Part 16 (2/2)

Claire's approach didn't surprise the scholar, who had studied leaders.h.i.+p. ”At the leaders.h.i.+p level, transformational leaders end up being unpopular,” the scholar said. ”Claire falls into that category. She was being attacked from all sides. She never took it to heart. Maybe this is her rough exterior. She was so convinced she was right and on this moralistic quest.” Objectively, the scholar saw the paradox of Claire. ”She had done a lot of good for that college,” the scholar noted. ”Even her foes admit that she increased the prestige of the college. And she is brilliant. She is a Renaissance woman.”

October 12, 2000 The college's board of trustees could no longer avoid the inevitable. It had to part ways with the president who had brought more publicity and money to the school than any of her predecessors. The trustees convened an emergency meeting with Claire to deal with the details of her departure.

For starters, Claire would receive $551,550 in severance pay. Combined with her annual salary, she'd walk away with $898,410, landing her atop the Chronicle of Higher Education Chronicle of Higher Education's annual survey of college presidents, ahead of those at the University of Pennsylvania, Princeton, Johns Hopkins, and Yale. The trustees also allowed Claire to go on sabbatical for the spring semester, and they delayed her formal retirement date to June 30, 2001.

From a public-relations standpoint, the trustees agreed to frame Claire's departure only in positive terms, stressing her achievements and the fact that the decision to go was hers.

October 13, 2000 George Milne hated to see Claire's legacy clouded. He considered her a visionary leader who had simply gotten caught up in a perfect storm of events. ”The controversy around the NLDC plus the challenges the college was facing all sort of came together and essentially was an unfortunate end to what was a substantial legacy,” Milne said.

But Milne didn't let his affection for Claire compromise his awareness of his own responsibilities. He had an ability to compartmentalize, and at the moment his job was to brief the faculty. Behind closed doors he informed them that Claire planned to step down within hours. He insisted the school leaders.h.i.+p and faculty needed to figure out how to rebuild.

”Anything that's working in our great nation,” Claire had once said, ”is working because somebody left skin on the sidewalk.” The quote had often been repeated in defending the NLDC's plans to force the Fort Trumbull residents to leave their homes.

Now it was her turn to fall. Fighting off deep disappointment, Claire stepped to a microphone at a hastily organized press conference on campus at noon. ”I thought my work at the college as a change agent was coming to an end,” she said, maintaining a smile.

In conjunction with the press conference, the school released a statement to the media. ”Claire L. Gaudiani announced today that she will fulfill a long-planned transition by stepping down as President of Connecticut College,” it read. ”The Board expressed unqualified support for President Gaudiani's leaders.h.i.+p.”

Almost exactly three years after her status as Connecticut College president helped persuade Governor Rowland to recommend her to be president of the New London Development Corporation, her actions as president of the NLDC had played a key role in the loss of her job at the college. The two-edged sword of popularity had cut both ways and taken an unforgiving toll.

”Sometimes, as a lot of social activists do,” Claire reflected, ”you run into a buzz saw. But that doesn't make you sorry that you were trying to do good for people who couldn't do more good for themselves. You just take it like it comes. And sometimes you get beaten up.”

No one believed in Claire's vision more than Claire. The fact that her vision had helped drive her out of Connecticut College did not deter her, and she held on to her position as president of the NLDC. Three days after enduring the humiliating experience of resigning from the college, Claire, with the rest of the NLDC, faced a monumental decision: whether to finally exercise the power of eminent domain to seize Susette's home and twenty-one other properties that stood in the way of the development plan. As if her ouster at Connecticut College had been ancient history, Claire pa.s.sionately led the discussion with the NLDC's board of directors. For her the answer was simple: use the power.

Dave Goebel agreed. ”We're at a stage in the project where we have to move forward,” he said. ”We've talked until we're blue in the face.”

A board member introduced Resolution 1016-1. It established the NLDC's designation as the city's development agent and confirmed that the agency's lawfully approved munic.i.p.al-development plan required the acquisition of Fort Trumbull properties. ”Now, therefore, it is resolved that the New London Development Corporation, in the name of the City of New London, acquire certain properties located in the Fort Trumbull Munic.i.p.al Development Plan Area of New London through the exercise of the power of eminent domain,” the resolution read, listing Susette's house, four properties belonging to Von Winkle, four belonging to Matt Dery and his family, and a host of others.

The board voted unanimously in favor of the resolution.

When a member of the NLDC's real-estate-acquisition team called Susette in hope of persuading her to sell at the newly appraised price of $123,000, she told him to forget it.

”For $123,000,” he told her, ”you could probably get a real nice double-wide.”

She bristled at the a.s.sumption that she'd desire a trailer home. ”You know,” she said, ”I'm not the double-wide kind of girl.” She hung up on the agent.

Goebel wasted no time in sending Susette a certified letter. ”To carry out our plans to develop the Fort Trumbull Munic.i.p.al Development Project, it will be necessary for you to move,” Goebel wrote, pointing out that she didn't have to move yet. ”When you do move, you will be ent.i.tled to relocation payments and other a.s.sistance.”

As she read the letter, Susette's hands shook. On paper it all sounded so legal, so matter-of-fact, and so unstoppable. Offering counseling, advisory services, and a $15,000 stipend for incidental expenses a.s.sociated with moving, Goebel promised to provide a list of comparable houses. ”From a review of local housing listings, it appears that comparable replacement homes are available in the local market,” he said.

