Little Pink House Part 12

Next the group voted to establish a nonprofit organization to lead the drive. They settled on the name: the Coalition to Save Fort Trumbull Neighborhood. Committees were established and filled. a.s.signments were made. And the group settled on meeting weekly.

The Hallquists agreed to do legal research on the NLDC's actions. Paxton accepted responsibility for writing opinion pieces and letters to the editor. Another group of individuals agreed to pen letters to all elected officials at the local, state, and federal levels. Others agreed to mobilize more residents into action.

While protesting the NLDC's plans to wipe out a neighborhood, the group also agreed they had to offer a counterplan. John Steffian accepted that a.s.signment. He promised to produce an alternative design that would preserve the neighborhood while still accomplishing the NLDC's goals.

Susette got emotional. This collection of talented, dedicated people overwhelmed her. Few of them knew Susette, yet they all were dedicated to helping her save her home. For the first time, she felt convinced the neighborhood could be saved.

The group asked Susette for a list of people who had moved out of the neighborhood under duress. They also asked her to write a letter to the editor of the newspaper voicing her anger with the NLDC's actions.

Susette had never written an opinion letter. Mitch.e.l.l offered to help her, and that night they got together and wrote: While other a.s.sociations are battling for speed b.u.mps on their streets and better lighting, sidewalks in front of their homes and drug-free streets, we in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood are fighting for only one thing-our homes.And why shouldn't we? Or more precisely, why should we have to? They belong to us. We've paid our taxes and our water bills, maintained our homes, made some improvements, put up with the stench of the sewer plants. Now the NLDC says we have to go. We have to make room for people who will better fit into a "hip little city."We have no objection to a hotel, conference center or wellness clinic. We are happy to see that Fort Trumbull will be open as a state park. We welcome Pfizer. But not at the expense of the people who have invested so much in this neighborhood.Most of the work in mounting and maintaining this campaign to save our homes has fallen on the shoulders of myself and Kathleen Mitch.e.l.l. We have learned that in the esoteric language of redevelopment, "hip" means "higher-income people." "In the way of progress" means "we want your homes."Where is the justice in forcing senior citizens out of their homes?Let us keep our homes. Ask yourself this: "What would I do if it were my home or that of my parents or my children?" Those who wanted to go (and some who didn't) have gone from Fort Trumbull. You can safely a.s.sume that the rest of us want to stay. Please support us.

Susette's letter was published under the t.i.tle: "No room for New Londoners." Seeing her byline in the newspaper emboldened Susette.

The opposite page carried an essay by Fred Paxton t.i.tled "Little 'social justice' in strong-arm tactics." In it he artfully used Claire's words against her. He took her slogan statement-"Economic development and social justice are two sides of the same coin"-and listed all the injustices being committed as a result of the NLDC's plan to complement Pfizer's global research center. "This means the disappearance of landmarks, among as many as 26 small businesses and 115 homes," Paxton wrote. "Why can't they be part of the plan? As it is, their lives have been up in the air for almost two years."

Paxton's printed bio as a professor at Connecticut College hit Claire like a slap in the face.

The sudden onslaught persuaded the NLDC to agree to a meeting with the new coalition.

The first time Susette had approached Matt Dery to join a neighborhood a.s.sociation, he had made it clear he would never join any group effort to oppose the NLDC. But since then, a lot had changed. Susette went to see Dery again. She told him about the new coalition and all the smart people who had joined. She explained that the coalition had pressured the NLDC into holding a meeting at St. James Church, where NLDC officials would answer questions. She asked him to attend.

He complained that for years no one had even known their neighborhood existed. No one had known what was beyond the train tracks. "We were in a world by ourselves," he said.

She got the picture. "When the story first came out in the papers that they wanted the fort," she said, "people in the city were like, 'Where the h.e.l.l is that place?'"

"n.o.body ever cared about us," Dery said. "They put the s.h.i.t plant down here. They don't plow here when it snows. They don't pick up our garbage. This was a forgotten neighborhood."

She nodded.

But after Dery said his piece, he agreed to attend the meeting with her.

December 7, 1999 Fred Paxton donned his reading gla.s.ses and plugged in his laptop at St. James Church. Kathleen Mitch.e.l.l, John and Sarah Steffian, and the Hallquists filed in with prepared questions. They couldn't wait to get at the NLDC. Mayor Beachy had pa.s.sed along some intelligence: the NLDC had retained a nationally renowned engineering firm-Wallace Roberts & Todd-to suggest options for how to redevelop the ninety-acre peninsula, and the firm had actually advocated keeping the houses in Fort Trumbull. The NLDC eventually replaced that firm with a lesser known one that advocated demolishing all homes.

