Little Pink House Part 9

"They laughed at me."

"Did they offer you more money?" he asked.

"I told you. They laughed at me."

Von Winkle asked what she had done about it.

"I told them if they try to take my property from me, the whole world is going to hear about it."

"Red, you have to be careful. If you keep running your mouth they won't give you any money."

He waited for a reply. None came.

"If you try to take Susette's house," he joked, "the whole world is going to hear about it."

The harder Claire worked to accommodate Pfizer, the more Pfizer did to help the NLDC. On June 12, the pharmaceutical company made a no-interest loan to the NLDC for $150,000. It was a pittance compared to what the NLDC had agreed to do for Pfizer. Two weeks later, the NLDC paid $4.75 million for the Calamari junkyard next door to the Pfizer property. The money had come from the Rowland administration. After the NLDC acquired the property, it transferred it all to Pfizer for one dollar.

The sc.r.a.p yard wasn't the only property Pfizer had its eye on. Days after the deal closed on the Calamari property, one of Milne's representatives met with Claire's top representative to discuss other properties Pfizer hoped the NLDC would help the company acquire. The more Pfizer expanded its land interests, the more Claire resisted the Day Day's attempts to access NLDC financial doc.u.ments and other records. When the newspaper tried sending a reporter to cover an NLDC meeting, the reporter got locked out. The paper responded by filing a Freedom of Information (FOI) Act complaint with the state. Claire had no intention of complying with the request for information. In her view, freedom-of-information laws didn't apply to the NLDC, because she saw it as a private organization, not a public agency. Never mind that the agency got its funding from a public source. In 1998 alone, the NLDC received or requested nearly $21 million in state funding. And the NLDC's marching orders came from Rowland's administration.

The newspaper pressed its case, requesting a formal hearing by the state's Freedom of Information Commission, insisting the agency should be subject to public-disclosure laws on the basis that the NLDC functioned as an agent of state and city government. Claire did not back down. The NLDC submitted a brief, outlining why it should not be required to comply. The brief identified the NLDC as a nonprofit corporation with bylaws that didn't require partic.i.p.ation by a government agency. It went on to claim that its director oversaw the day-to-day operations "with no input from any government agency. ... The evidence clearly shows that the NLDC board members incorporated the NLDC, and it is not the creature of any government agency."

The Freedom of Information Commission set a hearing date.

17.

WEDGES.

August 1998 Steve and Amy Hallquist had fallen in love on a tour bus in New London in 1997. A paint contractor in her midforties, Amy had wanted a different line of work. She took a job as a tour-bus driver, and her first day on the job, she met Steve, the tour guide. A former teacher and the son of a preacher, forty-two-year-old Steve had a gift for oratory. They did their first tour together a couple of blocks from Fort Trumbull. She liked his over-the-collar-length hair and his neatly trimmed beard. He liked her wavy black hair and frequent smile.

A year to the day after meeting, they got married and bought a home just outside the ninety-acre peninsula targeted for redevelopment by the NLDC. The Hallquists closed on their home the same day Pfizer announced its plans to build its research headquarters in New London. They immediately got involved in the community. A few months later, they attended a public meeting hosted by the NLDC at a downtown church. The place was packed, but Amy managed to find two seats right in front.

Claire arrived in a white blouse with a colorful scarf, her hair pinned back, showcasing pearl earrings and a seasonal tan. Using maps and diagrams, she walked the audience through her vision for the future of New London. Amy and Steve thought she looked like the Vanna White of development. And they liked what she was pitching.

"What we want is a world-cla.s.s, hip little city," Claire told the audience.

The Hallquists were captivated, along with most of the audience. The atmosphere felt like a pep rally.

As soon as the meeting broke up, Steve and Amy approached Claire and introduced themselves. She greeted them warmly. When she learned that Steve and Amy were community activists, Claire asked them to get involved. She asked Amy to write a letter to the newspaper in support of the NLDC's revitalization efforts, and Amy agreed.

