the film of dirt on her skin. She appeared to be in shock. No one knew what to do.

"C'mon, Red, I'll take you downtown," Von Winkle said. "We'll have a beer."

Refusing to move, she started wailing.

Barberi had seen enough. He approached Susette. "I'm sorry," he said, his husky voice nearly a whisper. "I didn't know this was going on down here." He turned on the NLDC official. "You never told me this was goin' on down here," he shouted in anger, waving a finger in the official's face. "I can't do any more work with her standing here."

"Susie," LeBlanc said softly, "come on."

The captain of the police department pulled up. The group explained the situation to him. The captain didn't want to arrest Susette. Von Winkle took one more shot at coaxing her down. He approached her on the porch. "Look, you've got the captain of the police department and the chief of the fire department here," he said empathetically. "C'mon, Red. Your house will be okay. We'll come back in a couple hours, and it will all be over."

She dropped her broom and came down from the porch. LeBlanc helped her into the back of Von Winkle's car. Then he called the hospital and explained Susette would be unable to report for her nursing s.h.i.+ft that night. Von Winkle took Susette to a bar, where she drank until she couldn't feel the pain anymore.

The next morning, Susette woke up groggy, hoping it had all been a terrible nightmare. She looked out the window. The houses on her street were all gone, replaced by mounds of rock, concrete, busted wood, and dirt. Her neighborhood resembled a war zone. It had not been a bad dream.

She got up, showered, and put on a pot of coffee. Then the doorbell rang. Expecting Von Winkle, she answered. It was Chico Barberi, wearing a tank top. "I'm sorry," he said, handing her a gift basket of perfumed soaps.

She invited him in and offered him a cup of coffee. He followed her through the house to the back porch. They overlooked the piles of debris he had made of her neighbors' homes.

"It's going to be okay, Susette," he said in a low voice.

Too hurt to be mad, Susette just looked away and cried.

In twenty years of demolition work, Barberi had never been face-to-face with a crying homeowner. He put his mug down and wrapped his ma.s.sive arms around her. Susette buried her face in his shoulder.

Barberi had seen enough.

"I'll never tear your house down," he said. "If it ever comes to that, I'll never do it."

As soon as Barberi left, Susette called Scott Bullock at his Was.h.i.+ngton law office. Pacing back and forth behind his desk, Bullock grimaced, trying to contain his fury while listening to Susette's account of the demolitions. Legally, he knew the NLDC had the right to destroy the homes; the agency had owners.h.i.+p of the properties. Politically, however, Bullock saw the move as a brutal tactical maneuver to intimidate Susette and the other holdouts.

"What should I do?" Susette asked.

"Try to hang in there," Bullock advised.

"I've about had it, Scott. I can't keep living my life with this threat over my head."

"They were able to do that with those homes," Bullock said, hearing the desperation in her voice. "But that doesn't mean they will be able to do it to yours."

"Okay," she whimpered. "Okay."

As soon as he hung up, Bullock stormed into his law partner Dana Berliner's office and told her what had happened.

Berliner clucked in disbelief. "Why is the city acting so irrationally?" she asked calmly.

"Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds tore down those houses to send a message," Bullock ranted. "This was absolutely unnecessary!"

"Legally, the city owned those homes and had a right to tear them down," Berliner reasoned. "But they-"

"But they did it to show the inevitability, to show that this is a done deal," Bullock said, cutting her off, his voice rising. "They did this to show that it's only a matter of time before they get to Susette's house and the rest of them who have the audacity audacity to challenge this." to challenge this."

"Well, it's not a done deal," Berliner said.

"Claire takes delight in saying she is engaged in this glorious work of transformation," Bullock said. "The fact that such tyrannical and petty acts could be dressed up in high-minded rhetoric about the greater good is just disgusting. Some of the worst acts in human history were justified as the pursuit of a greater good."

Berliner didn't attempt to slow Bullock down.