Admiral David Goebel and four other representatives from the NLDC filed in. After a brief introduction, the coalition began to fire questions at Goebel. One coalition member wanted to know why the NLDC had dismissed the design firm that recommended preserving the homes and integrating them into the redevelopment plan.

"I wouldn't say they were fired," Goebel said. "Their work was done, and they just fell off."

Paxton found Goebel's statement disingenuous. He felt firms of that caliber didn't "fall off."

"This is a conflict of interest," Paxton said. "The NLDC was interested in buying properties with the clear intent of demolition."

Goebel emphasized that the development would serve the best overall interest of the city by increasing tax revenues by $12 million a year. Most of the revenue, he insisted, would come from Pfizer, which would help the city's schools, health care, and art and cultural programs. He sounded like Claire had fed him his lines.

Steffian didn't appreciate Goebel's sidestepping the coalition's core issue: saving homes. He challenged Goebel, saying the homes could easily be integrated into any development design.

Goebel didn't have an answer.

Matt Dery nudged Susette. "Ask Goebel if he's going to do anything to help us save our homes," he said.

"Mr. Goebel," Susette said, "is there anything that you or the NLDC is going to do to help save our homes?"

"In order to complete the development of the area, in order to do that, we must acquire all the homes," said Goebel, adding that the homes he had seen were not in good shape. Speechless, Susette turned to Dery. Goebel's dig hit Dery like a punch in the heart. Only Paxton's fingers' pecking at his laptop keyboard broke the awkward silence.

"He didn't even lie and at least say say they would try and save our houses," Susette whispered to Dery. they would try and save our houses," Susette whispered to Dery.

After a distinguished career as an architect and designer, John Steffian had no patience for what Goebel was saying. What did Goebel know about engineering, architecture, and urban design? The guy was a retired admiral, not an urban planner. He was used to giving orders. In this instance, he sounded a lot like an NLDC yes-man, a preprogrammed mouthpiece who would say anything to justify the agency's determination to give Pfizer what it wanted-an entirely new neighborhood.

The next morning's headline read: "NLDC will demolish all the homes in the Fort Trumbull area even though a coalition has asked it to preserve them."

December 15, 1999 Governor Rowland had had it. Nearly six months had pa.s.sed since the Freedom of Information Commission had ordered the NLDC to turn over doc.u.ments to the newspaper. And it still had not complied. Meanwhile, the NLDC's battle with holdout homeowners in Fort Trumbull had become a full-blown controversy with no signs of slowing down. Protest letters and essays had become routine on the newspaper's editorial page. The public sentiment seemed to be tilting in favor of the property owners. The media seemed headed that way too. Worst of all, time had clearly demonstrated that Claire was not someone the state could control.

The governor decided to remind her where the power rested. He issued Claire a letter threatening to withhold state funds from the NLDC if it didn't comply with the freedom-of-information law. The governor made sure the press got a copy of the letter.

Claire issued a written statement, promising to comply.

When John Steffian completed his alternative design for the Fort Trumbull peninsula, the coalition distributed copies to the media, along with a press release. Steffian also sent his plans to the NLDC. The renderings showed a way to integrate the existing historic neighborhood into the new development in such a way that the old would complement the new. Steffian's plan also preserved the elements important to Pfizer, including waterfront access and new amenities appealing in a corporate campus.

No one at the NLDC cared to see Steffian's design-not Claire, not Goebel, not Percy. A staffer merely stuffed the plan in a file cabinet.

Chastised by the governor, Claire had her lawyers withdraw the freedom-of-information appeal. Still smarting from the defeat, she wrote to publisher Reid MacCluggage. "I have reflected on how the newspaper and the development effort can move in more synchronous ways," she said. "As you probably know, Bill Taylor, retired publisher of the Boston Globe Boston Globe and member of the board of the and member of the board of the New York Times New York Times, was a trustee of Connecticut College. I have sought Bill's advice in the past on many issues, including those related to dealing with the press. Bill has graciously agreed to come to New London to a closed meeting with you and the members of the Day Day staff for a discussion on civic journalism if you would like to invite him to come. He has offered five dates." staff for a discussion on civic journalism if you would like to invite him to come. He has offered five dates."

Claire advised MacCluggage to have no one outside the newspaper staff attend the meeting. "I am hopeful that on behalf of the City of New London and its great past, we can move forward as fellow citizens in the new year," she said. "The Day Day has played a powerful role in the city's past. I am looking forward to its playing an equally powerful role in the city's future." has played a powerful role in the city's past. I am looking forward to its playing an equally powerful role in the city's future."

