Little Pink House Part 18

Berliner looked at him like he was nuts. "Necessity has been so watered down by the courts that it is not taken seriously anymore," she said.

Bullock knew she was right. In recent years, courts had given greater and greater lat.i.tude to munic.i.p.alities in condemning private property for public use. "But in this case," Bullock argued, "the takings are truly unnecessary. The NLDC doesn't even know what it's going to do with Parcel 4-A."

Berliner went along.

By the time Bullock and Berliner finished, they had drafted a twenty-four-page complaint alleging eight violations of law. The complaint asked the court to declare the actions by the city and the NLDC unconst.i.tutional and illegal and to dismiss the condemnation papers filed against the homeowners.

Strangers had started showing up at Susette's doorstep to offer support and express admiration for her stand. So she didn't think much of it when she got home from work early one night and discovered a woman on her porch. Approaching her steps, Susette walked past the woman's car without noticing the placard inside the front winds.h.i.+eld. It read: "MARSHAL."

"Can I help you?" Susette said.

"Yes. I'm here to serve you with papers for condemnation."

"Well, I'm not accepting them."

"What do you mean you're not accepting them?"

"I'm not taking your d.a.m.n papers."

The marshal stared at her.

"Now get off my porch."

The marshal didn't budge.

"Get off my porch before I throw you off."

She left without leaving the papers.

"Don't ever come on my property again," Susette said.

December 8, 2000 Dave Goebel got a simple message from the NLDC's lawyers: "The takings have now been completed."

On paper that was true. All the appropriate and necessary legal doc.u.ments had been filed with the court and served on the property owners. Technically, the NLDC now owned all the remaining homes in Fort Trumbull. But the holdouts still had possession. It fell to Goebel to get them out.

He didn't waste any time. That afternoon, he dashed off a letter to Susette. "On December 8, 2000, the NLDC acquired t.i.tle to the Premises now occupied by you and which Premises is part of the Fort Trumbull Munic.i.p.al Development Project," he began. "NLDC hereby gives you notice that you are required to quit possession of the Premises now occupied by you ninety (90) days after the date hereof, being no later than March 9, 2001."

Goebel gave Susette a reason to comply. Now that the NLDC owned her home, it planned to start charging her $450 per month in rent until she got out. "Occupancy payments shall be paid to the 'NLDC,'" he wrote, telling her she would also be responsible for all utilities, maintenance, and insurance payments. "You should maintain liability insurance in the amount of $100,000 naming New London Development Corporation, as additional insured. In the event that we do not receive a Certificate, NLDC may elect to purchase the necessary insurance and bill you."

Goebel's tone stoked Susette's defiance. She called Mitch.e.l.l and ranted. "He's not getting a dime from me," Susette said. "And I'm not leavin' either."

Claire continued to focus on money and image. In her aggressive push to remake New London, the NLDC had spent $28.7 million in state money in three years. Earmarked for the Fort Trumbull munic.i.p.al-development project, the money had not resulted in any construction in the fort neighborhood. With some demolitions complete and the takings of homes in the works, the NLDC needed more money, and it needed it fast.

The governor had put the brakes on more state funding, and the NLDC had already tapped its private contributors through fund-raisers. The NLDC had one option left: borrow. The NLDC applied for a $2 million commercial loan from Webster Bank.

But lending millions to the NLDC carried risks. The agency was virtually broke and had no income stream. The bank wanted security. Once again, the NLDC turned to Pfizer, which guaranteed the loan by promising to pay the bank back if the NLDC defaulted.

On December 13 the bank loaned the money to the NLDC.

The Inst.i.tute for Justice had an unlikely secret weapon in thirty-five-year-old John Kramer. When the inst.i.tute had opened its doors for business in the early 1990s, Kramer worked at a small public-relations firm in Was.h.i.+ngton. The inst.i.tute found him through a headhunter and offered him a PR position. He was quickly elevated to vice president of communications.