"I want to take these people on," Bullock said. "I want to sue those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

Attorney Tom Londregan reviewed the pet.i.tions signed by the city residents seeking a referendum on the question of whether the NLDC should demolish homes. It was clear that more than enough people had signed the pet.i.tions. But Londregan found a different legal defect: timing. The protestors, he determined, should have filed their pet.i.tions within fifteen days of the city's granting the NLDC the power to use eminent domain. The city had made that decision back in January. The time to repeal or put the city council's decision before the city's registered voters had pa.s.sed. Londregan sent the city clerk a two-page memorandum declaring the pet.i.tion to save the Fort Trumbull homes invalid.

The same day, Scott Sawyer went to court on behalf of the Fort Trumbull Conservancy and secured a temporary restraining order to stop the NLDC from demolis.h.i.+ng any more homes. Two days later, a judge lifted the order. The conservancy had no legal grounds to keep the NLDC from demolis.h.i.+ng homes that it already owned.

28.

PUT A PRETTY FACE ON IT.

Late September 2000 The U.S. Coast Guard had been searching for a site on which to erect its national museum. The NLDC figured there was no better place than New London, home to the Coast Guard Academy, perched on 128 acres on the banks of the Thames River, next door to Connecticut College. The NLDC lobbied the coast guard to make its museum part of the large-scale redevelopment plan in Fort Trumbull-specifically on East Street.

After months of discussions, the NLDC put out word that the coast guard had committed to building in Fort Trumbull and that Rear Admiral Patrick Stillman planned to visit the area. He could not have picked a worse time to inspect possible sites. Piles of busted lumber, twisted house siding, broken bricks and cement, and shredded insulation littered the lots that only days earlier had hosted houses. Temporary orange mesh fencing separated the lots from the sidewalk. Their backs to the fencing, protestors lined the sidewalk all the way to Susette's house, one of the few homes left standing on the block.

With stars and stripes on his uniform jacket, Admiral Stillman approached the protestors, trailed by a uniformed officer. Steve and Amy Hallquist looked him straight in the eye and held up their cardboard sign: "Proverbs 22:16: He that oppresseth the poor to increase his riches and he that giveth to the rich shall surely come to want."

Press photographers snapped shots of the admiral as he walked past Connecticut College students and coalition members telling him not to displace poor homeowners to make way for his museum. The farther Stillman walked down the street, the uglier it got. Susette looked down from her porch. "The coast guard is supposed to save people, not drown them," she said.

Her pink home looked out of place on a street that otherwise looked like it had endured a military bombing. Stillman had heard about Susette's house and her determination to hold on to it. She had made her own sign for the admiral and stuck it near some beautiful mums. Shaped like a Halloween pumpkin, it read: "Cackle, Cackle, Screamie, Screamie, Taking People's Homes Is Awful Meanie."

The admiral didn't like what he saw. The coast guard didn't need to get dragged into a street fight between residents and the NLDC. He penned Susette a letter.

"I understand and can fully appreciate your concerns regarding the future of the land bordered by Smith, Trumbull, East and Walbach Streets," he wrote. "As a property owner, you justifiably have the right to voice your concerns over the matter. If placed in a similar situation, I too would exercise my right to ensure that my viewpoint was made known to the decision-makers with regard to the proposed use of the land."

He said there had been some public confusion concerning the coast guard's intent. He outlined the purpose and scope of the museum, along with the type of site the museum required.

"In closing, and on behalf of the Commandant, I'd like to state that we are not committed to the property bordered by Smith, Trumbull, East and Walbach Streets as the site for the U.S. Coast Guard Museum," he wrote.

Susette faxed a copy to Scott Bullock's law office.

To defuse the impa.s.se with the faculty, Claire and the board of trustees planned to propose a sabbatical for Claire. But too many faculty members wanted Claire gone permanently. Students were clamoring for her removal too. About two hundred of them had marched on campus, chanting: "Hey hey, ho ho, we'd like to know where'd our money go?"

