Part 15 (2/2)

27.

LINE IN THE SAND.

September 28, 2000 When Mayor Beachy gathered with coalition members on Susette's street for a morning prayer vigil, he felt good about the number of signatures on the pet.i.tions that had been submitted to City Hall. While the city reviewed the pet.i.tions, the coalition kept close tabs on the permit process, and the NLDC still hadn't secured permits to demolish any structures on Susette's block. At the end of the vigil, Fred Paxton's wife, Sylvia, a.s.sured the group she had called City Hall first thing that morning. ”No houses are coming down today,” she reported.

At the end of the prayer service, the group agreed to go elsewhere for coffee. After coffee, the mayor's wife, Sandy, had a hunch. ”Let's drive back through the Fort,” she told him.

The mayor agreed.

Wearing a sleeveless flannel s.h.i.+rt that showcased his ma.s.sive arms, Chico Barberi maneuvered the jaws of his excavator toward the corner of a house at the top of East Street. An NLDC official in a hard hat stood behind the excavator, directing Barberi which homes to demolish. Susette, Von Winkle, Matt Dery, and other neighbors stood near the excavator, shouting over the machine at the NLDC official.

”You n.a.z.i,” one of them shouted.

”I'm just following orders,” the official said.

”That's what Hitler's regime said,” one of the homeowners shouted.

Suzanne Dery huddled on her property, crying.

Mayor Beachy couldn't believe his eyes. Less than an hour earlier, the street had been quiet and vacant.

”Beach, I've had it,” Sandy seethed. ”Stop the car and let me out.”

He parked. Sandy got out and instructed him to go home and retrieve the quilt she had been making. She planned to sit on the front steps of the home Barberi was approaching. She wanted the quilt to work on in order to keep her hands from shaking.

Sandy walked past Barberi's machine and plopped down on the doorstep. The mayor sped home. When he returned fifteen minutes later, a larger crowd had gathered on the street. Officials from the city's building department were on the scene. They had failed to alert him that the NLDC had secured demolition permits.

”d.a.m.n you,” Beachy shouted, his face red and quivering as he crossed the street.

A building official tried to explain that the NLDC had slipped the paperwork in at the last minute.

Beachy didn't want to hear it. He threw his hands in the air and stormed off, taking a position next to his wife. They crossed their legs and sat side by side, blocking the machine's path.

The decision to demolish homes on East Street had made the fight personal for Beachy and his wife. When they had first moved to New London, in the 1970s, they had lived across the street from the demolition site, in officers' quarters at the Naval Undersea Warfare Center. At night, their four sons would take a break from homework, hop the navy base fence, and get a sandwich at the deli on the corner of East Street, two doors up from the houses now facing the wrecking ball.

”There's no way in h.e.l.l I'm standing by while these guys try to demolish these houses,” Beachy said.

Barberi shut off his machine and folded his ma.s.sive arms, frustrated at being unable to complete his job. Susette and her neighbors continued shouting obscenities at the NLDC official.

Kathleen Mitch.e.l.l pulled up in her car. She had been listening to her police scanner and heard a dispatch to East Street. Mitch.e.l.l looked at the crowd standing across the street from Beachy and his wife. Most of the onlookers opposed the NLDC. Yet no one else dared to sit shoulder to shoulder with Beachy. Mitch.e.l.l looked at Susette before crossing the street and taking a seat next to the mayor and his wife. If it meant getting arrested, so be it, she thought.

Susette wanted to follow Mitch.e.l.l, but Von Winkle stopped her. ”You don't want to look like a troublemaker,” he said.

Two police officers approached. ”Mr. Beachy, Mrs. Beachy,” one of them began. Neither of the Beachys said a word. The officer advised them that they were trespa.s.sing and putting themselves and others in physical danger.

”You might as well arrest us because we're not leaving,” Mitch.e.l.l said.

”Will you walk down here and get in the police car?” the officer asked, looking at the mayor.

Beachy turned to his wife. ”Don't walk to the police car,” he told her. ”Make them carry you out.”

Abundantly overweight, Mitch.e.l.l didn't feel like getting carried. ”I'm not going to let you carry me,” Mitch.e.l.l said, cracking a smile. She walked to the police car and climbed into the backseat.

”We don't want to have to carry you,” an officer said to the mayor.

”We're not leaving voluntarily,” he replied.

One officer grabbed Beachy's wrists. Another grabbed his ankles. Together, they lifted and hauled him to the police car.

Mitch.e.l.l watched through the rear window of the cruiser as the officers stuffed their own mayor into the back of another police car. What have we come to? What have we come to? Mitch.e.l.l thought. She had never imagined the dispute would last this long and be this difficult. Mitch.e.l.l thought. She had never imagined the dispute would last this long and be this difficult. We're fighting the big boys now. This isn't just local politics. We're fighting the big boys now. This isn't just local politics.

Barberi fired up his excavator and began tearing the house down. Within fifteen minutes, a house that had stood for a hundred years had been reduced to splinters and rubble.

Susette covered her face with her hands. Tears streamed down her face. Steely-eyed, Von Winkle didn't blink or speak.

Barberi moved his excavator toward the house next door to Susette's.

”The City of New London doesn't care about us,” Susette shouted at her neighbors. ”They don't give a s.h.i.+t about any of us. They've got a plan, and it doesn't matter what we want or what we do to try and prevent their plan. They are going to do what they want.”

The noise of the machine and falling debris drowned out her voice.

Barberi used the excavator jaws to tear off the front quarter of the house. The windows shattered, sending gla.s.s flying in every direction. Hysterical, Susette ran into her home and emerged with a broom. Standing only feet from the machine, she frantically swept the gla.s.s and debris off her porch while a thick cloud of dust overtook her and the outside of her house.

In the noise and confusion, Barberi didn't realize Susette was within feet of his gnawing machine. He raised the jaws to tug away another part of the house.

”Hey!” the city's fire chief shouted at the NLDC official from the street. ”You can't let this happen.”

The NLDC official didn't respond.

”Is anyone going to stop this?” the chief yelled.

Everyone looked at him and said nothing.

The chief motioned for Susette to come away from the house.

She ignored him.

Barberi slammed the bucket of his excavator into the side of the house. Shattering gla.s.s sprayed Susette, speckling her red hair.

”Hey, Chico, knock it off,” the fire chief shouted. Barberi looked over his shoulder, struggling to hear the fire chief above the roar of the machine's engine.

The chief put his index finger and thumb together and ran them across his throat in the motion of a cut. ”You have to stop,” he yelled. Finally discovering Susette, Barberi killed the engine. He took out his cell phone and called the police back to the scene.

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