Few law firms employed PR specialists, but the inst.i.tute put a premium on shaping the message and mission behind its legal initiatives. It argued cases not only in courts of law but also in the court of public opinion. That meant Kramer had a responsibility every bit as important as the lawyers' work, and the attorneys worked closely with the PR people to craft a lawsuit's message.

The first time Bullock and Berliner briefed Kramer on the Fort Trumbull dispute, he felt a bond with the plaintiffs. The youngest of nine children, Kramer had lost his father at age two. Fatherlessness left him feeling a bit isolated and taught him to stand up for himself and be his own advocate at a very early age. By the time he reached college he had his heart set on being an advocate, a protector.

The Fort Trumbull situation kept Kramer up at night, wondering how to launch the lawsuit in a way that would galvanize public opinion on the side of the homeowners. He planned on a big announcement to accompany the suit's filing. But he didn't want a press conference from the courthouse steps-that would be too much of a cliche. Instead, he wanted a backdrop with real meaning, something that symbolized the struggle to protect homes.

Finally it came to him: Susette's pink house. It was ground zero for the battle. It was the gathering place for advocates, plaintiffs, and protestors. It was the home of the lead plaintiff. It was where the inst.i.tute should unveil the lawsuit.

By announcing the case from Susette's front steps, Bullock could introduce the national media to her and her neighbors and ill.u.s.trate that Susette's home was not dilapidated and run-down, as the NLDC wanted people to think. If Kramer did his job right, Susette's pink house would become a national symbol for the fight against eminent-domain abuse. He spent days preparing an agenda for the announcement and a press advisory inviting national media to attend.

With the complaint polished and the PR plan in place, Bullock caught an evening flight to go to New London.

December 20, 2000 Bundled in winter coats and scarves, a spirited group of supporters huddled in the street outside Susette's house. Inside, Susette and the plaintiffs waited for news that the suit had been filed. Bullock paced the floor, his cell phone in hand. Just before noon, the call from the courthouse finally came. Kelo v. City of New London had officially been filed. had officially been filed.

Bullock and Kramer burst into action. From the inst.i.tute's Was.h.i.+ngton office, Kramer disseminated a press release to media outlets throughout the United States. In New London, Bullock led Susette to her living-room picture window overlooking the street. Press photographers and television cameras looked up at her. Showtime had arrived.

"Are you holding up all right?" Bullock asked.

"I'm okay," she said softly.

"Listen," he said, trying to rea.s.sure her. "This is the beginning ... the first step."

Overwhelmed, she took a deep breath. This wasn't what she had had in mind when she left her husband and a country home for a quiet place on the sh.o.r.e. She looked Bullock in the eye. "This is what we have to do," she said, turning and following him onto the porch. The cheering crowd hoisted signs and placards. "Take Claire's Home for Social Justice," one read. Another said: "New London Destroying Our Const.i.tution."

As the other plaintiffs filed in around Susette, Bullock stepped forward to address the media and the neighborhood supporters. "It's great to be in New London and announce what must have been one of the worst-kept secrets in town," he said. "We are very pleased to announce that this morning this morning the Inst.i.tute for Justice, along with property owners and local counsel Scott Sawyer, filed a lawsuit that aims to end eminent-domain abuse in New London, Connecticut." the Inst.i.tute for Justice, along with property owners and local counsel Scott Sawyer, filed a lawsuit that aims to end eminent-domain abuse in New London, Connecticut."

The crowd applauded.

"We asked the court to declare that what the city and the NLDC are doing is illegal and unconst.i.tutional," Bullock continued. "We will do everything in our power to keep these people in this wonderful neighborhood."

Standing behind Bullock, Susette stared expressionlessly at the audience of supporters.

"As you all know, the City of New London and the NLDC want these people out because they have decided that someone else can make better use of this land than Susette Kelo or Matt Dery or Bill Von Winkle," Bullock said. "The plan is to take these properties, evict the residents, and bulldoze the properties. In other words, developers get the land, the taxpayers of New London and Connecticut get the bill, and these fine people get the boot."