But Claire maintained the criticisms levied at her over school finances were unfounded. "Connecticut College is extremely well-planned and well-managed financially," she told the Chronicle of Higher Education. Chronicle of Higher Education.

Yet the college newspaper continued to hammer away at Claire. Front-page stories highlighted the controversy surrounding Claire and the NLDC's attempts to seize homes by eminent domain. Students wrote letters to the editor blasting Claire. "Please feel free to explain to the community how tearing down the Fort Trumbull neighborhood for a hotel that will only be used by Pfizer employees will accomplish any of this [social justice]," one student wrote. "We will not allow you to destroy people's homes and we will not allow you to destroy New London's heritage. We will lead the way to social justice." The editorial-page cartoonist went after Claire, depicting her straddling the back of a collapsed camel. "The camel's back is not broken. In fact it is stronger than ever," read the words coming from Claire's mouth. The paper also ran a color photo on the front page showing Susette on campus, protesting with students.

The scene was surreal to a visiting scholar at Connecticut College who watched as faculty and students tried to push Claire out. "She wasn't a woman that you pushed," the scholar said. "She is a person with pa.s.sion. When she takes something on she believes she is absolutely right, and she will do whatever she needs to do. There is a fanaticism-'I have a direct marching order from a higher being.'"

Claire's approach didn't surprise the scholar, who had studied leaders.h.i.+p. "At the leaders.h.i.+p level, transformational leaders end up being unpopular," the scholar said. "Claire falls into that category. She was being attacked from all sides. She never took it to heart. Maybe this is her rough exterior. She was so convinced she was right and on this moralistic quest." Objectively, the scholar saw the paradox of Claire. "She had done a lot of good for that college," the scholar noted. "Even her foes admit that she increased the prestige of the college. And she is brilliant. She is a Renaissance woman."

October 12, 2000 The college's board of trustees could no longer avoid the inevitable. It had to part ways with the president who had brought more publicity and money to the school than any of her predecessors. The trustees convened an emergency meeting with Claire to deal with the details of her departure.

For starters, Claire would receive $551,550 in severance pay. Combined with her annual salary, she'd walk away with $898,410, landing her atop the Chronicle of Higher Education Chronicle of Higher Education's annual survey of college presidents, ahead of those at the University of Pennsylvania, Princeton, Johns Hopkins, and Yale. The trustees also allowed Claire to go on sabbatical for the spring semester, and they delayed her formal retirement date to June 30, 2001.

From a public-relations standpoint, the trustees agreed to frame Claire's departure only in positive terms, stressing her achievements and the fact that the decision to go was hers.

October 13, 2000 George Milne hated to see Claire's legacy clouded. He considered her a visionary leader who had simply gotten caught up in a perfect storm of events. "The controversy around the NLDC plus the challenges the college was facing all sort of came together and essentially was an unfortunate end to what was a substantial legacy," Milne said.

But Milne didn't let his affection for Claire compromise his awareness of his own responsibilities. He had an ability to compartmentalize, and at the moment his job was to brief the faculty. Behind closed doors he informed them that Claire planned to step down within hours. He insisted the school leaders.h.i.+p and faculty needed to figure out how to rebuild.

"Anything that's working in our great nation," Claire had once said, "is working because somebody left skin on the sidewalk." The quote had often been repeated in defending the NLDC's plans to force the Fort Trumbull residents to leave their homes.

Now it was her turn to fall. Fighting off deep disappointment, Claire stepped to a microphone at a hastily organized press conference on campus at noon. "I thought my work at the college as a change agent was coming to an end," she said, maintaining a smile.

In conjunction with the press conference, the school released a statement to the media. "Claire L. Gaudiani announced today that she will fulfill a long-planned transition by stepping down as President of Connecticut College," it read. "The Board expressed unqualified support for President Gaudiani's leaders.h.i.+p."

Almost exactly three years after her status as Connecticut College president helped persuade Governor Rowland to recommend her to be president of the New London Development Corporation, her actions as president of the NLDC had played a key role in the loss of her job at the college. The two-edged sword of popularity had cut both ways and taken an unforgiving toll.

