Little Pink House Part 25

On a notepad, O'Shea listed his complaints. Then he telephoned one of Pfizer's attorneys, saying they needed to address these issues with the paper's editors. The attorney agreed. O'Shea called the Journal Journal and demanded a face-to-face meeting. A few days later he traveled with an attorney to the paper's offices in lower Manhattan. In a meeting with Lucette Lagnado and her editors, O'Shea unloaded, arguing the story was plagued by errors and all kinds of innuendos. and demanded a face-to-face meeting. A few days later he traveled with an attorney to the paper's offices in lower Manhattan. In a meeting with Lucette Lagnado and her editors, O'Shea unloaded, arguing the story was plagued by errors and all kinds of innuendos.

"I didn't like that whenever the NLDC did something our name was attached to it," O'Shea said later. "We had a very specific purpose in mind. The state and the city and the NLDC helped us with our purpose, and we did what we committed to do. Everything else was peripheral and not Pfizer's responsibility. We were interested bystanders."

O'Shea wanted the Journal Journal to publish a retraction or a clarification. But the paper declined, standing behind the reporting of Lagnado, a longtime, award-winning journalist. Instead, the paper agreed to publish a letter to the editor from O'Shea. to publish a retraction or a clarification. But the paper declined, standing behind the reporting of Lagnado, a longtime, award-winning journalist. Instead, the paper agreed to publish a letter to the editor from O'Shea.

In his letter, O'Shea said he was "saddened and insulted" by the story and complained that "facts were obscured in favor of innuendo." It was published ten days later. In protest, O'Shea stopped reading the Journal Journal and started reading the and started reading the New York Times New York Times.

Money. Every time she looked at her checkbook, Susette realized she didn't have enough of it. Her nursing shifts were barely paying her enough for the necessities. LeBlanc had steady work. But as a stonemason in business for himself, he had to hustle just to make enough to pay the bills, too. They knew they needed a little extra income.

Susette had heard that the city was looking to hire a nurse to help children with nutrition and testing for lead poisoning. She and LeBlanc figured it was worth a shot. She applied for the part-time position. When the city received her application, some officials were unsure what to do. They brought the application to Tom Londregan for advice.

Londregan had to smile. He knew what some people in City Hall were thinking-First she sues us; then she turns around and applies for a job from us?

Londregan had nothing personal against Susette. They actually shared a couple of traits. Both were tireless professionals, unusually dedicated to serving those in their care-whether a patient or a client. And when it came to defending something they believed in, they were relentless. Neither one of them knew the word "surrender."

"Well," Londregan told those reviewing her application, "if she's qualified, hire her." In late September, the city offered Susette the job as lead and nutrition nurse. She accepted and received a small office next door to the courthouse.

October 21, 2002 Steve and Amy Hallquist knew the time had come to sever their ties with the conservancy. They no longer agreed with the direction being taken by Sawyer and the Steffians. "These people don't know how to put their swords down," Steve told Amy. "They just hone them constantly." Amy agreed.

Steve submitted a resignation letter to the conservancy and demanded that the nonprofit corporation remove his name from all lawsuits and appeals and that it stop using his home address as its address of record. "I cannot, in good conscience, continue my relationship with the group," he wrote. "Furthermore, I cannot endorse or be a.s.sociated with the irreconcilable proposition recommended by the Conservancy president to have the former NUWC Building #2 demolished."

Hallquist also withdrew from being represented by Sawyer. "The strategy he has used to negotiate is incompatible with good faith negotiations and is patently obstructionist," he wrote. "I do not feel that lawsuits should be used as bargaining chips. This kind of leverage is corrupt, fraudulent, and obstruction."

Amy also submitted a letter of resignation, saying the Steffians and Sawyer were taking the conservancy in a direction she couldn't support.

October 29, 2002 Susette had barely started her evening shift in the emergency room when the staff got word of an incoming trauma code. Everyone rushed to meet the paramedics who were wheeling in a man on a stretcher. "I always hate these," Susette said to another nurse. "I'm always worried it's going to be someone I know."

The victim had lost a lot of blood and sustained severe cranial and facial injuries in a horrible automobile accident. His pupils were fixed, and he wasn't breathing on his own. A ventilator mask covered most of his face.

