Little Pink House Part 22

Londregan didn't like what he saw. "I was taught in law school to take my papers and file them in the courthouse," he said. "There are lawyers who file their papers with the newspaper first, then the court."

Inside, Judge Thomas J. Corradino reviewed some last-minute paperwork in his chambers. Corradino didn't reside in New London, and unlike most of the judges a.s.signed to the New London District Court, he was a circuit trial judge, bouncing from one judicial district to another every four years. He figured this had something to do with why Judge Martin had a.s.signed the Kelo Kelo case to him-he had no ties to the city. And from the city's perspective, this was a very big case. All the pretrial publicity had made that abundantly clear. case to him-he had no ties to the city. And from the city's perspective, this was a very big case. All the pretrial publicity had made that abundantly clear.

But to Corradino, every case was big and important to the people involved. He planned to approach this trial just like any other. The son of Italian immigrants, Corradino had been born and raised in the New Haven area, attending Catholic schools until entering college at Yale and then continuing on to Harvard Law School. By the time he obtained his law degree, in the late sixties, he had heard about a new nonprofit agency called the New Haven Legal a.s.sistance Corporation, which was dedicated exclusively to providing legal a.s.sistance to the poor. Corradino moved back home and started working for the agency in 1967, defending poor people in criminal-defense matters. He liked it so much he stayed, turning down many opportunities to earn more money at top firms. By the time he got appointed to the bench, in 1986, he had spent eighteen years as a trial lawyer for people who couldn't afford legal representation.

As a judge, he spent most of his time presiding over criminal trials. He then started presiding over civil trials, in 1993. In preparation for the Kelo Kelo trial, he carefully studied the arguments raised in pretrial filings by the property owners and the city. He had never handled an eminent-domain case, and the issues were unlike any he had previously encountered in his thirty-three-year legal career. Since the entire case rested on the interpretation of state statutes and const.i.tutional rights, there would be no jury. Judges ruled on matters of law; juries heard factual disputes. Ultimately, it would fall to Corradino to decide whether the plaintiffs got to keep their homes or not. trial, he carefully studied the arguments raised in pretrial filings by the property owners and the city. He had never handled an eminent-domain case, and the issues were unlike any he had previously encountered in his thirty-three-year legal career. Since the entire case rested on the interpretation of state statutes and const.i.tutional rights, there would be no jury. Judges ruled on matters of law; juries heard factual disputes. Ultimately, it would fall to Corradino to decide whether the plaintiffs got to keep their homes or not.

Everyone stood when Corradino entered the courtroom, wearing his trademark bifocals, and took his place behind the bench at ten minutes to ten. Short and slightly overweight with black hair that was turning gray, he resembled the late Italian actor Vincent Gardenia.

"Good morning," he said. "This is the case of Susette Kelo v. the City of New London Susette Kelo v. the City of New London. Could the lawyers identify themselves? That may be a lengthy process in this case."

The audience appreciated his dry humor as eight lawyers stood up: Bullock, Berliner, and Sawyer for the property owners; Londregan for the city; and four lawyers for the NLDC. After some preliminary administrative matters with the attorneys, Corradino asked for opening statements.

"Good morning, Your Honor," Bullock said. "This case is about the abuse of government eminent-domain power. Eminent domain is the ability to throw individuals off their land and out of their homes."

Seated beside Matt Dery and his family, Susette couldn't help feeling intimidated by the formality of the proceedings. She had trouble concentrating as Bullock outlined the two restrictions placed on eminent domain by the Framers: just compensation and the requirement that private land can be taken only for public use.

"In this case the evidence will show that the defendants have exceeded those const.i.tutional limits with potentially a devastating effect on families who live in the historic Fort Trumbull neighborhood," Bullock continued. "In this case we're not really talking about the City of New London because ... the government who rightfully exercises eminent-domain authority has delegated this power to private parties for primarily private gain. For instance, the proposed future use of the land in the munic.i.p.al-development plan was determined largely by a private company, Pfizer, to complement the building of their new facility."

Bullock insisted his clients didn't oppose development; they opposed being forced out of their homes by an agency that couldn't even specify what it planned to do with their land.

He wrapped up with a nod to a past Supreme Court justice. "Your Honor, just as Potter Stewart once tellingly observed, property does not have rights, only people do. And while we are debating the finer points of const.i.tutional law in Connecticut, it is important not to forget that there are real people whose lives and livelihood are at stake in this matter, and we will be hearing from them very soon."