"Sometimes, as a lot of social activists do," Claire reflected, "you run into a buzz saw. But that doesn't make you sorry that you were trying to do good for people who couldn't do more good for themselves. You just take it like it comes. And sometimes you get beaten up."

No one believed in Claire's vision more than Claire. The fact that her vision had helped drive her out of Connecticut College did not deter her, and she held on to her position as president of the NLDC. Three days after enduring the humiliating experience of resigning from the college, Claire, with the rest of the NLDC, faced a monumental decision: whether to finally exercise the power of eminent domain to seize Susette's home and twenty-one other properties that stood in the way of the development plan. As if her ouster at Connecticut College had been ancient history, Claire pa.s.sionately led the discussion with the NLDC's board of directors. For her the answer was simple: use the power.

Dave Goebel agreed. "We're at a stage in the project where we have to move forward," he said. "We've talked until we're blue in the face."

A board member introduced Resolution 1016-1. It established the NLDC's designation as the city's development agent and confirmed that the agency's lawfully approved munic.i.p.al-development plan required the acquisition of Fort Trumbull properties. "Now, therefore, it is resolved that the New London Development Corporation, in the name of the City of New London, acquire certain properties located in the Fort Trumbull Munic.i.p.al Development Plan Area of New London through the exercise of the power of eminent domain," the resolution read, listing Susette's house, four properties belonging to Von Winkle, four belonging to Matt Dery and his family, and a host of others.

The board voted unanimously in favor of the resolution.

When a member of the NLDC's real-estate-acquisition team called Susette in hope of persuading her to sell at the newly appraised price of $123,000, she told him to forget it.

"For $123,000," he told her, "you could probably get a real nice double-wide."

She bristled at the a.s.sumption that she'd desire a trailer home. "You know," she said, "I'm not the double-wide kind of girl." She hung up on the agent.

Goebel wasted no time in sending Susette a certified letter. "To carry out our plans to develop the Fort Trumbull Munic.i.p.al Development Project, it will be necessary for you to move," Goebel wrote, pointing out that she didn't have to move yet. "When you do move, you will be ent.i.tled to relocation payments and other a.s.sistance."

As she read the letter, Susette's hands shook. On paper it all sounded so legal, so matter-of-fact, and so unstoppable. Offering counseling, advisory services, and a $15,000 stipend for incidental expenses a.s.sociated with moving, Goebel promised to provide a list of comparable houses. "From a review of local housing listings, it appears that comparable replacement homes are available in the local market," he said.

Susette laughed. She had an un.o.bstructed water view. She knew she'd never find a home with comparable water views for anything near $123,000.

She finished reading the letter. "Remember, do not move before we have a chance to discuss your eligibility for a.s.sistance," Goebel wrote. "This letter is important to you and should be retained."

Desperate, she called Bullock. She didn't bother saying h.e.l.lo. "Are you going to represent us, or what?" she said.

Bullock was eager to say yes, but he had to be honest. He had three major cases pending in other jurisdictions: an eminent-domain case in Pittsburgh, a forfeiture case in New Jersey, and a ballot initiative in Baltimore County. "We're serious about wanting to take the case," he told her. "But we have other serious obligations to cases we've already committed to."

"How serious are you about our case?" she asked.

"Listen, we're very serious. I think we can do it. It's not a question of resources. It's a question of time and people power. We have to be careful not to get overextended."

Susette said nothing. Bullock asked if she was still on the line.

"Well, I'm willing to stick in the fight if you take the case."

"We still need to get approval from our board of directors. But if you are committed to it, we'll fight to the bitter end as we always do once we commit to a case."

