Little Pink House Part 31

Instead, she went home and cried.

May 31, 2006 Bob Albright was concerned. Deadline day had arrived and no one had said yes to the state's money. Convinced that getting one holdout to break ranks would loosen the logjam and create momentum for others to follow, Albright had offered $980,000 to Matt Dery for the family's various Fort Trumbull properties, plus an a.s.surance that the city would waive all back taxes, occupancy fees, and sewer and water bills from the previous four-plus years. In fact, the NLDC had owned the properties since 2000 and was therefore solely responsible for the taxes. And a pretrial agreement approved by the court protected the plaintiffs against occupancy fees. Nonetheless, Albright was applying heat and offering way more money than the NLDC had ever offered.

Before sunup, Albright headed to New London intent on sealing the deal. He made Dery a persuasive pitch. The city was at the point where it felt it had waited long enough to carry out its development plan. At midnight the city would walk away from the table and commence eviction actions. With no legal means to stop the city, the state would withdraw its money from the mix and the holdouts would finally lose their homes. In addition, by the time the city slapped on all the back taxes, occupancy fees, and outstanding water and sewer bills that had acc.u.mulated during the legal battle, the holdouts would end up homeless-and penniless.

Dery couldn't ignore the grim reality. At this stage, refusing to settle looked like financial suicide. Dery had another reason to put down the sword. His mother had been a driving force in his willingness to fight on for so long, and with her recent pa.s.sing that was no longer the case. At least he could rest knowing he had achieved his mother's wish, even if he accepted the offer.

Convinced he really had no choice, Dery succ.u.mbed and settled.

As soon as Dery settled, his friend and neighbor Byron Athenian and Byron's mother figured they didn't have any choice either. The state offered to pay them $189,652 for their home and moving expenses. That was almost triple what the NLDC had offered to pay them in the beginning.

By 9 a.m. Londregan knew that Dery and Athenian were going. Pleased, he turned up the heat on the others. In an e-mail to Bullock he said the city would grant Von Winkle an extra two weeks to make up his mind on account of his son's murder. "As for Kelo, Beyer, and Cristofaro," he told Bullock, "the city needs their answer today."

Bullock knew beforehand that Dery was going to settle. But Athenian had surprised him. Nonetheless, the others were holding firm, and Bullock had no intention of letting Londregan bully them into changing their minds. He phoned Susette and shared Londregan's e-mail.

She didn't like what she heard. It sounded like Londregan and Albright were in cahoots and the holdouts now had no choice.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think it's a bluff," Bullock said.

She wanted some a.s.surance. Bullock said he couldn't be certain, but he suspected that the governor would do anything to avoid the prospect of forcing people from their homes. He said he'd call Albright and talk with him.

Under immense pressure from the state, Albright now made his best pitch to Bullock. The city was done playing. And when they quit playing, the incentive for the state to keep its money on the table would also disappear. Albright had been dealing directly with the governor's chief of staff and the clear message she had sent was that today was do or die. "We need an answer today, Scott, or I think it's done," Albright told him. "I think the governor will walk away."

Bullock told Albright he'd get back to him by the end of the day. He checked in with each of the remaining holdouts except Von Winkle and explained the situation. The dispute had come down to a high-stakes game of chicken. By breaking the deadline, the holdouts risked losing their homes and being saddled with enormous back taxes and occupancy fees. But the state, Bullock argued, was taking an even bigger chance. If it walked away from the table at the midnight deadline, the state risked the spectacle of the city dispatching law-enforcement officials to drag Susette and others from their homes on national television.

"I'm staying," Susette said.

The others agreed.

Bullock got hold of Albright. "We're not settling today and you can walk away if you want."

Albright contacted the governor's office with good news and bad news. Two had settled; four had not.

The governor wanted a read on the remaining four.

Albright had made little headway with them. Von Winkle was, for now, out of the picture, due to his son's death. As a nonresident of New London, Beyer remained a possible candidate for settlement if the state came up with enough money. But the Cristofaros and Susette were adamantly opposed to settling under any terms.

What now?

One thing was clear: money and a drop-dead deadline weren't going to do the trick. And no doubt Londregan and the city were ready to pull the trigger on eviction proceedings. The governor needed a new plan, and she needed it fast.

