Little Pink House Part 24

The members of the group raised their gla.s.ses. They had reason to toast. More than four years after real-estate agents had descended on their neighborhood and threatened them with eminent domain, the homeowners had done what everyone said couldn't be done: they had beaten City Hall. They had won the right to stay put.

Bitter over what they had been through, they verbally pummeled Claire, recalling how she had once remarked that the people in Fort Trumbull would jump at the chance to sell their homes and move if the NLDC offered them $15,000 in relocation costs because these people had never seen that kind of money.

Susette and Matt Dery rubbed their fingers together while jointly mimicking what Claire had said: "These people have never seeeeen seeeeen $15,000." Their reenactment generated laughs. $15,000." Their reenactment generated laughs.

Dery reminded the group that Rich Beyer, Byron Athenian, and the Cristofaro family couldn't celebrate. "It's a bittersweet victory," he said. "Everybody didn't win. We have to continue to support the others."

"And we'll be beside them all the way," Susette said. "We stick together in the fort. We won't disband."

That evening-before Londregan and the NLDC attorneys had finished reading the decision-the Inst.i.tute for Justice cranked out a press release under the heading "Majority of Fort Trumbull Homeowners Win, Others to Appeal." "This is a great day for these property owners and the Const.i.tution," Bullock said. "We are absolutely thrilled that most homeowners' rights were upheld. And we will, of course, appeal the decisions for the remainder as they remain where they should be-in their homes."

Londregan didn't appreciate getting calls from the press just hours after the judge had handed out advance copies to the attorneys. He thought the attorneys were supposed to hold the information in confidence until the following day, when the judge was going to make the decision available to the public. O'Connell felt the same way. He was sick and tired of the inst.i.tute and its tactics.

"I'm not used to competing in the media," Londregan said later. "I'm just used to going to court and arguing a case. We are such novices in the media-relations business that we never got our story out to the public."

Still, both lawyers gave statements to the press that night. "I would say the city is pleased with the decision and that the judge has agreed with the city on all legal, substantive, and procedural issues," Londregan said.

O'Connell was more succinct. "The a.s.sault on the validity of eminent domain failed."

Besides losing in court, they had also been badly outdone in the PR department.

The next day, Corradino's decision was made available to the public. Mayor Lloyd Beachy immediately appealed to his colleagues on the city council to renounce any thoughts of appealing. "The city can take eminent domain off the table," he told them. "We can say we are not going to appeal."

For Beachy, the choice was clear. The time had come to bury the hatchet and to move forward with the development under the terms that had been laid out by the court. Continuing to wage appeals would only waste the city's time and money. Other members of the city council agreed. The fighting had gone on long enough. Appeals would only lengthen the delay in starting construction. Led by Beachy, the city urged the NLDC not to appeal.

But the NLDC was bitter and wanted to fight on, especially after seeing the supersized photo of Susette and Matt Dery celebrating victory under the banner headline "EMINENTLY THEIR DOMAIN" on the front page of the morning paper. But the NLDC board members could also see the writing on the wall-City Hall had lost its desire to fight on, and public sentiment had clearly s.h.i.+fted in favor of the homeowners. The court had spoken, and no one had an appet.i.te for more battles. To draw another line in the sand at this stage would be politically risky for an agency whose lifeblood was political support.

The NLDC's board emerged from a two-hour, closed-door meeting with a proposal: it would not appeal Judge Corradino's decision if the property owners also agreed not to appeal.

One day after celebrating their victory, Susette joined Von Winkle at the Dery residence for a conference call with Bullock. Bullock advised rejecting the NLDC's offer.

Susette felt they couldn't leave Rich Beyer, Byron Athenian, and the Cristofaros hanging out to dry.

Von Winkle and Dery agreed that the group should show solidarity and back their neighbors up. "All for one and one for all," they said.

Bullock liked what he heard. The winners seemed more determined than ever to fight for those who had lost.

"They are trying to pit us against each other," Susette said. "I don't trust those sons of b.i.t.c.hes for a minute."

Von Winkle and Dery felt there was no reason to believe the NLDC's statements anyway. Bullock agreed. The same day the NLDC had come out with its promise to withhold appeals if the inst.i.tute did the same, Dave Goebel had told a newspaper columnist: "Yes, we still intend to implement the MDP, and parcel 4-A is part of that plan." He'd also said that if friendly acquisitions couldn't be achieved, eminent domain remained a possibility in the future. "That's not what we want to do," he had told the columnist. "It's never what we wanted to do. But we need to get the plan done." Goebel's statement had convinced Bullock that the NLDC's promise was worthless.