Standing beside the respiratory technician, Susette looked on as doctors cut the victim's clothes off. Something about the man's physical features caught her eye.

"Here's his wallet," one of the technicians said, pa.s.sing it past Susette to a nurse behind her. At a quick glance, it looked familiar.

Susette bent down and examined the victim's hand, dangling lifelessly from the side of the stretcher. She knew the ring on his ring finger. "Oh, my G.o.d," she whispered. Feeling queasy, she stepped toward the nurse who had taken the victim's wallet. "I know who this is," Susette said.

"Who?"

"My husband."

"What?" the nurse said.

"Open the wallet," Susette said.

The nurse removed the victim's driver's license. "It says Timothy LeBlanc."

"Oh, my G.o.d!" Susette screamed. "That's him." She sunk to the floor.

The nurse yelled to the doctor, "The victim is Susette's husband."

Another technician called for the shift supervisor. "You need to get down here," she said. "Susette Kelo's husband was just brought in as a trauma code."

In a separate room, Susette's colleagues worked to calm her down. She didn't bother to tell them that she wasn't formally married to LeBlanc. Afraid doctors would soon have to decide whether to remove him from life support, she wanted to be in a position to tell them not to. As a nurse, she knew girlfriends and fiancees didn't have that ability-only spouses did.

Eventually, a surgeon came to see her with an update. LeBlanc had spinal fluid in his nose and ears. Every bone in his face appeared broken. Free air had entered his brain as a result of the skull fracture. The trauma to his face and head had left him unrecognizable. It was unclear whether he would survive.

For the next forty-eight hours, Susette held vigil at LeBlanc's side. When she finally ran home for a change of clothes and a shower, she b.u.mped into Kathleen Mitch.e.l.l's daughter on the street. "Tell your mother that Timothy was in a car accident," she said.

Soon word spread through the neighborhood that LeBlanc's life was in the balance. Susette had cried so much her eyes were dry. Eventually, LeBlanc started to breathe on his own, and the doctors upgraded his condition. But they informed Susette that even in the best-case scenario LeBlanc would be permanently disabled. His speech would be slow, his memory limited, and his physical mobility severely restricted. Even with an excruciating physical-rehabilitation schedule, LeBlanc would never be the man he had once been.

Matt Dery was the first to check in on Susette. None of the other neighbors wanted to infringe on her privacy at such a sensitive time. "We don't know what to say," Dery told her.

Even Von Winkle stayed away. Whenever he experienced grief, he preferred to be left alone, so he figured he'd leave Susette alone.

When Scott Bullock got the news, he couldn't believe it. He wondered, What else does this woman have to deal with? What else does this woman have to deal with?

37.

G.o.d, WHAT HAVE I DONE?.

Suing the city was the farthest thing from Byron Athenian's mind when he had first gotten the notice that the NLDC had condemned his house. Self-employed, he had been doing auto-body work for twenty-three years. He had paid $39,000 for his house eleven years earlier and opened up a repair shop in the backyard, earning about $50,000 a year. It was just enough to support his three children and a granddaughter confined to a wheelchair. Just four years shy of paying off his mortgage, Athenian had agreed to join the lawsuit when his respected friend Matt Dery had.

Low profile throughout the case, Athenian first heard about Judge Corradino's ruling when Matt Dery called with the news. "No good," Dery told him before inviting him up for a beer and a celebration with the ones who had won.

Disappointed, yet even-tempered, Athenian had shown up at Dery's house that night and partied with his friends. He had celebrated even harder after they informed him that they planned to appeal on his behalf.

But since then, Athenian had experienced the wrath of the NLDC. He had come home one day and discovered that dump trucks had unloaded tons of dirt on the street right in front of his house. Besides adding four feet in elevation to the roadway just a few steps from his front door, the dust was so overwhelming that it covered the inside of Athenian's house. The first time it rained, the topsoil turned into a mud slide into his bas.e.m.e.nt and first-floor living room. Besides flooding his house and snuffing out his boiler, the mud and water made it virtually impossible to get his granddaughter's wheelchair from the house to the road.