Londregan rose and got right to the point. "Your Honor, simply stated the City of New London followed state statutes," he said with some swagger. "What the plaintiffs are really asking this court to do is to design and adopt a different plan than that which was approved by the legislative body of the City of New London."

He argued that the law authorized the city to delegate the power of eminent domain to an agency like the NLDC. And the law didn't require the private land acquired by the city to be used for a public purpose. "There's a specific statute that allows economic development," he said. "And it's not for public end use. It's for a private end use."

In addition, Londregan pointed out that the NLDC had spent $73 million in state money to upgrade the roads, sewers, streetlights, and underground utilities in and around the Fort Trumbull area-all of which resulted in public benefits. He urged the judge to focus narrowly on the development plan. "When the court focuses in on the plan," Londregan said, "and the decision that was made by the legislative body, I'm confident that this court will find that it was reasonably necessary to take the plaintiffs' property. Thank you."

Bullock called Matt Dery to testify first, getting him to explain that his ancestors had come from Italy and had purchased their first home on Walbach Street in 1901. Bullock displayed a photograph of the house.

"Is that still standing?" Bullock asked.

"Yes, it is."

"Is it one of the properties that the city and munic.i.p.al-development plan seeks from eminent domain in this case?"

"Yes, it is."

"Who lives in this house right now?"

"My parents live there."

"How long has your father lived in that house?"

"He has lived there since he married my mother, fifty-six years."

"And how old is your father now?"

"He'll be eighty-two next month."

"And how long has your mother lived in the house on Walbach Street?"

"She was born in that house in 1918. She lives there currently. And she's never lived anywhere else. That's eighty-three years."

"Your mother has never lived anywhere else?"

"Never. It's her only home."

Dery lived next door to his parents. Bullock asked how he and his parents had learned that the NLDC wanted their homes.

First, Dery said, a real-estate agent approached. When the Dery family declined the offer, the agent said the properties would be taken by eminent domain. Eventually, a sheriff showed up at the door and served them with condemnation papers.

With the judge's permission, Bullock handed Dery a doc.u.ment. "Who is that letter from?"

"David M. Goebel," said Dery, indicating it was a notice telling the Derys to vacate their homes.

"And what, if anything, else does NLDC tell you in that letter?"

"It informs us that we are to make occupancy payments in the amount of $450 per month for the remainder of our stay in the property."

Bullock asked Dery if his parents had a mortgage on their home.

"No. They've been mortgage-free since 1958."

Winding down, Bullock asked Dery why he and his family didn't want to leave the neighborhood, despite the fact that the NLDC had already demolished most of the old homes and buildings.

"It's home to us," he said. "It's home to my parents and my family for a hundred years. Simply put, there is nowhere else I would rather be. My mother has lived there her entire life. She's eighty-three years old. I know she wants to die in that house. I don't think that's asking too much."

Londregan kept his cross-examination brief, focusing almost exclusively on the fact that the Dery buildings went right to the edge of the sidewalk and would be in the way if the city tried to widen the streets to accommodate the new development. Dery agreed but pointed out that the opposite side of the street had no buildings and offered plenty of room for road widening.

The judge thanked Dery for his testimony, and Susette took the stand.

"My name is Susette Kelo, K-e-l-o. I live at 8 East Street, New London, Connecticut," she said.

Under questioning from Bullock, she told the court when she had bought the property and what she had done to improve it.

"Has anyone in the past four years tried to buy your property?"

"Yes, sir, they have."

"Who is that?"

"It would be Suzanne Howard from U.S. Properties."

"Did the subject of eminent domain ever come up during those discussions?"

"Yes. At the first meeting she told me my property would be taken by eminent domain if I didn't sell to her."

Recounting the incident made Susette angry. Suddenly her fears vanished.

"How did you learn that the eminent-domain lawsuit was filed against you?"

"The paperwork was taped to the door of my house when I came home from work."

The more Bullock questioned her, the angrier she became.

"Did the NLDC tell you you had to vacate your house at a particular time?"

"They said I had to move out of my home by March 9th of the year 2001."

"Did they tell you anything about paying an occupancy fee?"

"They said I was going to be required to pay them rent."

When she learned that the Italian men's club would be allowed to stay, Susette testified, she wrote a letter requesting the same treatment. "They said I couldn't stay," she said.

"Who said that?" Bullock asked.

"David Goebel," she testified. "I asked if NLDC was going to do anything to help us keep our homes, and he said absolutely not."

"Do you have any homes between yourself and the Dery property?"

"No, sir, we do not."

"What happened to those homes?"

"They tore them all down."