Supporters yelled and waved their signs. Bullock called out the NLDC and the city. "You let the IDC stay," he said. "You know who wants to stay. They're not interested in taking the money and heading out of town. Do the right thing and let them stay."

With the press seeking reaction to the suit, the NLDC put out a simple statement, saying it couldn't comment publicly on a suit it hadn't seen. Privately, though, the agency was reeling. An NLDC spokesman sent an e-mail to Claire's top aide, reporting that press activity had been heavy following the press conference. "I did brief interviews with Ch. 61 and 30 and Connecticut public radio-no problems-stuck with the script," he wrote. "I'm putting Claire in touch with the New York Times New York Times as we speak." as we speak."

The spokesman tried not to sound worried. But he foresaw a problem. "My only concern with this is just how we explain that this is not taking private land for private development," he wrote. "Are the jobs created and tax benefits alone enough of a public benefit?"

As soon as the press conference broke up at Susette's, the plaintiffs and their supporters headed up the street for a celebratory party at Von Winkle's deli. Susette entered with Bullock. The place erupted in cheers. "Now we're fighting back," one of the neighbors shouted, prompting more cheers.

Von Winkle had printed new menus especially for the occasion.

"Here you go, Red," he said, handing her one.

Entrees Fort Flambe-You'll demolish this sizzling mix of ethnic ingredients.

Pfizer Fettuccini-The heart and soul of our menu. This dish defines our reason for being.

Eminent Domainicotti-This dish originated in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood, but is rapidly spreading across town.

(All dinners include your choice of garlic croissant or our famous v.i.a.g.r.a vegetables.) Grinders (available on a Rowland Roll-soft, plump & ruthless) Claire Combo-A manic combination which is all over the place. (This baby is a crazy mix of just about everything.) NLDC/Pfizer Combo-These two have a natural affinity for each other, as cla.s.sic as Peanut b.u.t.ter & Jelly.

Social Justice Salami-Names can be deceiving; this baby packs a wallop you won't forget.

Percy Patties-Fresh turkey burgers marinated in rum and basted with gin (served dry, with an olive and a cute little umbrella).

Soups Adm. Goebbels Goulash-Served ice cold in a jack-boot.

Laughing hysterically, Susette handed the menu to Bullock. He was grinning broadly. The small print at the bottom of the menu caught his eye: "Enter our weekly drawing for up to $15,000 in relocation expenses. You can't win if you don't leave." The offer had an asterisk, directing readers to even smaller print: Offer may be altered or withdrawn without notice. We will never, ever put anything in writing. We reserve the right to negotiate in bad faith through the newspaper. All FOI disclosure requirements will be met (not really). Any resemblance between the NLDC and a legitimate enterprise is purely coincidental. The fact that not one NLDC employee has any construction experience shall not be held against us. Pfizer has the final say over all transactions, as they are the ones who will eventually take t.i.tle to this land.

Bullock smiled and looked at Von Winkle. None of his clients had ever produced anything so innovative and humorous before.

"If I'm ever in a fight, I want you on my side," Bullock said, patting Von Winkle on the back. "Can I keep this?" Von Winkle wanted him to keep it. After all, glory days had returned to the Fort Trumbull Deli. The place was packed. Food and drink were in demand. And everyone had a smile and a story to tell. The plaintiffs smelled victory.

Bullock looked around. He couldn't help thinking this was going to be a fun, unpredictable adventure representing the Fort Trumbull neighbors.

As the party wound down, Steve Hallquist cornered Von Winkle. Ever since filing their own suit with the Steffians, Steve and Amy had been trying to persuade Von Winkle to turn over the doc.u.ments he had lifted from the NLDC's Dumpster. But he had steadily resisted. Steve hoped Bullock's presence would change things.

"Bill, look, we need that stuff. We need it badly. Anything that you have may be very important to the case."