MacCluggage could not believe Claire had the nerve to contact one of the more respected names in print journalism and ask him to make a presentation to the newspaper without first checking with him.

He wrote her back: I wish you had consulted me before asking Bill Taylor to come to the Day Day for a discussion on civic journalism. I have the highest regard for Mr. Taylor, and you have put me in the position of turning him down. I don't like that. Had you contacted me first to ask whether I would be amenable, I would have explained that the staff and I are already very familiar with the notion of civic journalism. It is apparent you are unaware of the leadership role the for a discussion on civic journalism. I have the highest regard for Mr. Taylor, and you have put me in the position of turning him down. I don't like that. Had you contacted me first to ask whether I would be amenable, I would have explained that the staff and I are already very familiar with the notion of civic journalism. It is apparent you are unaware of the leadership role the Day Day played in the early discussions of the concept nearly a decade ago. played in the early discussions of the concept nearly a decade ago.Please check with me before you ask someone to make a presentation at the newspaper.

MacCluggage copied the letter to Bill Taylor.

Claire got the last word: "I have received your letter and regret that you have turned down Bill Taylor's offer," she wrote back, insisting she had been well aware of the Day Day's previous leadership role in developing civic journalism.

It seemed appropriate to invite Bill Taylor to engage all of you in moving your leadership forward.You should also know that I asked Bill if he would consider such an opportunity only after discussing this issue with a number of your staff. It appears that the staff at the Day Day ... are quite enthusiastic about this opportunity, which you may wish to discuss with them in some open format. They have reported to me that they do not know why you made the decision not to invite Bill to join you for a closed discussion on this issue which is after all, Reid, every bit as important as FOI [freedom of information]. ... are quite enthusiastic about this opportunity, which you may wish to discuss with them in some open format. They have reported to me that they do not know why you made the decision not to invite Bill to join you for a closed discussion on this issue which is after all, Reid, every bit as important as FOI [freedom of information].

22.

RUBBER STAMP.

As the city's attorney, Tom Londregan saw it as his duty to do everything in his power to get the NLDC's munic.i.p.al-development plan (MDP) pa.s.sed in compliance with the law. The law, he believed, allowed for the use of eminent domain. But for him, it went deeper than simple legal a.n.a.lysis. Personally, Londregan believed the development being attempted by Pfizer and the NLDC would help New London.

The city had one more legal hurdle to clear before the city council could vote on whether to approve the NLDC's plan: a public hearing. Judging from the tone of editorials and letters in the newspaper, Londregan expected some real opposition to the plan at the hearing. The threat of eminent domain had become a flash point.

With the public hearing set for early January, Londregan huddled with the city council. In 1998, the council had pa.s.sed a resolution directing the NLDC to prepare a redevelopment plan. The NLDC's plan called for the Fort Trumbull neighborhood to be razed and redeveloped. To approve the plan, the council had to say yes to eminent domain. "The question is," Londregan said, "do you want to do that?"

Mayor Beachy had consistently made his feelings known. "I don't want to throw anybody out of their home," Beachy said.

But the idea of taking people's homes didn't seem to bother the rest of the council members. They were more concerned about taking the blame if the public and the press reacted negatively. By authorizing the NLDC to use eminent domain, the city's elected officials could shield themselves from any political fallout. If things went badly, the blame would fall on the NLDC. At the same time, the city recognized that using the NLDC meant relinquishing power to the agency, and the city officials didn't like that.

"What are our choices?" one council member asked.

There were not many, Londregan explained. The state had put up the money for the project, so the state called the shots. And the state had chosen the NLDC as its agent. If the city wanted $70 million to flow from the state to the city for redevelopment, the city had to be willing to bow to the NLDC and, if push came to shove, give the NLDC final say on homes that had to go.

Londregan made a case for why no homes could be left standing: if the NLDC permitted a few scattered homes to stay, no developer would take the project on. A developer would want a complete site. If the plan called for a complete site, then some tough decisions would be required when it came to using eminent domain.

Mathew Greene was the first attorney Claire had hired after taking over the NLDC. A probate judge with a private law practice in New London, Greene had made friends with all the right people in the city-politicians, fellow lawyers, and businessmen. Likeable, athletic, and handsome, Greene hadn't been Claire's first choice to serve as the NLDC's in-house counsel. But he had come highly recommended, so she obliged.

Greene recognized that eminent domain might be a ticking time bomb. He also understood why the NLDC wanted to use it and why City Hall wanted the NLDC to use it. From a legal perspective, Greene didn't see any problems for the NLDC. But from a personal perspective, he saw Claire as opening herself up to more and more unfriendly fire. She was already shielding Pfizer and the governor's office from political heat. Now she would become the shield for City Hall on eminent domain.