The decision was easy-appeal. "We're either all staying ... or we're all going," Susette said.

Two weeks later, on April 1, 2002, the Inst.i.tute for Justice filed its appeal, challenging Judge Corradino's decision that the city could lawfully take the properties of Rich Beyer, Byron Athenian, and the Cristofaro family through eminent domain.

Tom Londregan had a lot on his plate. In addition to challenging the inst.i.tute's appeal, he intended to file a separate appeal on behalf of the city. Procedurally, the city had a lot of i's to dot and t's to cross before filing anything with the State Supreme Court. For guidance, Londregan turned to Wesley W. Horton, the state's premiere appellate lawyer.

Horton had practically grown up in the state Supreme Court. After graduating from the University of Connecticut's law school, Horton clerked for the Chief Justice of the Connecticut Supreme Court in the early 1970s. Then he signed on with one of the state's top appellate law firms. Over his thirty-year career he had handled hundreds of appeals and argued more than a hundred cases before the state Supreme Court. He had even written the only published book on the Connecticut Const.i.tution and established himself as the state's resident expert on appellate procedure.

Londregan called Horton and told him about the Kelo Kelo case. "I need you to consult with the city in helping prepare our brief," he said. case. "I need you to consult with the city in helping prepare our brief," he said.

Horton told Londregan he needed to disclose something. In 2001 he had worked on an eminent-domain case involving another Connecticut city, Bristol. In that case, Frank Bugryn and his family had owned about thirty acres that the city had wanted for an industrial park. Bugryn, an elderly man, had refused to sell. The land had been in his family since the 1930s and he had personally planted about five hundred trees on the property. In an effort to satisfy a private developer, the city had used eminent domain to condemn Bugryn's property. Bugryn had fought the city and hired Horton to handle his appeal before the Connecticut Supreme Court.

Londregan hadn't realized Horton had previously argued against eminent domain, but this made him want Horton even more. The two lawyers discussed whether there were any ethical constraints prohibiting Horton from consulting for the city, and they concluded there were none. First, the Kelo Kelo case didn't involve any of the parties or the same towns. So there was no client conflict. Second, Connecticut lawyers were prohibited from representing both sides of the same issue before the same court, but in this instance, the case didn't involve any of the parties or the same towns. So there was no client conflict. Second, Connecticut lawyers were prohibited from representing both sides of the same issue before the same court, but in this instance, the Kelo Kelo case had originated in a different court than the Bristol case, which was no longer active. Besides, Horton explained, the facts in the two cases were sufficiently different. case had originated in a different court than the Bristol case, which was no longer active. Besides, Horton explained, the facts in the two cases were sufficiently different.

For a modest fee, Horton agreed to advise the city through the appeals process before the state's Supreme Court. Relieved, Londregan prepared and filed an appeal challenging Judge Corradino's decision to return property deeds to Susette and the others on her block. And he filed an opposition brief to the inst.i.tute's appeal to overturn the lower court ruling against Beyer, Athenian, and the Cristofaros.

From the day Susette had telephoned him for help years earlier, Mayor Beachy had been the homeowners' strongest supporter within City Hall. He cheered Judge Corradino's decision. And despite his hopes of averting an appeal, he respected the rights of those homeowners who chose to press their case.

Nonetheless, he wanted to see the city get on with the development project and he saw no reason why the appeal should stand in the way. After all, of the ninety acres in the NLDC's hands, only a couple of acres were affected by the appeal. It made no sense not to start developing the rest-the city needed the revenue and the jobs.

There was only one problem. The Fort Trumbull Conservancy-the nonprofit corporation set up by John and Sarah Steffian and Steve and Amy Hallquist with attorney Scott Sawyer-had separately filed a series of lawsuits to block the city's development plan on environmental grounds. While the Inst.i.tute for Justice's eminent-domain lawsuit had garnered all the headlines, the conservancy's environmental claims had quietly gone unresolved. Attorney Sawyer and the conservancy continued to push for a court resolution.

Beachy was determined to find a political solution, and he figured he was the only one with the political capital to make it happen. No one else at City Hall stood a chance of having a productive conversation with conservancy leader John Steffian, but Beachy and Steffian were friends. They had served on historic-preservation commissions and shared a common pa.s.sion for historic preservation. And they were two of the founding members of the neighborhood coalition that had been organized to fight eminent domain. The two men trusted each other.