For weeks the city refused to collect Athenian's trash; that was because he no longer had a sidewalk to set it on on pickup days. The NLDC tore down his street sign and put up Jersey barriers around his property, giving it the look of an occupied territory. The agency even detonated dynamite on the neighboring lots it had obtained. The explosions caused the walls to crack inside Athenian's house.

The more the NLDC hara.s.sed Athenian, the more the Inst.i.tute for Justice became determined to win its appeal. To help build public support, the inst.i.tute funded the formation of a gra.s.sroots-activism organization called the Castle Coalition. Dedicated to preserving homes from eminent-domain takings, the coalition launched a Web site and organized a candlelight vigil in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood on the eve of the hearing before the Connecticut Supreme Court.

December 2, 2002 Supporters for the homeowners packed the small courthouse gallery to hear Bullock and Berliner argue their appeal. The plaintiffs sat together, in a show of solidarity. Susette left LeBlanc's bedside at the hospital to attend. There was no way she would miss the opportunity to stand with her neighbors. To her, they were no longer just neighbors locked in a legal fight; they were her family. And with Tim's future uncertain, she needed family more than ever.

The oral arguments were fairly uneventful. Both sides reiterated the cases they had made at the trial court, hoping to get a more favorable ruling this time around.

The real fun took place afterward. Bullock and Berliner took the group out for dinner. Matt Dery chose an Italian restaurant. The neighbors all felt that their attorneys had scored a lot of points before the appeals judges. Everyone felt confident that Beyer, Athenian, and the Cristofaros would end up getting their properties back, enabling the core of the neighborhood's families to remain in place.

The more the group drank, the more it bragged. The dinner was just what Susette needed-a reason to smile.

Mid-December 2002 After nearly two months of hospitalization and rehab, Tim LeBlanc had rung up over $300,000 in medical bills. During that time he had progressed to the developmental stage of a four-year-old. He still had a long way to go and still required full-time care. The hospital recommended a nursing home capable of around-the-clock help and long-term rehabilitation. An administrator explained all this to Susette. She knew she had a big decision to make.

The man she had fallen in love with and lived with for three years was gone. The simple pleasures of life-conversation, walks, meals together, intimacy-were now just a memory. Yet there was no way she could turn her back on LeBlanc now. He needed her.

Susette told the hospital administrator she didn't want LeBlanc in a nursing home. The administrator asked Susette what other option she had in mind. Susette insisted on bringing LeBlanc home to 8 East Street to live with her.

"He is permanently disabled," the administrator pointed out. "He'll be confined to the house. He needs someone to prepare his meals and help him go to the bathroom. The situation requires a full-time nurse."

"What are you, nuts?" Susette countered. "I am a nurse!"

The week before Christmas 2002, the hospital released LeBlanc to Susette's care. LeBlanc was permanently disabled and had no health insurance. Plus his health-care costs were going to continue to mount. This was another headache Susette had to endure.

Fortunately, Susette had complete medical coverage through her employer. If she married LeBlanc right away she could enroll him on her health-care plan with eligibility starting in January, and that would at least cover his future medical bills.

Two days after LeBlanc was discharged, Susette drove him to Maine and married him in a private ceremony. She had been looking forward to becoming LeBlanc's wife one day so that he could take care of her-fulfilling her financial, physical, and emotional needs. None of that was possible now. Ironically, she would resume the role she had played in her previous marriages, taking care of her husband.

Only this time the needs were more acute. She would be more like a mother than a wife to LeBlanc. For starters, she had to deal with the medical bills he had racked up since the accident. After convincing one of the hospitals that had treated LeBlanc to forgive roughly $150,000 in medical bills, Susette set up a payment plan with the other hospital, agreeing to make monthly installments in the range of $100 until the six-figure bill was met.

She set up a room for him at her place, and she arranged for people to be with him when she had to work. No one in the neighborhood spent more time helping LeBlanc than Von Winkle. He wouldn't visit at the hospital, but now that LeBlanc was home, Von Winkle wouldn't leave him alone. He took LeBlanc for car rides, he stayed at his bedside making small talk, and he cleared out s.p.a.ce in a nearby building he owned, making way for Susette to store all of LeBlanc's tools. It would be years, if ever, before LeBlanc would be able to use them again.