Four days later A stack of case files on his desk, Scott Bullock looked at the clock. It was already after five. He grabbed a cup of coffee and settled in for a late evening at the office. Suddenly his computer notified him he had incoming e-mail. The subject line read: "ED papers served on two." It had come from Amy Hallquist. Bullock opened the message and read: Hi Scott, I just got a call from Susette Kelo. She stated that two property owners got served ED papers today. They are Billy Von Winkle, who owns three buildings, including the Fort Trumbull Deli, and Rich Beyer, who owns two properties on Goshen.Looks like things are heating up. Amy.

The timing could not have been worse. Bullock had a brief due on one case and was in the middle of difficult negotiations on another. In a couple more weeks he'd be clear to focus on New London, but not until then. He clicked REPLY REPLY and typed, "I know it is guesswork, but any idea on when Susette and the other core people may be served?" He clicked the and typed, "I know it is guesswork, but any idea on when Susette and the other core people may be served?" He clicked the SEND SEND key. key.

Hallquist promised to monitor the situation closely.

Bullock had hoped to buy a few more weeks before making a final decision on whether to take on the City of New London, but the NLDC's aggressive tactics convinced him he didn't have three weeks. He e-mailed Hallquist again: "If the owners were offered legal representation by us (without charge of course), how many do you think from the particular parcels would likely fight the condemnation? We would take on a case if we thought it had merit even if there were one property owner willing to fight, but it is better to have at least a small group."

Hallquist promised to get a head count.

Bullock picked up the phone and called Susette. "All right, here's the latest," he said. "We may be in a position in a couple of weeks to announce that we can represent owners who wish to fight."

Susette shouted.

"Unfortunately, it could be a matter of timing," he continued.

"What do you mean?"

"For instance, if condemnations start next week, we simply cannot do it due to other commitments."

To Susette it didn't seem fair.

"Hang in there, Susette," Bullock said, promising to e-mail her and the core members of the Coalition to Save Fort Trumbull Neighborhood an update in a day or two.

As soon as Susette hung up, Tim LeBlanc showed up at her house. He said nothing while she checked her answering machine. She had a message from Claire's a.s.sistant at the NLDC. He had identified some properties in the city that had an asking price comparable to what the NLDC was willing to pay Susette for her home. The NLDC wanted to schedule a time to show Susette the homes.

"Oh, my G.o.d, Timmy," she shouted. "I can't take this s.h.i.+t much longer."

Bullock needed a better handle on Connecticut's eminent-domain law. He asked his colleague, thirty-three-year-old Dana Berliner, to help him with the research.

Berliner hadn't originally planned to be a lawyer. An expert in blood-vessel disease, her mother taught at UCLA's medical school. Her father taught philosophy of education at California State University and ran the Ayn Rand Inst.i.tute, named after the novelist who wrote The Fountainhead The Fountainhead, which libertarians consider a bible. Berliner's exposure to Ayn Rand had influenced her by the time she completed her psychology degree at Yale. Pa.s.sionate about individual liberties, Berliner entered Yale Law School and set her sights on becoming a prosecutor in order to go after those who infringe on the rights of others.

By the time she obtained her law degree in 1991, however, Berliner figured it made more sense to protect people's rights before violations occurred. Ayn Rand had also had a big influence on those who had formed the Inst.i.tute for Justice. Berliner moved to Was.h.i.+ngton and took a position with the inst.i.tute, where she quickly emerged as one of the firm's most exhaustive legal researchers.

With things unfolding rapidly in Fort Trumbull, Bullock asked her for an update. She had bad news. Unlike in some states, the procedure for taking property by eminent domain in Connecticut was almost impossible to challenge. Under Connecticut law, the condemning authority-in this case, the NLDC-appraised the property to be condemned and filed a statement of compensation with the court. The statement of compensation described the property to be taken, identified all who had a recorded interest in it, and stated the appraised value. When filing the statement of compensation, the condemner deposited the appraised value with the court. A marshal or sheriff then served notice to the property owner.

Bullock wanted to know when and how the homeowners challenged the city's attempt to take their homes. "In most states," he said, "there is a condemnation action filed by the city, and then you raise a defense and you are a defendant."