With the complete trust of the Fort Trumbull neighborhood and all those opposed to eminent domain, Beachy was the only one who was also capable of getting the city and the NLDC to the table in hope of finding a compromise that would extinguish the conservancy's suits. The city's Boston-based developer, Corcoran Jennison, welcomed Beachy's efforts, and the company's president met directly with him to discuss possible compromises.

Beachy shared the developer's legal opinion that the conservancy's suits were meritless and would end in victory for the city. But the cost in litigation and in lost construction time made it cost-prohibitive to fight. Beachy suggested an idea to Corcoran Jennison: Agree to relocate the homes owned by Beyer, Athenian, and the Cristofaros from Parcel 3 to Parcel 4-A. This would preserve the last of the neighborhood homes and completely clear Parcel 3 for development.

Corcoran Jennison's president, Marty Jones, surprised Beachy with her response. She said that if the conservancy would drop its suits, she would agree to leave the homes intact where they stood on Parcel 3 and simply develop around them. At this point the developer had no interest in quibbling over three homeowners, though the developer did prefer that Parcel 3 should be cleared.

Encouraged by Beachy's progress, the city council pa.s.sed a resolution authorizing him to negotiate with the conservancy on behalf of the city.

Beachy telephoned conservancy leader John Steffian at home and told him he wanted to come to a compromise that would persuade the conservancy to step away from its lawsuits against the city. After listening to Beachy's reasons, Steffian indicated he understood his position and wanted to help him succeed.

When Steve and Amy Hallquist heard about Beachy's efforts, they were relieved. Like the mayor, they fully supported the Inst.i.tute for Justice and the homeowners in their eminent-domain fight, but they also didn't want to cripple the city's ability to redevelop the rest of the land.

The Hallquists had another reason for being eager to end their environmental lawsuits: in their hearts, they had come to believe the suits were bogus. At the time the first conservancy suit was filed, the group had been desperate to do anything to slow down the NLDC and the city from rolling over the powerless homeowners in Fort Trumbull. Morally, they had felt it was the right thing to do at the time. But now the homeowners had excellent legal representation and had gotten their day in court. Continuing to push the environmental claims now bordered on pure obstruction, the Hallquists believed. Ethically, they weren't comfortable doing that.

The Hallquists and the Steffians huddled with attorney Sawyer to discuss the next steps. They agreed to meet with the city, the NLDC, and the developer, but not before convening a meeting with all conservancy members to solicit opinions and arrive at a consensus for demands and concessions they would make in the negotiations.

A few nights later, dozens of conservancy members met at the Hallquists' home and voted overwhelmingly to authorize the Steffians and the Hallquists to enter into discussions with the city, the NLDC, the state, and the developer. The group also directed Steve Hallquist to write a letter outlining their two demands: all homeowners in the eminent-domain case should be allowed to stay in their homes, and public access to the waterfront area of the development had to be guaranteed.

Hallquist wrote the letter and had it published in the Day Day.

When Beachy saw Hallquist's letter on behalf of the conservancy, he sensed a resolution was around the corner. At Beachy's urging, all the parties agreed to meet face-to-face to conduct settlement talks.

Steve and Amy Hallquist arrived at Sawyer's law office for a scheduled strategy session with John and Sarah Steffian before going into the talks. But a series of conversations between the two couples caused Steve and Amy to think they and the Steffians weren't on the same page. They felt the Steffians were adding demands to their list of what it would take to drop the conservancy's lawsuits.

"Are we acting in good faith?" Amy asked. "Are we reasonable people who are trying to resolve this issue, or are we obstructing?"

The Steffians had a different view. To them, it was the city and the NLDC that were being disingenuous. From day one the NLDC had said one thing and done another. It simply couldn't be trusted, the Steffians felt.

Amy didn't necessarily disagree. But Beachy was one person who could be trusted, she felt. And any notion of holding out until the city agreed to sc.r.a.p its munic.i.p.al-development plan and start over was unrealistic.

But the Steffians were taking a more global perspective. The laws that had permitted the NLDC to get this far simply needed to be changed. The NLDC and the city had played fast and loose with the eminent-domain power. Using the courts to seek justice and stimulate reform was perfectly appropriate.

During a break in the session in Sawyer's office, Steve was talking with John when one of Sawyer's office a.s.sistants came in the room to discuss something privately with Sarah. Steve noticed that Sarah had her checkbook with her and figured Sawyer was due for a payment. Steve and Amy had always wondered how much Sawyer was charging the conservancy in legal fees. But during the two-year period since they had retained him, the Hallquists had never been privy to the billing information. Despite being treasurer, Steve didn't see the books, much less process invoices and issue checks. When it came to legal fees, that was between Sawyer and the Steffians. From a couple of feet away, Steve could see Sarah's checkbook ledger, inadvertently left open on the desk. Steve was stunned at what he saw. He told Amy that it appeared the Steffians had paid Sawyer at least $600,000 up to that point.

