Part 14 (2/2)

Bullock climbed the steps and extended his hand. ”Hi, I'm Scott Bullock. I'm blown away by the view here,” he said.

”This is where we always meet, at Susette's place,” Mitch.e.l.l said.

”This,” said Steve, ”is ground zero.”

Susette pointed to the cranes towering over the tall buildings rising from the Pfizer property next door. ”C'mon inside,” she said. Nearly twenty neighbors shook Bullock's hand and expressed relief that he had come. The group crowded into a circle of chairs Susette had set up in the kitchen. Peter Kreckovic introduced Bullock and turned the floor over to him.

Bullock started with some brief background on the inst.i.tute and its interest in the Fort Trumbull dispute. He made it clear that no decision had been made to represent anyone in New London. ”I'm here to hear your stories,” he said, ”and to offer some thoughts that I have on ways of fighting this and things that you need to do to try and organize to fight against this.”

He asked the people in the circle to provide their names and addresses, indicate whether they owned or rented, and explain what their interests were in opposing the property takings.

The first man indicated he owned a business in the area. ”I don't own the property,” he said. ”I just rent the property.”

Bullock made a note on his pad: ”Out of luck.” In eminent-domain cases, tenants are powerless unless the owner is dedicated to fighting.

The next man owned a house in an area where the city planned to build a new roadway leading to Pfizer. Bullock dismissed his situation, too. There was little legal basis for opposing instances when a munic.i.p.ality took property for roadways.

Then Susette spoke. She explained that the NLDC planned to take her entire block. Her story ignited the others, who started talking over each other.

”What are they planning to build on this block?” Bullock asked.

”Nothing,” Susette said.

”Nothing?” Bullock asked.

”For this block there is no plan,” Steve Hallquist said.

”They just want to get rid of it,” Susette said.

Bullock had studied a lot of eminent-domain cases. In virtually every case he'd seen, the government planned to take private property for some use. He'd seen disputes over whether the intended use qualified as public use. But he had never come across a situation where a local government had no plan for the land it seized.

There could be a case here, Bullock thought.

”Will you take our case?” Susette asked.

Bullock liked her bluntness. Yet he didn't want to give her false hope. ”We are very interested in this,” he said. ”But there are a lot of things I still have to check out.”

Among the top priorities Bullock had was determining the true motives of Susette and her neighbors. They made clear they didn't like the NLDC and its plan to take houses. But how many would stay in the fight once the NLDC started waving more money in front of them? Bullock referred to this point as the plaintiffs' ”come to Jesus” moment.

”We don't negotiate property sales for our clients,” Bullock explained. ”That's just not what we do. We fight to protect people's property.”

The members of the group nodded. Bullock liked them already; they reminded him of the people he had grown up with in his working-cla.s.s neighborhood.

”So if we were to take the case,” he said, ”we'd want to know that you were committed for the long haul.” Promising he would pull out every stop to fight on the homeowners' behalf, Bullock expected in return an ironclad promise that the homeowners would stay in the fight when the pressure was turned up and offers for financial compensation came.

Hallquist and Mitch.e.l.l liked what they heard. After the meeting broke up, Susette took Bullock on a walk through the neighborhood. She told him something about every house on the street.

”There's Billy Von Winkle's place,” she said, pointing to the deli at the top of her street.

”Who is Bill Von Winkle?” Bullock asked. Susette smiled and filled him in. Bullock laughed at the stories, especially the one about putting chicken manure in the City Hall elevator.

”He's a character,” she said.

”Can I meet him?” he asked.

She led him to the deli. ”I'll wait for you at my place,” she said.

Bullock entered the deli. It was empty except for a short, stocky man wearing blue jeans and a partially zipped, hooded sweats.h.i.+rt and a baseball cap that bore the words ”Mayor of Smith Street.”

”Are you Bill Von Winkle?”

”That's me. Who are you?”

Bullock introduced himself as a public-interest lawyer from the Inst.i.tute for Justice.

Von Winkle had known Bullock was in the neighborhood meeting with people. ”So what do you think our chances are?” he asked. Bullock outlined a series of legal reasons why the city should be stopped from seizing private property in Fort Trumbull. Confident, but not c.o.c.ky, Bullock's approach appealed to Von Winkle.

”Why don't you sit down?” he said. Bullock pulled up a chair. Von Winkle told him the neighborhood's history and how he had worked across the street at the old navy facility. In between stories, he told jokes about the people and the places surrounding his deli. The whole time, he looked Bullock right in the eye. It quickly became apparent to Bullock that Von Winkle had spent a good portion of his adult life on these streets.

”So do you think you're going to come help us?” Von Winkle asked.

”Well,” Bullock said, ”we are looking into the case pretty seriously right now.”

Von Winkle explained that he had a lot riding on the outcome. His livelihood rested on all the rental properties he owned in the neighborhood. He had spent years personally renovating outdated buildings to get them in shape for residential occupancy. It angered him that the city could just take away his buildings and his income stream to accommodate a big company's moving into the area. ”It's not right,” he said.

Bullock detected an edge in Von Winkle's tone, a certain fighter's instinct-an essential ingredient for the kind of plaintiff it would take to endure a bruising legal battle with a city determined to bulldoze the neighborhood.

On the other hand, he was very independent and dangerously unpredictable. Von Winkle had purposely stayed away from the initial neighborhood meeting with Bullock at Susette's house. And he was notorious for doing things on his own. Stunts like his could be a huge liability in a lawsuit.

”By the way, where did you get that hat?” Bullock joked, ”Are you the mayor of Smith Street?”

A painful expression swept over Von Winkle's face. ”This is Mr. Pasqualini's hat,” he said, removing it from his head.

”Who is he?” Bullock asked softly.

Von Winkle explained that he was one of the senior citizens who had died since the NLDC had threatened to take their homes. ”He was the mayor of the neighborhood,” said Von Winkle. ”I wear the hat to pay respect and carry on Mr. P.'s tradition.”

Bullock nodded.

”Mr. P. went to his grave worried about eminent domain,” said Von Winkle. ”People think eminent domain killed Mr. P.” Tears welled up in Von Winkle's eyes. He lowered his voice. ”What a great guy he was,” Von Winkle muttered, running his rough hand across his brow. ”I miss him.”

Bullock had seen enough. He had come to New London to size up potential plaintiffs. Susette and her home were clearly the flashpoint of the fight. She had the right facts and a tough-as-nails att.i.tude to wage a legal challenge against the city. Von Winkle wore the cap of a dead man who had gone to his grave fearing that his house and neighborhood would be lost to eminent domain. Von Winkle had a score to settle. He would do more than fight to protect his own property: he would fight to avenge a wrong.

Bullock returned to Was.h.i.+ngton. If the inst.i.tute took the case, he wanted Von Winkle as a plaintiff alongside Susette.

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