"You think so?"

"I really do. And what's to lose? You're a plaintiff now. Give Bullock the ammo. Don't hold back the bullets."

Von Winkle led Steve and Amy to the bas.e.m.e.nt and retrieved two black plastic trash bags stuffed with doc.u.ments. The Hallquists took the bags to Scott Sawyer's office. Days later, Sawyer s.h.i.+pped them to Bullock in Was.h.i.+ngton.

31.

SOME DEVIOUS WAY.

No one at the NLDC wanted to admit it, but the lawsuit had the agency very worried. Some wondered whether the agency should modify the munic.i.p.al-development plan. The project called for redeveloping ninety acres of real estate. Combined, the plaintiffs' land amounted to just 1.54 acres-less than 2 percent of the total area in question. Scaling down the project by an acre and a half seemed worth discussing if it averted a protracted, expensive legal battle that might bring the rest of the development to a screeching halt. Meanwhile, the city council had started getting antsy over the delays. It wanted to see timetables and immediate progress.

Something had to be done, but Goebel had a problem. He was trying to close a development contract with Corcoran Jennison, a Boston-based construction firm that was planning to implement the NLDC's development plan. Any substantial changes to the plan might require approval from the city council and potentially could trigger another round of public hearings. Besides delaying the deal with Corcoran Jennison, this approach might also provide an opening for opponents to shoot down the plan altogether.

In an e-mail to one of the NLDC's top aides, Goebel wrote that reducing the scope of the project to exclude the plaintiffs' land "would be a major change, driving the entire plan, or at least parts of it, back into the public arena. This would be very delaying to the Corcoran Jennison development."

Instead, Goebel wanted to send something to the city council that would appease it while keeping its members beholden to the original commitment. "The resolution that we send over should read that way in some devious way," he said to an NLDC aide. "We need to pre-brief our most friendly councilors on this eventually, i.e., that failure to go with the commitment will drive the major change."

What is the Inst.i.tute for Justice? Tom Londregan wondered. He had never heard of the outfit until he got word that the inst.i.tute had sued the city. Before a copy of the suit reached his desk, Londregan started getting phone calls. Reporters from outside New London suddenly wanted to know why the city was trying to force people from their homes. Tom Londregan wondered. He had never heard of the outfit until he got word that the inst.i.tute had sued the city. Before a copy of the suit reached his desk, Londregan started getting phone calls. Reporters from outside New London suddenly wanted to know why the city was trying to force people from their homes.

Londregan wanted to know what the h.e.l.l was going on. He believed in arguing cases before judges and juries, not in the court of public opinion. Apparently, the opposing lawyers were holding press conferences and issuing press releases. They had changed the rules-and he didn't like it one bit. His firm employed lawyers, paralegals, and secretaries, not PR specialists.

After three years on offense, the city had suddenly been forced into a defensive posture. Rather than simply answering a lawsuit, Londregan and the NLDC had to answer to the national media. Irked, Londregan decided right away he didn't care for the inst.i.tute's brand of justice. Convinced the city had the right to take the homes for economic development, and determined to prove it, Londregan planned to play hardball in defending the city's interests.

Christmas was barely over when Billy Von Winkle received a certified letter from the NLDC reminding him that it now owned his properties and that it expected all of Von Winkle's tenants to start turning their rent payments over to the NLDC.

A few days later, Von Winkle got another surprise. The NLDC had entered one of his apartment buildings, forced the tenants out, and padlocked the doors to prevent them from reentering. Some of the tenants hadn't even had a chance to grab their shoes before being forced outside into the cold.

Von Winkle called Bullock and told him what was going on. Besides being outraged at how his tenants had been manhandled, Von Winkle complained about the immediate loss of income. "Bull, how am I going to live?" he said.

Bullock struggled to control his temper. It seemed the city was out to bankrupt his clients just a few weeks into the lawsuit.