September 1, 1998 Susette thought men in business suits looked silly wearing hard hats and wielding gold-tipped shovels. But she didn't laugh when VIPs were on hand to watch Governor Rowland and George Milne break ground on Pfizer's $220 million facility next door. Only eight months had pa.s.sed since the two men and Claire had announced the development. The ceremonial start of construction ill.u.s.trated the project's speed.

"Years from now," Governor Rowland told the audience, "this will be a case study in how to revive a community."

The implication insulted Billy Von Winkle. For years, the city had ignored the broken sidewalks, failed to make garbage pickups, and neglected a smelly sewage-treatment plant in the middle of the neighborhood. During that time, Von Winkle had quietly bought up old buildings with his own money and then rehabbed them on his own time. One by one, he had turned some of the neighborhood's most blighted structures into quality, affordable housing. He even moved into the neighborhood himself and opened up his own business. At no cost to taxpayers or the city, Von Winkle had probably invested and done more than anyone else to improve the neighborhood around the Pfizer property.

"We stayed through all the s.h.i.t," Von Winkle told Susette. "Now they want to kick us all out and make the neighborhood nice for someone else."

The idea that she wasn't worthy of living next door to Pfizer left Susette feeling scorned and slighted too. "Rich white people don't like us," she said. "Claire and George drove down over the hill into Fort Trumbull one day and said, 'Look at this view. What are these sc.u.mbags doing living here?'"

From the moment the Pfizer project had been announced, Von Winkle had prepared to sell his properties. But resentment had begun to set in. He knew the NLDC had paid almost $5 million for the junkyard next door to Pfizer, which was way beyond fair market value. Other property owners closer to Pfizer had been paid far above the properties' appraised value, too. Yet the NLDC consistently refused to offer Von Winkle what his properties were worth. Enough time had pa.s.sed to convince him that the NLDC would simply take his properties through eminent domain unless he agreed to sell for less.

Susette hoped Von Winkle had finally been persuaded to help her rally the neighborhood in opposing the NLDC, but Von Winkle had other ideas. Claire and Steve Percy were messing with his livelihood. He had his own ways of dealing with them.

After living apart from her husband for nearly a year, Susette told him she wanted a divorce. Although he'd been living without her, Jorsz took it hard. To him it felt like a death in the family. He vowed he'd never marry again. Susette figured she wouldn't either. With separation and the pa.s.sage of time, she harbored no ill will toward Jorsz. Despite the problems between them, she recognized he had done a lot for her and her boys and had asked nothing in return.

Together, they hired an attorney to draft the necessary legal doc.u.ments. One afternoon, the attorney telephoned Susette following a review of the couple's financial affidavits, disclosing personal income, a.s.sets, and liabilities.

As a full-time nursing student, Susette didn't have much to disclose: Workers' compensation: $90Unemployment: $297Child support: $75Total: $462 per month Her a.s.sets included her house, valued at $53,000; a used car worth $8,000; $3,000 in a mutual fund; and a checking-account balance of $1,200.

Her husband, on the other hand, had a well-paying job, a fair amount of cash tucked away in savings, and a home and property worth a lot more than the pink cottage. The divorce lawyer asked Susette if she was sure she wanted to walk away from the marriage without taking some money.

"Yes," she said. "It's not my money." Her husband had inherited his money from his deceased father, long before Susette had come along. She didn't feel right about taking money that didn't belong to her.

The lawyer explained that she was also ent.i.tled to a percentage of Jorsz's house, but again she declined. Her husband had purchased the house with a portion of the money he had inherited from his father. This had happened before Susette entered the picture. Making him sell the house in order for her to obtain half its value would be like the NLDC's taking her house.

The lawyer drafted and had Susette sign a straightforward divorce settlement. It all felt anticlimactic. She had been living a separate life from her husband long before moving out on her own.

Her new friendship with Tim LeBlanc had more of what she had always looked for in a marriage. They spent weekends going to yard sales, hunting for antiques and used items to furnish her house. They spent nights eating at cheap, out-of-the-way restaurants. Both were frugal; both preferred privacy and simple pleasures. LeBlanc had quickly become more than a friend.