Yet it wasn't Greene's responsibility to give Claire personal advice. Besides, he figured, she probably wouldn't take it anyway. He respected her even though he believed that patience and humility were not among her virtues. But she was the real deal, unlike one or two other board members whom Greene viewed as second-rate wannabes riding on Claire's coattails.

Claire's approach had Greene hearkening back to something a wise city leader had told him years earlier: "New London politics is about people, not about issues. It's always about people." In a city where everyone seems to be related to someone else in the city, outsiders didn't fare well. Claire was an outsider playing an insider's game. Dangerous Dangerous, Greene thought, dangerous dangerous.

City Hall officials scheduled two public hearings leading up to the city council's vote on whether to approve the NLDC's munic.i.p.al-development plan. Kathleen Mitch.e.l.l and the coalition mobilized hundreds of opponents to attend. When the time came, residents from throughout the city packed the hearings.

Mitch.e.l.l also did some research on Claire's home. When she had become president of Connecticut College, Claire had moved into the president's residence, a stately white colonial with red shutters located next door to a land conservatory. Additionally, she and her husband had purchased a second home away from New London in an exclusive waterfront community known as Mumford Cove, on Long Island Sound. She had a personal driver and a limousine to shuttle her from place to place.

Compared to the people Claire had been attempting to drive out of Fort Trumbull, she had some pretty upscale living standards. Mitch.e.l.l figured the time had come to expose all this to the public. She spread the word that while enjoying two expensive homes Claire was busy trying to deprive others of having only one.

At the close of the second public hearing, Claire addressed the issue of owning multiple homes, defending her and her husband's lifestyle. "We were very, very, very modestly paid professors when we came to this area, when I was asked to be president of the college," she said. "When I came to the college, I had a president's house. If we had not purchased a house within eighteen months, we would have had to have paid capital gain [tax] on the little nest egg that we had in our house. So, of course, we bought a house. The house we could find at the time is on Mumford Cove in Groton. So that is the place where David and I go on the weekends. So I hope you, as fellow citizens, would understand that somebody with my kind of job is basically on a 24/7 schedule. I should have a place to go with my family and be a mom and a wife."

Mitch.e.l.l loved Claire's answer. It gave the impression that her job was more important than everybody else's. Many people in New London didn't own one home, much less two homes. People in Fort Trumbull weren't looking for a weekend getaway; they were merely trying to hold on to four walls and a roof. Claire talked about trying to avoid capital gains taxes; few people in Fort Trumbull ever had to worry about capital gains.

With the city council set to vote on the NLDC plan on January 18, 2000, Mitch.e.l.l talked with Susette about making a public statement before the vote. Susette felt hesitant; a thousand people were projected to attend the public comment period before the vote.

Mitch.e.l.l a.s.sured her that most of the crowd would be on her side. That didn't change Susette's mind-she felt very uncomfortable about getting up in front of a crowd that size. She agreed to attend, but she made no promises about speaking. Mitch.e.l.l suggested she bring a picture of her house, reflecting all the renovations.

The New London High School auditorium was packed when Susette arrived with Mitch.e.l.l and trailed her toward some seats near other members of the coalition. The city council occupied seats on the stage. Susette recognized only one friendly person-Mayor Beachy.

For four hours the council listened as resident after resident addressed it in a public comment period. Mitch.e.l.l kept tabs; it appeared that more than 90 percent of the residents who spoke were against the NLDC plan. Wanting Susette to have the last word, Mitch.e.l.l waited until the very end of the meeting before she stood up to approach the microphone.

"C'mon, Susette," she whispered. "Come with me."

Susette looked up at Mitch.e.l.l, who was smiling and wearing an old, badly wrinkled blouse and white canvas sneakers that displayed her badly swollen ankles. Admiring Mitch.e.l.l's strength, Susette stood up, clutching a picture of her house. Side by side, they approached a microphone.

"We're coming up to speak together," Mitch.e.l.l said to the council. "Susette is not used to speaking in public, and I just wanted the company."

Mitch.e.l.l reminded the council that senior citizens on fixed incomes were being forced out under the NLDC plan. She gave a list of reasons why the council should not accept a plan that allowed for the use of eminent domain. Then she turned to Susette.

"I'm here tonight in regard to the Fort Trumbull neighborhood," Susette said, describing her house and what it meant to her. She held up the picture. "Does this look like a house that needs to be condemned? Does this look like a house that should be torn down?" She paused. "Please vote tonight to not tear down the Fort Trumbull neighborhood." She stepped back and followed Mitch.e.l.l back to their seats.