"I saw a six and six digits," he would later say.

The Hallquists didn't feel strongly one way or the other about the amount; after all, they hadn't had to pay anything. But Steve couldn't help thinking that the case was not that complicated. He had been studying Connecticut Supreme Court decisions handed down in cases that were similar to the suits the conservancy had filed against the city. From his reading, it was clear that all the legal precedents were against them. He couldn't bite his tongue any longer. He told Sarah the lawsuits were fatally flawed and it was only a matter of time before the suits were dismissed. "You'll lose," he said flatly, suggesting they should do what it would take to settle.

Sarah didn't like the implication that she was throwing her money away. But Steve believed just that. "You are going to lose, plain and simple," he said. The tension between the couples was obvious.

"Have you read the cases?" Steve pressed. "There's precedent here. You are going to lose and lose bad."

Sawyer had a different opinion.

Steve didn't want to hear it. "Your opinion doesn't count," he snapped. "There's a friggin' state Supreme Court decision."

Frustrated with Sawyer, Steve told Sarah, "You're throwing your money away. If you really want to change the law you better get a lobbyist because a lawyer isn't going to help you."

September 5, 2002 Mayor Beachy welcomed representatives from the city, the NLDC, Corcoran Jennison, the State of Connecticut, and the Fort Trumbull Conservancy into the chambers at City Hall. Marty Jones, the president of the development company, sat at one end of the table, an attorney at her side. Sawyer sat opposite her on the other side of the table, flanked by the Hallquists on his right and the Steffians on his left. Beachy, Londregan, Goebel, and city officials filled in the seats along the sides.

Beachy made his pitch: the city would take the remaining homes from Parcel 3 and relocate them to Susette's block, which would be preserved. This would allow construction of new office complexes on Parcel 3 and hotel and upscale housing along the waterfront.

The NLDC still couldn't accept the idea that these homes would be permitted to stay. But Jones expressed her opinion that her firm could proceed under Beachy's concept. "Do you see any problem with this approach?" Jones asked a state official.

"No," the official said.

Jones looked back across the table. "We can do this," she said.

Goebel pointed out that the plan didn't call for these properties to stay. Jones dismissed his concern, saying her firm could work around it. Goebel didn't say much more.

We've got ourselves a deal, Beachy thought. In his mind, the biggest hurdle had been crossed and a settlement was in reach. Even Londregan was convinced a compromise was in reach.

But John Steffian was far from convinced. All along, he and his wife had been pus.h.i.+ng for a change in the way the city carried out its munic.i.p.al-development plan. Among other things, they wanted a guarantee that eminent domain would not be used to take homes, whether that came by way of a city ordinance or some other measure. Also, going into the talks the Steffians had repeatedly asked who was ultimately calling the shots. Was it the state, the city, or the NLDC? They still hadn't gotten a straight answer. So the idea that this group was on the cusp of reaching a settlement was ridiculously premature, in their view. Besides, John heard a lot of double-talk. Even before the trial the city and the NLDC had been arguing that it had to tear down homes in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood because they were on a flood plain. But that wasn't true: a seven-story building at the Naval Undersea Warfare Center, known as Building 2, rested on a much lower elevation and was in the flood plain, yet the city had no plans to tear it down. More dishonesty.

John Steffian decided to weigh in. He suggested that in order for the argument to remain consistent, Building 2 should be torn down.

The room suddenly went silent. The building in question was worth millions and probably the most suitable for reuse in the Fort Trumbull area.

Beachy was floored by Steffian's statement. He knew the city's plan had been a devious one, but Beachy was earnestly trying to cobble together a compromise that would satisfy all sides. He thought he had had Steffian's commitment to that end. Suddenly it felt like the rug had just been yanked out from under his feet.

The Hallquists were even more stunned. Amy jabbed Steve. "How can he do this?" she whispered, convinced there was an effort afoot to derail the settlement.

Seething, Steve froze.

"Say something," she said, kicking Steve under the table.

Steve stood up. "I don't agree with John," he announced.

John paused and turned toward Steve, who faced the others in the room.

"This is not what we agreed to," Hallquist continued. "We're here to negotiate."

Infighting was a bad sign. Beachy sensed trouble.