Susette figured out that Von Winkle had a difficult time expressing love verbally. But he had no trouble showing it. She was the same way. Maybe that was why, she figured, she liked Von Winkle so much. He was tough as nails but had a heart of gold.

Matt and Sue Dery picked up the slack whenever Von Winkle wasn't available to help with LeBlanc. They started bringing him to their home regularly to eat homemade Italian sausages, one of his favorite dishes.

The road to recovery, though, was arduous and had no guarantees. Susette understood the odds. But as long as Billy and Matt and Sue were around, she figured she'd get through it. They had beaten the odds to save their homes. She hoped LeBlanc would be so lucky.

April 2003 Around the time that the Inst.i.tute for Justice had decided to represent Susette and her neighbors, Dana Berliner had wanted to know how widespread eminent-domain abuses were throughout the country. With the support and encouragement of the inst.i.tute's founder, Chip Mellor, she had undertaken the first comprehensive study of the problem ever conducted in the United States. After two years of intense research, she generated a report t.i.tled: "Public Power, Private Gain." It contained a bombsh.e.l.l. In the previous five years, more than ten thousand private properties in forty-one states had been threatened or taken by eminent domain for private use.

When Mellor saw Berliner's findings, he wanted John Kramer to get them out to the national media. Among other things, Berliner's report showed that what was going on in New London was not unique. It was more like a national epidemic-and no one seemed to be talking about it.

To get the word out, Kramer took a risk. He called 60 Minutes 60 Minutes and asked to speak with the show's legendary creator and executive producer, Don Hewitt. He reached Hewitt's secretary and left a message. and asked to speak with the show's legendary creator and executive producer, Don Hewitt. He reached Hewitt's secretary and left a message.

Fifteen minutes later, Kramer's phone rang. It was Hewitt.

"Mr. Hewitt, I know you don't typically take calls from PR people," began Kramer, who went on to say he had something very unusual that might appeal to 60 Minutes 60 Minutes. "Can I give you a thirty-second pitch on it?"

"Go for it," Hewitt said.

Kramer reported that eminent domain was being used nationwide by local governments to take private homes and to give them to developers. And small businesses were being taken to make way for big businesses. "We've doc.u.mented more than ten thousand cases across the country," he said.

Hewitt asked if the inst.i.tute had a report to doc.u.ment this.

"I can get you that by FedEx tomorrow," Kramer said.

Hewitt told him to send it. "If it's something we're interested in, we'll call you back."

Two days later, Kramer got a call from Bob Anderson, the producer for reporter Mike Wallace. He said Hewitt had handed him Berliner's report and had said, "I don't know if this is all true, but if it is true, it's a h.e.l.luva story, and you've got to cover it."

Within a week, Anderson was in the inst.i.tute's office, and 60 Minutes 60 Minutes had an exclusive. had an exclusive.

Over the next five months, Mike Wallace spent time at the inst.i.tute's office, and he investigated egregious eminent-domain abuses in Ohio and Arizona, cases that involved clients represented by the inst.i.tute. In the opening episode of the fall season, in September 2003, 60 Minutes 60 Minutes did a blistering report on the widespread abuse of eminent domain throughout the country, featuring interviews with Bullock and Berliner. The segment didn't mention New London, but it had an immediate impact. In one night, more than ten million Americans became acquainted with a topic they had known little about. Almost every major daily paper in the country ended up covering Berliner's study. The coverage was so widespread that the inst.i.tute received a national award for its expertise in public relations. did a blistering report on the widespread abuse of eminent domain throughout the country, featuring interviews with Bullock and Berliner. The segment didn't mention New London, but it had an immediate impact. In one night, more than ten million Americans became acquainted with a topic they had known little about. Almost every major daily paper in the country ended up covering Berliner's study. The coverage was so widespread that the inst.i.tute received a national award for its expertise in public relations.

March 2, 2004 Scott Bullock was on his computer when he received an e-mail from the Connecticut Supreme Court, informing him that the decision would be posted on the court's Web site the following day. The inst.i.tute had already prepared two press releases, one antic.i.p.ating good news and the other antic.i.p.ating bad news.

