Part 8 (2/2)

Then Markowicz got a call from Jay Levin. He wanted to know why Markowicz wasn't supporting the governor's agenda in New London. Markowicz wasn't sure he knew the agenda. That was the problem. Levin advised him to be more open-minded.

Markowicz didn't care for Levin's strong-arm tactics.

The call ended abruptly.

The next day, Markowicz's secretary at the Corporation for Regional Economic Development knocked on his office door. Markowicz had been executive director for the nonprofit for a couple of years. His secretary told him a tall man in a business suit was at the front desk, asking to see him.

”What does he want?” Markowicz asked.

The names of every director on the corporation's board, she said.

Markowicz told her to find out who the man worked for. She came back a minute later with the answer: Jay Levin.

Markowicz knew what was coming. Levin planned to call board members and push them to pressure Markowicz to get behind the Rowland administration's wishes.

The receptionist turned over the list of names, and the man left.

June 1, 1998 The phone in Tony Basilica's law office was hot. His allies from City Hall informed him that a movement was afoot to force him off the committee overseeing the navy-base property.

Later that night, Basilica got a call at home from a reporter.

”Mr. Basilica?”

”Yes.”

”Did you know you were removed from the committee?”

”No.”

”Well, you were.”

Without commenting, Basilica hung up.

Earlier that evening, the city council had voted 43 to dump Basilica and Markowicz from the committee. Peg Curtin, Basilica's political adversary on the council, was named as his replacement as the new chair of the navy base reuse committee. Mayor Beachy was one of the three who voted against Basilica's removal. ”It's politically driven and politically motivated,” Beachy told the newspaper. ”It's a bad mistake.”

The bottom line was that the fate of the navy property had been taken out of the hands of Basilica and Markowicz and placed in those of a committee of six people that included Claire, Milne, Curtin, and members of the NLDC and city council. Within days, Milne declared it was time to level the navy buildings that Basilica had planned to sell or lease. ”You'd be better off tearing it all down and starting off fresh,” Milne said. ”They look sort of like basic factory buildings.”

16.

I'M SOMEBODY Susette desperately needed followers. Door-to-door outreach in her neighborhood had yielded little result. Kathleen Mitch.e.l.l suggested organizing a neighborhood cleanup day. Susette had spent her whole life getting her hands dirty and sc.r.a.ping her way through tough times. She posted signs on telephone poles and street corners, advertising free hot dogs and soda, and about two dozen people showed up at her house on the appointed day. She handed them garbage bags, rakes, and brooms. After the cleanup, everyone went back to Susette's place for a barbecue.

It wasn't a big turnout, but Susette and Mitch.e.l.l were pleased. A number of people in attendance pledged to help fight the NLDC. Every little bit helped, they figured.

Days after Kelo held her neighborhood cleanup, the NLDC held its own event to build support. It reserved the Radisson Hotel and invited influential people capable of donating money. By the end of the evening, the NLDC had raised tens of thousands of dollars and added sixty new members.

Susette soon realized she was up against more than the NLDC. Ten days after she held the neighborhood cleanup, Governor Rowland appeared across the street from her pink house and held a press conference. He pledged $15 million in state money for relocating residents of the neighborhood.

That son of a b.i.t.c.h, Susette said to herself.

The letter from Claire still sat on her kitchen table. For weeks she had ignored its invitation to telephone Steve Percy.

I'm going to have a meeting with these people, she thought. I'm going to tell them that I'm somebody and they aren't going to do this to me. I'm going to tell them that I'm somebody and they aren't going to do this to me.

She called Percy's office and scheduled a time to see him.

I have to look important, she told herself.

She pulled her best outfit from the closet, a greenish-brown, full-length sweater dress with long sleeves. She had picked it up for a few dollars at a secondhand store. The dress's earthy tones flattered her red hair. She slipped the dress on and looked in the mirror. Ribbed, it hugged her long, slender figure, accentuating the curves. She liked what she saw. She put on a pair of brown zip-up boots and headed to Percy's office.

It was an attractive red brick building with big windows and stylish green window trim. He greeted her in the lobby and led her into an office with easels holding maps and design plans. Percy introduced a couple of NLDC employees.

Feeling out of her element, Susette promptly forgot their names.

Percy asked how they could help her.

”I'm here to find out what's going on,” she said. ”What's the plan?”

Percy grabbed a pointer and started discussing a munic.i.p.al-development plan while pointing at different areas on a map. Susette got lost. She knew nursing, not commercial-development lingo. Even the maps were confusing. Rather than using an aerial map or photograph depicting buildings, homes, and landscapes, Percy worked off a plot plan. All Susette recognized was the little square where her house stood at the corner of East and Trumbull streets. But her home was invisible. Maybe that was the point, she thought.

Yet nothing Percy said clarified why the NLDC needed her house.

”Is this for Pfizer?” she asked.

Percy acknowledged that Pfizer would receive some indirect benefits, but he insisted the takings were not directly for Pfizer.

Susette felt his explanation just didn't add up. Claire had told the newspaper about building s.p.a.ce for clinics, along with biotech buildings, around the fort. That would directly benefit Pfizer. ”What about eminent domain?” Susette asked.

”The plan is going to benefit the city,” Percy insisted.

”But what about eminent domain?” she repeated.

He conceded that eminent domain remained an option in instances where people refused to sell.

Susette swallowed hard and clasped her hands to prevent them from shaking. She felt powerless. It was as if she hadn't owned the only home she had ever owned. She finally possessed something she could call her own-and these people were going to s.n.a.t.c.h it away from her.

They want us out, she thought she thought. They want to frighten us.

Percy emphasized that the plans for the neighborhood were still in the conception stage. Nothing had been finalized or approved.

”If you try to take my property away from me,” she said, ”the whole world is going to hear about it.”

Eager to hear how things had gone in her meeting with Percy, Von Winkle stopped by Susette's house that evening.

”So what happened?”

<script>