"Mr. Steffian is speaking for himself," Amy interjected. "This is not a directive from the conservancy, and I personally don't agree with his opinion."

"We need a recess," Steve said.

Beachy buried his face in his hands, sensing any hope of an agreement had just evaporated.

Londregan didn't know what to think. "I thought we had an agreement," he said. All the property owners in the lawsuit were going to be free to continue their legal fight to protect their homes. And the city's developer would be free to commence building on the parcels that were outside the contested area. "Let these projects go forward for the betterment of the city," he said.

But Londregan's offer lacked the certainty that the Steffians and Sawyer were after. "It was an empty promise," Sawyer explained.

The Hallquists and the Steffians exited the room, trailed by Sawyer.

Once outside, Steve started shouting. Amy pulled out the notes from the members.h.i.+p meeting held at her home weeks earlier. "Do you see anywhere in the notes where we were directed to negotiate on the demolition of a building?" she shouted. "No!"

"So why are you bringing this up?" Steve pressed.

John Steffian was just as angry. "City, state, and NLDC officials comported themselves throughout this meeting as if the conservancy's questions did not exist!" Steffian later explained. "By steadfastly refusing to discuss the larger issues of eminent domain, the environment, or alternative plan possibilities, the meeting's focus became increasingly circ.u.mscribed, irrelevant, and limited by those officials."

Sawyer figured that if Steffian's suggestion about Building 2 was enough to halt the talks, then the talks hadn't had much substance to begin with. "The others," he later said, "did not want or were unable to have a meaningful discussion, as evidenced by their complete failure to answer the most basic inquiries."

A few minutes after stepping out, the Hallquists walked back inside the chamber.

"It's over," Steve Hallquist announced.

Furious with John Steffian and Scott Sawyer, Beachy blew his top. "They just don't want to resolve this!" he shouted.

36.

INTERESTED BYSTANDERS.

September 10, 2002 Pfizer executive Dan O'Shea had just gotten to his New London office when he picked up his copy of the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal. The above-the-fold headline on page one grabbed his attention: "Needy New London Saw Cure for Its Ills in Pfizer's Arrival." The story opened with an account of eighty-five-year-old Albert Anton, the brother of Daniel Anton, on a pilgrimage back to the Fort Trumbull neighborhood, where he led Journal Journal reporter Lucette Lagnado to a pile of rubble. "This is where my house used to be," Anton told the reporter. reporter Lucette Lagnado to a pile of rubble. "This is where my house used to be," Anton told the reporter.

O'Shea didn't like what he read next. "Mr. Anton didn't want to move but Pfizer Inc. had other plans for Fort Trumbull. And how one of the world's largest pharmaceutical companies tried-but so far failed-to realize its vision for Mr. Anton's neighborhood is a big reason this city of 25,000 people languishes, divided and anxious for the economic renaissance it was convinced would come."

The lengthy feature story hit Pfizer hard, indicating that the drug company had come to New London with a plan to transform the city. "But redeveloping scores of acres in Fort Trumbull, next to Pfizer's own 24-acre site, would require evicting many longtime residents," the Journal Journal reported. reported.

Stung by what he'd read, O'Shea put down the paper in disgust. As the vice president of operations and public affairs for Pfizer's research division, O'Shea had carefully followed all the stories about the development project in the local press. Although he hadn't liked all the controversy, none of it had concerned him too much as long as it was largely confined to the Day Day and other Connecticut papers. After all, investors, shareholders, and Pfizer's corporate executives in New York didn't read the and other Connecticut papers. After all, investors, shareholders, and Pfizer's corporate executives in New York didn't read the Day Day. But they all read the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal. The fact that the nation's leading financial paper had fingered Pfizer as the corporation behind the city's efforts to drive people from their homes in Fort Trumbull had O'Shea steaming.

Smart, shrewd, and cautious, O'Shea had spent four years trying to protect Pfizer from guilt by a.s.sociation with the NLDC and its use of eminent domain. But his task had been made difficult by the close a.s.sociation between George Milne and Claire Gaudiani. Her style and the NLDC's reputation made O'Shea bristle.

When he had first learned that Milne was considering New London as a development site, O'Shea had had serious reservations. In retrospect, however, O'Shea had come to view Milne's decision as a brilliant one. When Pfizer had merged with Warner-Lambert, the company had had to centralize a wide variety of business operations, and the New London site suddenly provided the company great flexibility.

He also took satisfaction in Judge Corradino's conclusion that Pfizer had not directed the NLDC to use eminent domain. But now he had to deal with the Wall Street Journal Wall Street Journal's suggestion to the contrary.