The next morning, Bullock and Berliner logged on to the court's Web site and relentlessly clicked the Refresh b.u.t.ton until a link to the decision appeared on the computer screen. Together, they scanned the decision very quickly.

Instantly, the crushing shock hit them. It was immediately clear that part of the trial court decision had been affirmed and part of it had been reversed; the court had affirmed Judge Corradino's decision to let the city's eminent-domain takings against Beyer, Athenian, and the Cristofaros stand. And it had reversed Corradino's decision to let Kelo, Von Winkle, and Dery keep their homes. "They reversed the good part and affirmed the bad part," Bullock said.

Just like that, all of the homeowners were out of luck. The city's munic.i.p.al-development plan-according to the state's highest court-const.i.tuted a public use and therefore gave the government the power to take private property through eminent domain. The fact that a specific use had not been identified for Susette's block didn't matter.

Bullock couldn't believe it. Neither could Berliner.

Groping for something, anything anything positive in the decision, they noted the justices' narrow 43 vote margin. The court was sharply divided. Bullock scanned down to the dissenting opinion. positive in the decision, they noted the justices' narrow 43 vote margin. The court was sharply divided. Bullock scanned down to the dissenting opinion.

"Look," he said, "the dissent says the court is going further than it has ever gone in the past. It's right in the first paragraph."

Berliner knew what Bullock was thinking: they should appeal the decision to the U.S. Supreme Court. But neither of them had ever argued a case before the nation's highest court. Just the idea seemed overwhelming. Where would they begin?

"The dissenting opinion makes the points we need for a pet.i.tion to the Supreme Court," Bullock said. "It's right there in the opinion."

Berliner knew one thing: their clients deserved to have the decision appealed. Every one of them was going to be devastated when they got the news, especially Susette, Von Winkle, and the Dery family. The Connecticut Supreme Court had s.n.a.t.c.hed victory away from them.

Bullock and Berliner divided the clients into two call lists. Bullock called Susette first, reaching her on her cell phone at the hospital. When he told her they had lost-all of them-Susette didn't say a word. Bullock would have thought he had lost the connection, but he could still hear all the hospital noise in the background.

"It's an incredibly disappointing ruling," he said softly. "Although it was close, the end result is still that they ruled in favor of the city and the NLDC."

She still said nothing.

He told her they planned to appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court.

That didn't register. All she could hear was that they had lost.

"We will absolutely appeal this," he vowed.

"Yeah, okay," she said, her voice tapering off. "I understand."

Susette didn't bother saying good-bye before hanging up and burying her face in her hands. As a little girl growing up in Maine, she had learned to use socks to protect her hands against frigid winter air when her mother couldn't afford to buy her mittens. It had proven to be a road map for what lay ahead. Throughout her life she had improvised to compensate for what she didn't have. Suddenly she had an invalid husband and was on the verge of having no place to live.

Where would they go? How would she afford to support them? And what if the city came after her for the rent money she would now owe for unlawfully occupying the house for the previous two years?

She couldn't help thinking she should have just gotten out when Pfizer had first come to town. G.o.d, what have I done? G.o.d, what have I done? she thought. she thought.

When Bullock reached Matt Dery, he was still at work. He had already read the decision online from his office computer. He couldn't believe it. There would be no neighborhood celebration at his house this time. A neighborhood funeral seemed more appropriate.

Billy Von Winkle was in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood when Bullock reached him with the bad news. He didn't take it as badly as the others. Bullock talked up the prospect of going to the U.S. Supreme Court. "The Supreme Court is always a huge long shot," he said. "But we will absolutely appeal this."

"All right, Bull. What are our chances?"

Bullock had to smile. Von Winkle was the businessman in the group, the numbers guy. He had a way of sizing things up and getting right to the bottom line.

Normally, Bullock explained, chances were slim. But in this instance, he figured, the chances were better than normal because the dissenting judges on the Connecticut Supreme Court had plainly stated that the court had made a decision that went far beyond anywhere it had previously gone. That cried out for judicial review.

Von Winkle was up for another round. What did they have to lose?