LeBlanc's easygoing personality had a lot to do with the relationship's success. Even Susette's escalating battle against the NLDC didn't seem to faze him. The more time Susette dedicated to saving the neighborhood, the more supportive he became. Beneath her tough exterior, Susette longed for a man to look out for her, but she didn't want to remarry.

"I have the patience of Job," he told her. "It doesn't matter how long it takes."

In lieu of marriage, she invited LeBlanc to move in with her. But he preferred his small home in the woods. Recognizing how much she loved being by the water, he didn't try to persuade her to move back to the country, so they agreed to maintain separate homes but to spend all their spare time together.

Believers in social justice, Steve and Amy Hallquist had quickly become big supporters of Claire's efforts. They started attending all kinds of meetings and began b.u.mping into her at fund-raisers. Claire invited them to attend a dinner in her honor hosted by an Italian men's club in New London. They gladly accepted.

Amy ended up being one of the few women in the audience. Most of the men seemed to be over forty-five. None of that bothered Amy. Claire's speech did, however. While pushing the redevelopment plan, Claire was dressed seductively and made use of s.e.xual innuendo, Amy thought. Claire had all the men in the palm of her hand. But it made Amy feel dirty, and she wanted out.

The scene had turned Steve off too. But he had zeroed in on something else. Someone had referred to Claire as an apostle on a mission to save New London. With his religious background, Steve figured that could be either really good or really bad. Watching Claire, he quickly determined it was the latter.

"She's really manipulating people," Amy told Steve. He agreed. They went home that night with serious doubts about Claire and her vision for the city.

The decision to build in New London had not been popular with some of the Pfizer officials who had worked on the site-selection process. Some felt the company's needs would have been better served at another location. Some also questioned the wisdom of a Pfizer official being on the board of the NLDC.

Meanwhile, state officials were getting impatient with the NLDC and its demands on behalf of Pfizer. The state wanted Claire to back off. But at the same time, no one wanted to offend Milne.

There was another problem too. Press reports about the prospect of the NLDC's resorting to eminent domain were on the rise. The governor didn't need to be dragged into a politically unpopular issue. One of his senior officials privately reached out to Jim Serbia at Pfizer. As the point person for Milne on many aspects of the development, Serbia shared some of the same concerns. Pfizer could not afford to have the public or the media thinking that the push behind taking people's homes came from the pharmaceutical company. But Milne's presence on the NLDC board made it almost impossible to avoid this impression.

For months Serbia had been emphasizing that the Pfizer development needed to be kept separate from the NLDC's development plans in the nearby neighborhood. But the state made it clear that something more had to be said. Serbia agreed to intercede.

October 21, 1998 Serbia composed an e-mail to Milne: "Dr. Milne, There seems to be some confusion regarding the expectation that Pfizer (you in particular) has regarding development of the peninsula. This confusion has caused some friction between NLDC and DECD/DEP [Department of Economic and Community Development/Department of Environmental Protection]."

Serbia repeatedly referred to the NLDC as being at odds with the state. He also expressed concern about eminent domain: "The State, from a public policy perspective, has difficulty in supporting residential areas located in a flood plain, and in condemning/taking an existing residential area and replacing it with a more upscale residential district."

Serbia closed with a question: "Would approximately 7080 high end residential units fit with your expectation?"

Satisfied, he marked the e-mail "High Importance" and hit SEND SEND.

His e-mail did little to change things. Eight days later, Milne and Claire presented Rowland and Ellef with a multipage plan for "Team New London," including a diagram showing all existing houses in the Fort Trumbull area totally wiped out and new condos put up in their place, along with a hotel.

Susette frowned when she saw a moving truck parked in front of her next-door neighbor's house. Yvonne Cappelano and her husband had bought their place shortly after Susette had moved in. Residents of Virginia, the couple used the home as a weekend getaway. At first, the couple had supported Susette's effort to save the neighborhood, but Susette could see something had changed. She approached the truck and asked Cappelano what was going on.

"We talked with our lawyer," Cappelano said soberly, holding back her emotions, as she explained that she and her husband had no choice but to sell. "There's nothing you can do."

Susette insisted she would never leave.