With three hours to go until midnight, a satellite broadcast truck from the Fox News Network's Hannity & Colmes Hannity & Colmes show was stationed on the street in front of Susette's house. A ma.s.sive spotlight illuminated her house as the program came on the air. show was stationed on the street in front of Susette's house. A ma.s.sive spotlight illuminated her house as the program came on the air.

"The nationwide battle over eminent domain began with this home one year ago with the Supreme Court's landmark decision in Kelo v. the City of New London, Connecticut Kelo v. the City of New London, Connecticut. Tonight marks the deadline given by the city for the homeowners to sell off their properties. The city council can begin eviction procedures with a vote on Monday. Joining us now from her home is Susette Kelo. And joining us from Washington is her attorney Scott Bullock. Susette, welcome," said Alan Colmes. "I guess right in back of you is the home that started this whole case. And you're not going to sell, correct?"

"Correct," she said. "I think we need to understand that none of us are selling. Our properties were taken by eminent domain."

Colmes turned to Bullock. "What happens now? She doesn't sell. The city says the deadline is right here? So what happens after this?"

"We hope that cooler heads prevail," Bullock said. "This is land that isn't needed for development."

"Hey, Susette, it's Sean Hannity here. Did you ever dream that one day you'd have a landmark Supreme Court decision with your name on it?"

"It's more like a living nightmare than a dream."

Hannity told Susette he'd probably side with the city if they wanted her home to make way for a school or a highway. But he knew that wasn't the case. "If they're going to knock your house down so they can build a bigger house with bigger tax revenue," Hannity said, "that seems like legalized stealing."

"What they're doing is wrong," Susette said. "It was wrong when it started nine years ago. And it's still wrong today. I don't even know what to say anymore."

Hannity looked to Bullock. "Susette's not going to leave. Are they going to arrest her? Are they going to take her out in handcuffs? Are they going to throw her out of her house? Are they going to evict her? Maybe David Souter ought to come down there and take a look at her being evicted from her house."

"Well, I certainly hope that doesn't happen because it is completely unnecessary," Bullock said. "That's the amazing thing about this whole situation. This doesn't have to happen."

"Unbelievable," Hannity said.

"Susette," Colmes said, "we thank you for fighting the good fight. We'll continue to follow this story. We thank you very much for being with us tonight."

Suddenly the spotlight went dark and Susette's earpiece went dead. The cameraman approached and removed the microphone from her sweater and shook her hand. "Good luck with what you're doing," he told her. "We support you."

The crew packed their equipment into the truck and drove off, leaving Susette standing alone in the middle of her empty, dark street. None of the other holdouts were on hand. No supporters were standing by. For the first time in eight years, Susette felt completely and totally alone in the struggle against the city. And for the first time, she got a sense of what it would feel like if she prevailed and got to stay in the fort-awfully lonely.

Now she wanted to leave. The thought of staying behind in an abandoned neighborhood without her friends felt terribly depressing.

Yet she couldn't pack it in now. She had an obligation to the nation. Letting go was not an option.

She looked up at her house. "There's no way I can let these people knock my home down," she said out loud.

She went inside and went to bed, wondering what the city would do in the morning.

Governor Rell didn't need reminding that the national media had its eye on whether the city would close in on the remaining holdouts. She pressed her staff and they pressed Albright.

He lobbied for a little more time and a lot more money to work on Beyer and Von Winkle. Neither of them lived in the fort neighborhood, and both of them were businessmen with a considerable amount of money tied up in their buildings. If the state came up with more resources, these two would probably make the smart business decision and finally bow out.

Rell committed another $1.2 million to be made available for settlement funds and she agreed to extend the deadline to June 15. But the state needed a fallback position for Susette and the Cristofaro family. They lived in their homes and had made it abundantly clear no amount of money would get them to go. The governor didn't want to see them forced out, but the state couldn't force the city to return their property deeds. The governor and her staff formulated a contingency plan to deal with Susette and the Cristofaro family. Then Rell faxed a letter to Mayor Sabilia explaining the governor's position. It read: "The State of Connecticut recommends that the City offer to relocate their primary residences (but not investment properties) to an appropriate location on Parcel 4-A, accompanied with a deed to the parcel upon which their homes will be relocated. Such deeds should include restrictive covenants to protect the development and cause t.i.tle to the properties and all improvements to revert to the City upon transfer or death of the t.i.tle holder."

The ball was now in the city's court.

47.

THE ENDGAME.

June 1, 2006 Did I wake you?" Bullock asked Susette.

"Are you kidding me? I've already had fourteen calls this morning."