"Is there a way to stop this?" Von Winkle asked.

"We'll do our d.a.m.ndest," Bullock said.

Ever since losing the freedom-of-information battle with the Day Day, Claire had suffered a series of negative portrayals in the press. No matter what she said or did, her public image kept getting worse. And the NLDC's credibility kept sinking.

Claire blamed a lot of this on Reid MacCluggage. As the Day Day's publisher, MacCluggage didn't write the stories, but in Claire's eyes he was Darth Vader, a dark, powerful figure working behind the scenes to destroy the NLDC's vision for the city. When a feature writer for the Day Day's primary compet.i.tor, the Hartford Courant Hartford Courant, Connecticut's largest newspaper, called with a request to follow her around for a cover story in the paper's Sunday magazine, Claire figured she finally had a chance for an unbiased story.

Jane Dee arrived at the president's residence at Connecticut College for the first time on a cold January day a few weeks after the lawsuit was filed by Susette and her neighbors. But Dee hadn't come to talk legalese. She had come to check out Claire and all the talk she had heard about her eye-catching wardrobe, her seductive mannerisms, and her controversial style. She entered the house and waited for Claire.

"Excuse how I'm dressed," Claire said, appearing suddenly and removing a stylish winter parka. "I didn't feel like dressing like a college president today."

Dee had trouble taking her eyes off Claire, mesmerized by her intensity and flair. Dee also had trouble getting a word in; Claire totally dominated the dialogue, and Dee felt she had to interrupt just to ask questions. Claire had a lot to say, occasionally lowering her voice, reclining in her chair, and running her fingers through her hair as she talked. It reinforced for Dee what she had read in one of Claire's essays while preparing for the interview: "The imaginative, even seductive, engagement of people in a fresh way of seeing the world is the first step of vision setting."

By the end of the interview, Dee wanted to spend a lot more time with Claire, and Claire agreed. She also consented to have a photographer tag along. But driving to her office after leaving Claire's house, Dee felt uneasy; she suspected the Claire she had met was the one Claire wanted her to meet. She also wondered about Claire's motives for agreeing to spend time with her. Dee figured that Claire thought she could control the narrative.

The following morning, Dee showed up at Susette's house for a scheduled interview. She brought along a photographer. Billy Von Winkle did his part to set the tone in the neighborhood, papering the windows of his deli with wanted posters featuring s.e.xy pictures of Claire. Dee and her photographer stopped to look.

"Wanted ... but not by us," one of the posters read. "This subject is armed with a giant rolodex and should be considered dangerous ... has been known to hang out at drug factories, gyms and schools."

Another one read: "This subject is wanted in Connecticut for fraternizing with devious people including Governor Rowland, for violating Freedom of Information laws, for stealing people's homes, and for pretending to be a social justice authority. Subject is adept at disguises. If spotted, do not approach subject for G.o.d sakes!"

A final sign with an oversized shot of Claire's face said: "WANTED for theft, grand larceny, and attempting to pull the wool over innocent people's eyes. Claire Gaudiani has used the following aliases: Dr. Gaudiani, Claire, Martin Luther King, Jesus, Mom and Claire Lois Gaudiani Burnett."

Dee's photographer snapped shots of Von Winkle's posters for inclusion in the story.

The mood inside Susette's house was raucous. Inside, Dee found Steve and Amy Hallquist and Connecticut College students who were vehemently opposed to Claire. Seated around the kitchen table with Susette, the group railed against the NLDC and its tactics. When Dee mentioned Claire, no one had a kind word to say.

The students belittled her approach. "The trend in America is to save what's left of our communities," one of them said. "And Claire's out there knocking them down. It's a mess, just a mess."

Steve compared her to a cult leader carrying out community cleansing.

Amy took issue with her revealing wardrobe.

"She's a ho," someone blurted out.

The provocative quotes about Claire were still on Dee's mind a few days later when she attended a speech that Claire gave to a local chamber of commerce.