Part 14 (1/2)
His question was the perfect cue for Milne. Pfizer officials had advised him to steer clear of the Italian Dramatic Club. Dozens of property owners were being forced out of their homes through eminent domain. If Pfizer financed the relocation or new construction of the Italian club's building, the company would have all sorts of demands for similar treatment. Milne made it clear that Pfizer could not get involved.
Valentini dug in his heels, insisting his club would remain unless someone paid for a new building. He had Jay Levin's word that no one would touch him. Without a commitment from Pfizer, Santaniello knew talking further would be futile. The NLDC had neither the money to move him nor the will to go against Levin's promise.
Everyone at the table realized the club would stay put. Now only a political question remained: how to spin this to the media and the public.
Steve Hallquist had a major concern about suing the city: personal liability. What if the city countersued? Wouldn't personal a.s.sets and personal property be put at risk?
Sawyer recommended forming a limited-liability corporation (LLC) to s.h.i.+eld them from liability. Rather than suing as individuals, the Steffians and the Hallquists could have the organization sue.
Hallquist liked the concept. ”Let's call it the Fort Trumbull Conservancy,” he said.
Sawyer explained the group would have to choose officers and establish by-laws. Later, Steve and Amy met privately with John and Sarah to map out the organization.
”Who is going to be what?” Steve asked.
”I'm going to be the president,” John said. ”Sarah will be the vice president.”
Two positions remained: secretary and treasurer. ”Which ones do you want to be?” John asked.
”Well, I suck at being a secretary,” Steve said. ”And Amy's already taking copious notes. So she'll be secretary, and I'll be treasurer.”
Normally, a treasurer handled finances and the secretary kept records, but Sarah made it clear that the Fort Trumbull Conservancy would do things a little differently. The treasurer would never see the financial books, and the secretary would never see the legal bills. The money would pa.s.s directly from Sarah to the attorney.
More than twenty-five members of the neighborhood coalition joined the Fort Trumbull Conservancy. The by-laws afforded them the chance to vote on the conservancy's decisions and on strategies related to litigation.
With the conservancy in place, on July 18, 2000, Scott Sawyer filed a lawsuit on its behalf seeking to prevent the NLDC from demolis.h.i.+ng homes in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood.
Scott Bullock had now been monitoring events in New London for two months through weekly updates from Peter Kreckovic. Bullock had heard enough. The time had come to visit Fort Trumbull and interview the homeowners in search of prospective plaintiffs. He telephoned Susette and confirmed he'd be visiting the area in late August. He told her he wanted to meet with neighborhood residents. Susette volunteered her home as a meeting place.
Bullock asked her to round up as many neighbors as possible. ”I've already done that,” she said. ”I've just been waiting for you to say you are coming.”
Bullock liked the sound of that. He had already pegged her as the head fighter, a perfect candidate for the lead plaintiff role. They discussed possible dates and settled on August 28.
”Is it okay if I tell the newspaper that you're coming?” Susette asked.
Bullock paused. The Inst.i.tute for Justice still had not decided whether to intervene, partly due to the fact that the city had not yet filed any eminent-domain actions. In every potential eminent-domain case, Bullock's first objective was to persuade the munic.i.p.ality not to resort to eminent domain. News that a national law firm was interviewing prospective clients might not be a bad idea, Bullock reasoned. If the city saw a lawsuit coming, perhaps it would change its plans.
”Sure,” Bullock said, ”I'd be glad to talk to a reporter.”
Susette hung up and called Billy Von Winkle. ”I've got some news,” she told him.
A little while later, he pulled up in his Jaguar. ”We're taking a ride,” he said.
She hopped in and immediately started talking about Scott Bullock's visit. Eager to sue the city and convinced the Inst.i.tute for Justice would save the neighborhood, Susette told Von Winkle she couldn't wait to tell the newspaper.
”You gotta be careful,” Von Winkle said.
”Why?”
He warned her that the NLDC would punish her if she went too far.
”You know I'm not afraid of those people,” she said.
Von Winkle pulled the car over. ”Red, you gotta listen to what I'm telling you here. When they offer you the money you better take it. If you don't they'll throw you out and you'll get nothing.”
”What are you talking about?”
He detailed the NLDC's strategy for getting rid of all property owners in the fort area, citing information from the NLDC's confidential files.
”Well, how do you know this?” she asked.
”Because I have the doc.u.ments.”
”How in the h.e.l.l did you get them?”
”I've got my ways.”
”Tell me.”
”I've been picking up their garbage.”
”You've been what?”
”I've been diving every night.”
Susette burst out laughing. Von Winkle had been rifling through coffee cups and half-eaten sandwiches to get to hundreds of internal records. ”Oh, my G.o.d,” she said, laughing hysterically. ”Those dummies don't even know it?”
Von Winkle laughed.
”n.o.body else in the world would ever think of picking through the NLDC's garbage,” she said.
”We're never gonna win,” he said, the smile disappearing from his face.
”Huh?”
”You know, it's like this, Red,” he said. ”Pfizer is behind this. The governor is behind this. We're never gonna win.”
Susette stopped laughing.
August 28, 2000 Expecting to see boarded-up buildings and dilapidated houses, Scott Bullock navigated his rental car through Fort Trumbull. Instead, he found neat, small houses with seacoast charm: weather vanes, wicker furniture, and porches facing the water.
”This is depressed?” Bullock said to himself. He had grown up in the economically devastated Pittsburgh of the seventies and eighties. The Fort Trumbull neighborhood didn't look depressed to him.
He coasted down East Street and came to a stop across from Susette's house. It was surrounded by flower boxes and white lawn furniture. An American flag waved from one corner of the house. A hand-painted plywood sign leaned against the front steps: ”This Land Is Ours! Not Gov. Rowland's. Not NLDC's. Help Us Save Our Homes.”
Bullock stepped out of the car and retrieved his briefcase.
”Did you find everything okay?” Up on the porch, Susette rested her arms on the white railing. Kathleen Mitch.e.l.l and Steve and Amy Hallquist stood with her.