It was 7 a.m., and Susette's appearance on the Fox News channel ten hours earlier had triggered a new round of offers from people around the country who wanted to help protect her home from the city. Some of the callers had scared Susette. A militia group that opposed the government's actions wanted to send men with guns to fend off the city.

"This s.h.i.t is getting out of control," Susette said.

"No matter what you do, stay away from those people," Bullock said.

"For G.o.d's sake, I am," she said, shaken by the fact that violent fanatics might soon be on her doorstep. "But if the city doesn't back down they're going to have blood in the streets."

Bullock had a more immediate problem to address: Governor Rell's letter to the city. He was not surprised that the governor had extended the deadline a couple more weeks and was prepared to pump more money into settlements. But he was furious at her fallback position-allowing the holdouts to maintain lifetime use of their properties-but with the t.i.tles reverting back to the city at death. "That's completely unacceptable," Bullock said. "That's not true ownership."

"It sounds like Governor Rell is abandoning us," Susette said. "Why doesn't she stand up to the city?"

"I don't know," he said. "But we're going after the governor."

By the time she hung up with Bullock, Susette was late for work. Racing out of her neighborhood she spotted Von Winkle working behind the window in his shop. It was the first time she'd seen him since his son's murder.

Eager to talk to him, she telephoned him as soon as she reached her office. She figured she'd begin by asking him about the governor's mediator.

"Albright call you?" she asked.

"No. Did he call you?"

"Nope."

She told him that Matt Dery and Byron Athenian had settled.

Von Winkle didn't say much. The swagger in his manner had disappeared, the humor in his voice snuffed out by a bullet.

"I probably can't do anything for you," Susette told him. "But I feel really bad, Billy. If you're going to stay, I'll stay."

"You're not going to drive me crazy today, are you, Red?"

She sensed a faint tone of sarcasm. Boy, she missed the old Billy.

Bullock and Kramer worked up a press release that portrayed the governor as a flip-flopping politician who was abandoning the homeowners at the eleventh hour. Bullock then called the capitol building in Hartford and got Representative Bob Ward, one of the ranking Republican legislators. Ward had come out hard against the Supreme Court decision and had previously called the NLDC stupid. More importantly, he had a direct line to the governor.

Bullock read the merciless press release nailing the governor for abandoning the homeowners and mocking her proposal to give the homeowners lifetime use of their properties. "That's the legal equivalent of being a serf," Bullock said.

A practical politician who didn't want to see a Republican governor take a hit in the national media, Ward clearly got the picture. "Give me two hours," he told Bullock.

Later that afternoon, Governor Rell revised her position. "I believe strongly that the residents of Fort Trumbull have a right to hold property, to hold the t.i.tle to that property and to pa.s.s that t.i.tle on to their children," she wrote in a follow-up letter to Mayor Sabilia.

Bullock agreed to quash the press release. The way had been paved for Susette and the Cristofaros to keep their homes. The governor had made clear her intentions. If the last two holdouts didn't want to accept the state's money, their t.i.tles should be returned and the city should move forward with its development plans.

Beth Sabilia had been mayor for less than six months. It had been six of the worst months of her life. The pressure stemming from the standoff had engulfed her administration and her personal life. No matter what she did, const.i.tuents were screaming at her. The acrimony had gotten so out of hand that Sabilia couldn't even shop for groceries without being confronted by someone who was furious over the inability to resolve the dispute in Fort Trumbull.

The heat went up a few more degrees when Sabilia read Governor Rell's second letter in as many days. By going on record with a statement in favor of unconditionally returning the deeds to Susette and the Cristofaros, the governor had sent a clear message to the city: if it didn't compromise with these final two holdouts, it would be all alone to deal with the public scorn that would rain down on the city when marshals tried to pull these last few folks from their homes.

Sabilia got the point, but she didn't appreciate it. She was willing to entertain the possibility of lifetime use of the properties, but not complete ownership. A lawyer by profession, Sabilia had adopted Londregan's view: the city had battled through the courts and had won. She had to stay the course for the city. "Otherwise," she said, "everything was for naught. All the litigation and arguments made to the Supreme Court and all of our policy arguments would be eviscerated."

She quickly drafted a testy response to the governor. "The City Council's position has been consistent," Sabilia wrote. "The deeds of anything more than life-time possession will not return to the former property owner. The proposal outlined in your letter of today is not consistent with the Munic.i.p.al Development Plan, with the City of New London's Zoning Regulations, nor with the directives set forth in the State of Connecticut's financial endors.e.m.e.nt of the revitalization of the Fort Trumbull area."