Susette laughed. She had an un.o.bstructed water view. She knew she'd never find a home with comparable water views for anything near $123,000.

She finished reading the letter. ”Remember, do not move before we have a chance to discuss your eligibility for a.s.sistance,” Goebel wrote. ”This letter is important to you and should be retained.”

Desperate, she called Bullock. She didn't bother saying h.e.l.lo. ”Are you going to represent us, or what?” she said.

Bullock was eager to say yes, but he had to be honest. He had three major cases pending in other jurisdictions: an eminent-domain case in Pittsburgh, a forfeiture case in New Jersey, and a ballot initiative in Baltimore County. ”We're serious about wanting to take the case,” he told her. ”But we have other serious obligations to cases we've already committed to.”

”How serious are you about our case?” she asked.

”Listen, we're very serious. I think we can do it. It's not a question of resources. It's a question of time and people power. We have to be careful not to get overextended.”

Susette said nothing. Bullock asked if she was still on the line.

”Well, I'm willing to stick in the fight if you take the case.”

”We still need to get approval from our board of directors. But if you are committed to it, we'll fight to the bitter end as we always do once we commit to a case.”

Four days later A stack of case files on his desk, Scott Bullock looked at the clock. It was already after five. He grabbed a cup of coffee and settled in for a late evening at the office. Suddenly his computer notified him he had incoming e-mail. The subject line read: ”ED papers served on two.” It had come from Amy Hallquist. Bullock opened the message and read: Hi Scott, I just got a call from Susette Kelo. She stated that two property owners got served ED papers today. They are Billy Von Winkle, who owns three buildings, including the Fort Trumbull Deli, and Rich Beyer, who owns two properties on Goshen.Looks like things are heating up. Amy.

The timing could not have been worse. Bullock had a brief due on one case and was in the middle of difficult negotiations on another. In a couple more weeks he'd be clear to focus on New London, but not until then. He clicked REPLY REPLY and typed, ”I know it is guesswork, but any idea on when Susette and the other core people may be served?” He clicked the and typed, ”I know it is guesswork, but any idea on when Susette and the other core people may be served?” He clicked the SEND SEND key. key.

Hallquist promised to monitor the situation closely.

Bullock had hoped to buy a few more weeks before making a final decision on whether to take on the City of New London, but the NLDC's aggressive tactics convinced him he didn't have three weeks. He e-mailed Hallquist again: ”If the owners were offered legal representation by us (without charge of course), how many do you think from the particular parcels would likely fight the condemnation? We would take on a case if we thought it had merit even if there were one property owner willing to fight, but it is better to have at least a small group.”

Hallquist promised to get a head count.

Bullock picked up the phone and called Susette. ”All right, here's the latest,” he said. ”We may be in a position in a couple of weeks to announce that we can represent owners who wish to fight.”

Susette shouted.

”Unfortunately, it could be a matter of timing,” he continued.

”What do you mean?”

”For instance, if condemnations start next week, we simply cannot do it due to other commitments.”

To Susette it didn't seem fair.

”Hang in there, Susette,” Bullock said, promising to e-mail her and the core members of the Coalition to Save Fort Trumbull Neighborhood an update in a day or two.

As soon as Susette hung up, Tim LeBlanc showed up at her house. He said nothing while she checked her answering machine. She had a message from Claire's a.s.sistant at the NLDC. He had identified some properties in the city that had an asking price comparable to what the NLDC was willing to pay Susette for her home. The NLDC wanted to schedule a time to show Susette the homes.

”Oh, my G.o.d, Timmy,” she shouted. ”I can't take this s.h.i.+t much longer.”

Bullock needed a better handle on Connecticut's eminent-domain law. He asked his colleague, thirty-three-year-old Dana Berliner, to help him with the research.

Berliner hadn't originally planned to be a lawyer. An expert in blood-vessel disease, her mother taught at UCLA's medical school. Her father taught philosophy of education at California State University and ran the Ayn Rand Inst.i.tute, named after the novelist who wrote The Fountainhead The Fountainhead, which libertarians consider a bible. Berliner's exposure to Ayn Rand had influenced her by the time she completed her psychology degree at Yale. Pa.s.sionate about individual liberties, Berliner entered Yale Law School and set her sights on becoming a prosecutor in order to go after those who infringe on the rights of others.

By the time she obtained her law degree in 1991, however, Berliner figured it made more sense to protect people's rights before violations occurred. Ayn Rand had also had a big influence on those who had formed the Inst.i.tute for Justice. Berliner moved to Was.h.i.+ngton and took a position with the inst.i.tute, where she quickly emerged as one of the firm's most exhaustive legal researchers.

With things unfolding rapidly in Fort Trumbull, Bullock asked her for an update. She had bad news. Unlike in some states, the procedure for taking property by eminent domain in Connecticut was almost impossible to challenge. Under Connecticut law, the condemning authority-in this case, the NLDC-appraised the property to be condemned and filed a statement of compensation with the court. The statement of compensation described the property to be taken, identified all who had a recorded interest in it, and stated the appraised value. When filing the statement of compensation, the condemner deposited the appraised value with the court. A marshal or sheriff then served notice to the property owner.

Bullock wanted to know when and how the homeowners challenged the city's attempt to take their homes. ”In most states,” he said, ”there is a condemnation action filed by the city, and then you raise a defense and you are a defendant.”

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