At midnight, the city council ended the meeting and went into executive session before voting 61 to support the NLDC's plan. Only Mayor Beachy voted no. The way had been cleared for the NLDC to begin carrying out the development plan.

23.

HIGHER EDUCATION.

Disillusioned." Fred Paxton couldn't think of a better word to describe his feelings after six months of hard work seemed to add up to nothing. The will of the people had been ignored, despite every effort to use the proper channels to communicate with elected officials.

The rest of the Coalition to Save Fort Trumbull Neighborhood felt the same way. Anger filled the room when members gathered to discuss the city council's vote. They had done research, circulated pet.i.tions, organized letter-writing campaigns, garnered positive publicity, mobilized citizens, attended public hearings, and demonstrated strong opposition to the NLDC's plan. They had even produced an alternative plan. Nothing had worked. Some wondered what else could be done.

Mitch.e.l.l lashed out at the coalition. "We have been playing too nice," she shouted. "We are playing by the rules of the politicians and the others in charge. We're not going to get anywhere using these methods."

All along, Mitch.e.l.l had been pushing for a more aggressive, confrontational approach. John and Sarah Steffian agreed; the coalition needed to play hardball. But some members feared such an approach would alienate them from the rest of the public and the press, both of which were behind the Fort Trumbull residents. The meeting degenerated into an argument and ended without any resolution on the next steps.

Discouraged and convinced the NLDC would get her house, Susette walked out in silence. The pain in Susette's expression tugged at Paxton. He had pledged to do all he could to help her, yet nothing he had tried seemed to work. He had let her down. He also felt he was taking a big personal risk by opposing Claire. Some colleagues had started to shun him. Some blamed him for undermining the school's reputation.

But unbeknownst to Paxton, while he had been publicly squaring off with Claire over Fort Trumbull, a small group of faculty at the college had been quietly looking into the finances of the school. One of them contacted Paxton and asked him to attend a private meeting with a college administrator who had firsthand knowledge of the school's accounting records.

Paxton reluctantly agreed. When he arrived at the meeting, the faculty administrator distributed some doc.u.ments. "Here's the financial status of the college," the administrator said.

While Paxton and his colleagues looked at the numbers, the administrator painted the picture for them. It was not pretty. The school's operating budget had shortfalls and warnings of a hiring freeze and possible cutbacks had reached the faculty. Two dining areas had been closed; hours at the athletic center had been cut back; and campus health service fees had gone up nearly tenfold. The school had also inexplicably run out of money while building some dormitories.

The group determined that something had to be done-fast. Talk ultimately turned to Claire. Paxton left the meeting feeling ill. He was in enough hot water with Claire over Fort Trumbull. The other professors understood that Paxton didn't want to be involved. But the others organized a private meeting off campus and invited senior, tenured faculty. The school's finances weren't the only thing driving the organizers. Some faculty had been at odds with Claire on a variety of issues. And personal gripes and personal offenses came into play too. All of this added up to momentum to orchestrate a change at the top.

April 6, 2000 "d.a.m.n."

Mayor Beachy tossed aside a legal notice prepared by the city's Building Division. It indicated the NLDC had obtained permits to demolish a slew of buildings in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood, including the house right next door to Susette's place and three other homes on East Street. The city council had barely voted to support the plan and the NLDC had already moved to exercise its power to knock down the buildings.

Beachy sent an urgent e-mail to the Coalition to Save Fort Trumbull Neighborhood, alerting them to the impending demolitions. "We must stop this project," Beachy wrote. "Step forward and fight."

A chill ran down Susette's spine when she read the e-mail. She called Mitch.e.l.l, who had already read it. To Mitch.e.l.l it was a long overdue call to arms.

Reinvigorated by news that the NLDC planned to start knocking down homes, the coalition reconvened to map out ideas to stop it. John Steffian insisted the time had come to take the fight out of the political process and into the courtroom.

Steve and Amy Hallquist agreed. "We have to get real," Steve said. "Real" meant hiring a lawyer and suing the NLDC.

"It's about time," Mitch.e.l.l said.

But lawyers and lawsuits, other coalition members pointed out, required money, and the coalition didn't have any money.

The Steffians had money, lots of it. And they had no intention of letting money get in the way of saving homes in Fort Trumbull.

Coalition members had another concern: liability. Suing the city or the NLDC could mean repercussions for anyone involved. Everyone agreed that engaging a lawyer probably made sense. But few were eager to become litigants.

Steve and Amy Hallquist volunteered to join the Steffians to search for an attorney.