After Londregan reviewed the letter, Sabilia faxed it to Rell.

Sabilia's letter came at the state like a brushback pitch, thrown right at the governor's chin. The state got the hint: if push came to shove, the city would drag Susette and the others out of their homes, no matter what it looked like on the evening news.

To drive the point home, the city turned a deaf ear to overwhelming sentiment from city residents and voted at its next city-council meeting to commence evictions.

All along Governor Rell had thought New London had been wrong in its decision to use eminent domain and had been unreasonable in its unwillingness to reconsider. The city's latest actions confirmed those views. Emboldened, Rell vowed not to let the tensions escalate into a street brawl. She needed someone to get to Susette. Robert Albright wasn't the answer. He had performed valiantly, but the governor needed a closer.

She turned to her deputy Ron Angelo. "You are going to resolve this thing," she said.

Rich Beyer had consistently brushed off Bob Albright. Each time Albright offered more money Beyer told him money wasn't the issue. But when Albright called him after the deadline had pa.s.sed, there was a sense of finality in his voice. And the offer was far greater than any number previously tossed out: $500,000. "I'm told to tell you this is the amount we have to give you," he said.

Beyer said he'd get back to him. In Beyer's mind, half a million was still not close to what he would have earned off the properties had he simply been permitted to complete the renovations and sell them. But at this point he was simply trying to break even on his investment. And this time he was convinced the game was over.

He called Bullock. "Scott, this is looking pretty serious," he told him. "We're going to have to take the money, or we're going to walk away with a loss on this. There's no fighting this anymore."

Bullock encouraged him to do what was best for his family and his business.

Loyal to the cause, Beyer didn't do anything until talking it all over with Susette. She agreed he should probably take the money. At this point, even the governor didn't back the idea of returning the deeds for investment properties.

Beyer called Albright back and agreed to settle for $500,000, plus $15,000 in relocation costs.

Right after Beyer settled, the state made a final run at Von Winkle. It agreed to give him $1.8 million for his buildings. The price floored the NLDC, which felt that Von Winkle was getting far more than he deserved. But the state was looking forward, not backward. Von Winkle decided to take the same approach. Besides, what good would it do to hold on to a couple of buildings in an abandoned, demolished neighborhood?

Von Winkle settled.

Only Susette and the Cristofaro family remained.

"What should I do?"

The question was driving Susette mad. Other than a catnap here and there and an occasional snack, she hadn't slept or eaten in days. Other than Michael Cristofaro, all the people she had fought beside for nearly a decade were now bowing out and moving on. She didn't have that luxury. Although she had never asked to be the lead plaintiff and have her name on an infamous Supreme Court decision, that was where she found herself. Whether she liked it or not, no one could take her place as the leader of the movement. There was only one Kelo in Kelo Kelo.

She couldn't help resenting her situation.

Then a friend reminded her that Rosa Parks hadn't set out to become the mother of the modern civil rights movement when she refused a Montgomery bus driver's order to vacate her seat for a white pa.s.senger. Her civil disobedience sparked the Montgomery bus boycott, which elevated Martin Luther King Jr. to national prominence and ushered in a movement that forever changed America. Every so often, an ordinary person has the chance to do an extraordinary thing that alters history. That chance had come to Susette Kelo.

As a former businessman, Ron Angelo understood why Rich Beyer and Billy Von Winkle had settled. But as a homeowner, he also understood why Susette and the Cristofaro family still hadn't. He agreed with the governor-the city had treated these people unjustly for almost a decade.

Angelo called Bullock to establish a dialogue and set some ground rules. "Let's not bulls.h.i.t each other," Angelo began. "Otherwise, we're wasting our time."

Bullock couldn't have agreed more.

Personally, Angelo didn't agree with the city's use of eminent domain in Fort Trumbull and he believed that Bullock's clients had been unnecessarily beaten down. Repeated a.s.saults on the fundamental urge to own a home had caused deep wounds and left nasty scars. Angelo knew it would take a lot more than a couple of blank checks to make these people feel whole. It was going to take a fresh approach. He had no intention of trying to force them to do something they didn't want to do. But he wanted to take one last look at whether there was anything besides money that would satisfy Susette and the Cristofaro family.