"Susette, you have to sell," she said. "They're going to put you out on the street."

"Let 'em try."

18.

FREEDOM OF INFORMATION.

Under cover of night, Billy Von Winkle approached the NLDC's Dumpster. No one appeared to be around. Unsure what he'd find, he rifled through fast-food wrappers, coffee cups, and half-eaten sandwiches until he hit pay dirt: doc.u.ments. Steve Percy's name was on many of them, including handwritten correspondence. Von Winkle dug further. He came across the original retainer agreement signed between the NLDC and its law firm, Waller, Smith & Palmer.

The Dumpster contained piles of NLDC internal doc.u.ments. It turned out that Percy had a habit of handwriting letters, memos, and internal notes. He also saved files with minutes from internal meetings and confidential correspondence to and from George Milne, Claire Gaudiani, and top officials from the Rowland administration and Pfizer. Some doc.u.ments were torn in half. Others were torn in four pieces. But most of them were easily rea.s.sembled.

Surprised that the agency had discarded so many original records, Von Winkle took them. The NLDC had been playing hardball with him. It was now his turn.

The doc.u.ments showed Pfizer was working hand in glove with the NLDC, while the state gave its stamp of approval for the NLDC to essentially satisfy Pfizer's wishes.

Von Winkle even recovered a confidential letter written to Percy by Pfizer's director of facilities planning and management, Paul Begin, who worked very closely with Milne. "Dear Steve, To maximize the benefit of the Pfizer investment in New London, we will need the land flexibility to add buildings beyond the initial 1200 person office building," Begin had written. "This land flexibility will enable us to ultimately reach an employee population of roughly 2000.

"Upon review of several initial design plans, it has become clear that the properties across from the former New London Mills site along Pequot Avenue are now of extreme strategic importance. Therefore, we ask that the NLDC obtain options on these properties as a top priority, adjusting market values as necessary to reflect this strategic importance."

Dated March 2, 1998, the letter confirmed that only a month after Milne and Claire had stood with the governor to announce the selection of New London for Pfizer's new facility, the company had already started eyeing more land. The letter also confirmed that the NLDC would pay above-market price for homes and properties when told to do so by Pfizer, something it had been unwilling to do with Von Winkle on his properties.

Other doc.u.ments from the Dumpster revealed that the state had told Percy to honor Pfizer's wishes. Von Winkle found an NLDC confidential internal memo to Claire dated March 27, 1998. It reported on a meeting between top officials from Pfizer, the state, and the NLDC. At the meeting, one of the governor's top administrators, Rita Zangari, recommended that Percy's real-estate firm actively pursue the new properties on the top of Pfizer's get list. She also proposed a new pa.s.sive strategy toward the holdout properties in Susette's neighborhood. "Rita explained that by continuing to negotiate options we were bidding against ourselves," the memo said. "With the MDP [Munic.i.p.al Development Plan] process there will be plenty of time to acquire properties."

This strategy change seemed to make it more likely that the NLDC would resort to eminent domain to obtain properties from holdouts. If the NLDC paid above-market value for properties that had been added to Pfizer's wish list, funds for the Fort Trumbull neighborhood homes would dwindle.

At the state's request, Percy also put in writing an estimate of how much the New England Real Estate Group would make in commissions from the transactions. "A good planning number is probably $225,000 to $250,000," Percy wrote.

Another memo to Claire had one of Rowland's officials asking the NLDC to prepare another bond commission request for funding. The governor chaired the state's bond commission. Rowland's deputy told the NLDC to emphasize Pfizer's additional property needs as the driving force in the additional funding request.

Von Winkle also found a hand-drawn "Cash Flow Diagram" showing tens of millions of dollars going from the state through the NLDC to various properties and initiatives. It appeared to have been drawn by Percy and used at a private meeting he attended with officials representing Milne and the governor in March 1998.

Many of Percy's letters had to do with money. In a handwritten letter to Jay Levin in March 1998, Percy asked him for help with fund-raising for the NLDC. "We will need whatever funding a.s.sistance you can help us get from DECD," Percy said. "Nice to be working with you, as always, my friend."