Bullock asked if she would welcome new houses to replace the demolished ones. She said she would, along with new businesses, parking lots, a museum, and just about anything else the city wanted to build, as long as she could keep her home.

"What, if anything, Mrs. Kelo, finally, do you want to get out of this lawsuit?"

"I just want to be left alone, be able to come home and relax and just be left alone."

Londregan didn't challenge anything Susette said.

Like any trial lawyer, Bullock didn't want any surprise testimony from his witnesses. He also didn't want any angry outbursts. He and Berliner had carefully drilled the homeowners on the need to stick to the facts and to exercise restraint when being cross-examined by the opposing attorneys.

Bullock wasn't too worried. His clients were so nervous about testifying that they were unlikely to lash out. But Billy Von Winkle was the wild card in the bunch. Besides being unpredictable and p.r.o.ne to playing the practical joker, Von Winkle had some personal history with the NLDC's lead attorney, Ed O'Connell, whose firm had established a trust for Von Winkle. Shortly after the trust was set up, O'Connell's firm notified Von Winkle that it could no longer represent him. Von Winkle had never understood why until the night he dug through the NLDC's Dumpster and discovered the original retainer contract signed by O'Connell's law firm and the NLDC. From that moment on, Von Winkle had no love lost for O'Connell and his partners.

Bullock expected O'Connell to challenge Von Winkle aggressively under cross-examination. To prepare him, Bullock had played the role of O'Connell and attacked Von Winkle in a dress rehearsal the night before the trial. In the rehearsal, the tougher Bullock got, the more Von Winkle played around.

"Bill, c'mon," Bullock said at one point, stopping the role-playing. "Listen, you can't do this at the trial tomorrow. We have to act like this is the trial right now. We've got to temporarily turn off the jokes because it is only going to help them. It's not going to help you."

As Von Winkle made his way to the stand in the real trial, Bullock hoped his message from the previous night had gotten through.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Von Winkle," he said.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bullock."

After a series of factual questions about how many properties he owned in the fort area and how long he had owned them, Bullock asked Von Winkle how much work and money he had invested in his buildings. In all, he had spent seventeen years upgrading his buildings with his own hands, Von Winkle said. He had replaced everything from the roofing and bas.e.m.e.nt floors to the plumbing and electrical wiring. Using his own money, he had even replaced the broken city sidewalks outside his buildings. Von Winkle's direct examination went smoothly.

O'Connell hoped to get him off track. He had carefully scrutinized the deeds to Von Winkle's buildings and discovered a discrepancy that he planned to spring on him.

"I just want to clear up some minor matters," O'Connell began. "The deeds regarding these properties describe you by various middle initials."

Von Winkle hadn't antic.i.p.ated questions about his deeds.

"For example," O'Connell said, "35 Smith Street describes you as William A. Von Winkle. Is that you?"

"No, it's not."

"It's not?"

"No."

Confused, Judge Corradino looked over his gla.s.ses at Von Winkle. Bullock was confused too.

O'Connell continued. "The deed to 31 Smith Street describes a person named William M. Von Winkle," he said. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it is."

O'Connell read the deed to the third building owned by Von Winkle and noted that it, like the first deed, a.s.signed owners.h.i.+p to William A. Von Winkle. "That's not you?" O'Connell asked.

"No."

"Who is that?"

"That would be my father."

"So you own only one of these three buildings. Is that correct?"

Judge Corradino s.h.i.+fted his eyes from O'Connell to Von Winkle. Bullock leaned over to his co-counsel. "Where's he going with this?" he whispered.

Von Winkle didn't know where O'Connell was headed either. But he figured that any confusion over the names on the deeds had been caused by O'Connell's own law firm when it set up the trust. He couldn't swallow the fact that O'Connell had the nerve to try to use this confusion to undermine his standing in front of the judge. Von Winkle had promised Bullock he'd behave on the stand. But he also felt the judge should know O'Connell's role in the mix-up.

"Well," he said, looking at O'Connell with contempt, "your office set up a trust, which, if you went back, you could find it. You'll know exactly who the owner is. That was done three years ago."

Corradino lowered his gla.s.ses. Susette and others in the courtroom laughed. Bullock raised his eyebrows and put his hand in front of his face to conceal his smile. But O'Connell didn't appreciate Von Winkle's response.

"Well, if you can answer my question," O'Connell said. "Is it correct that you only own one-"

"Well-" Von Winkle interrupted him.

Corradino cut off Von Winkle. "Wait until he finishes the question."

"What's that, sir?" Von Winkle asked O'Connell.