Overall, the doc.u.ments established a series of direct links between the governor's office, Pfizer, and the NLDC. Claire seemed to serve two functions. For Pfizer, she was a go-to person willing to charge hard for the corporation's interests; for the governor, she appeared to function both as a funnel and a shield. By piping money through Claire's organization for property acquisition on behalf of Pfizer, the state was using the NLDC as a layer of insulation between it and Pfizer.

Von Winkle brought plastic garbage bags full of doc.u.ments to the bas.e.m.e.nt of one of his buildings, where he hid them away for safekeeping. Recognizing the Dumpster as a gold mine of intelligence, he started making regular visits after hours.

Attorney Tom Londregan had finished law school in 1969 and joined a Connecticut unit of the National Guard, where he had served with another young law graduate, Christopher Dodd. Before the Vietnam War ended, Londregan and Dodd started practicing law in New London. While Dodd quickly transitioned to politics, Tom Londregan joined his brother Frank's law firm, Conway and Londregan, in New London. After Frank became mayor of New London, Tom became the city's attorney.

Few people had better legal and political connections than Tom Londregan. Near sixty with gray hair and old suits, Londregan hadn't always appeared to be a powerful lawyer. But over a thirty-year career he had handled hundreds of cases and established himself as one of the most polished, accomplished lawyers in the city. Few things happened in New London political circles without Londregan's knowledge. And the mayor and city council took no significant steps without first securing Londregan's legal opinion.

Londregan strongly supported the Pfizer plan and the clearing of the peninsula. From the beginning he had been carefully examining each step in the process for the city council and the mayor. He knew it was only a matter of time before eminent domain would be used by the city, and he'd be busy defending it.

December 1998 Working at his desk, Tom Londregan got buzzed by his secretary. Claire Gaudiani was on the line. Londregan knew Claire well. Her husband, David Burnett, was Londregan's tennis partner. Londregan picked up the phone.

"I'm very disappointed in you," she snapped.

"For what?" Londregan snapped back.

"You refused to cooperate and be helpful to my attorney."

"When was this?"

Claire had retained Hartford lawyer Peter Hirschl to advise the NLDC. At Claire's request, Hirschl had called on Londregan for a.s.sistance in drafting a resolution on behalf of the city that would expand the NLDC's power. Londregan had explained that as the city's attorney he didn't draft resolutions for the NLDC. The NLDC had its own lawyers.

Claire told Londregan she didn't appreciate his refusal to help.

Londregan countered by saying he didn't appreciate that a Hartford lawyer making double what he made basically expected Londregan to do his work for him.

The conversation became ugly.

December 21, 1998 Publisher Reid MacCluggage paced the hallway outside the hearing room at the Freedom of Information Commission in Hartford. Normally he did not attend such hearings. This one, however, had taken on a personal element for him. Ever since MacCluggage had rebuffed Claire's attempt to influence how his paper treated the Pfizer announcement to build in New London, the NLDC had made life difficult for his reporters. Requests for doc.u.ments had been denied. Meetings had been closed.

MacCluggage had not been called to testify before the commission. He had come to show moral support for his reporter Judy Benson.

Suddenly, a woman in a business suit approached and identified herself as a Connecticut College administrator working for Claire. She had driven nearly an hour to give MacCluggage a very urgent message.

"I talked to Claire this morning, and she wants you to drop the suit," the woman said.

MacCluggage didn't find that very urgent. "We're about ready to have the hearing," he told her.

"No, she wants to talk with you. She wants to talk with you. She thinks somehow we can ... You have to drop the suit."

MacCluggage had little patience for these last-minute tactics. For nearly a year the paper had been trying to obtain doc.u.mentation from the NLDC. A formal complaint had been filed. At one point the NLDC had offered to settle by promising to comply with FOI Act requirements. But it never did. The Day Day felt the NLDC had reneged on its promise, and the time for negotiating had pa.s.sed. felt the NLDC had reneged on its promise, and the time for negotiating had pa.s.sed.

"No," MacCluggage said, "we're going through with this."

"Let's talk some more," the woman insisted.