Part 25 (2/2)
”What are you, nuts?” Susette countered. ”I am a nurse!”
The week before Christmas 2002, the hospital released LeBlanc to Susette's care. LeBlanc was permanently disabled and had no health insurance. Plus his health-care costs were going to continue to mount. This was another headache Susette had to endure.
Fortunately, Susette had complete medical coverage through her employer. If she married LeBlanc right away she could enroll him on her health-care plan with eligibility starting in January, and that would at least cover his future medical bills.
Two days after LeBlanc was discharged, Susette drove him to Maine and married him in a private ceremony. She had been looking forward to becoming LeBlanc's wife one day so that he could take care of her-fulfilling her financial, physical, and emotional needs. None of that was possible now. Ironically, she would resume the role she had played in her previous marriages, taking care of her husband.
Only this time the needs were more acute. She would be more like a mother than a wife to LeBlanc. For starters, she had to deal with the medical bills he had racked up since the accident. After convincing one of the hospitals that had treated LeBlanc to forgive roughly $150,000 in medical bills, Susette set up a payment plan with the other hospital, agreeing to make monthly installments in the range of $100 until the six-figure bill was met.
She set up a room for him at her place, and she arranged for people to be with him when she had to work. No one in the neighborhood spent more time helping LeBlanc than Von Winkle. He wouldn't visit at the hospital, but now that LeBlanc was home, Von Winkle wouldn't leave him alone. He took LeBlanc for car rides, he stayed at his bedside making small talk, and he cleared out s.p.a.ce in a nearby building he owned, making way for Susette to store all of LeBlanc's tools. It would be years, if ever, before LeBlanc would be able to use them again.
Susette figured out that Von Winkle had a difficult time expressing love verbally. But he had no trouble showing it. She was the same way. Maybe that was why, she figured, she liked Von Winkle so much. He was tough as nails but had a heart of gold.
Matt and Sue Dery picked up the slack whenever Von Winkle wasn't available to help with LeBlanc. They started bringing him to their home regularly to eat homemade Italian sausages, one of his favorite dishes.
The road to recovery, though, was arduous and had no guarantees. Susette understood the odds. But as long as Billy and Matt and Sue were around, she figured she'd get through it. They had beaten the odds to save their homes. She hoped LeBlanc would be so lucky.
April 2003 Around the time that the Inst.i.tute for Justice had decided to represent Susette and her neighbors, Dana Berliner had wanted to know how widespread eminent-domain abuses were throughout the country. With the support and encouragement of the inst.i.tute's founder, Chip Mellor, she had undertaken the first comprehensive study of the problem ever conducted in the United States. After two years of intense research, she generated a report t.i.tled: ”Public Power, Private Gain.” It contained a bombsh.e.l.l. In the previous five years, more than ten thousand private properties in forty-one states had been threatened or taken by eminent domain for private use.
When Mellor saw Berliner's findings, he wanted John Kramer to get them out to the national media. Among other things, Berliner's report showed that what was going on in New London was not unique. It was more like a national epidemic-and no one seemed to be talking about it.
To get the word out, Kramer took a risk. He called 60 Minutes 60 Minutes and asked to speak with the show's legendary creator and executive producer, Don Hewitt. He reached Hewitt's secretary and left a message. and asked to speak with the show's legendary creator and executive producer, Don Hewitt. He reached Hewitt's secretary and left a message.
Fifteen minutes later, Kramer's phone rang. It was Hewitt.
”Mr. Hewitt, I know you don't typically take calls from PR people,” began Kramer, who went on to say he had something very unusual that might appeal to 60 Minutes 60 Minutes. ”Can I give you a thirty-second pitch on it?”
”Go for it,” Hewitt said.
Kramer reported that eminent domain was being used nationwide by local governments to take private homes and to give them to developers. And small businesses were being taken to make way for big businesses. ”We've doc.u.mented more than ten thousand cases across the country,” he said.
Hewitt asked if the inst.i.tute had a report to doc.u.ment this.
”I can get you that by FedEx tomorrow,” Kramer said.
Hewitt told him to send it. ”If it's something we're interested in, we'll call you back.”
Two days later, Kramer got a call from Bob Anderson, the producer for reporter Mike Wallace. He said Hewitt had handed him Berliner's report and had said, ”I don't know if this is all true, but if it is true, it's a h.e.l.luva story, and you've got to cover it.”
Within a week, Anderson was in the inst.i.tute's office, and 60 Minutes 60 Minutes had an exclusive. had an exclusive.
Over the next five months, Mike Wallace spent time at the inst.i.tute's office, and he investigated egregious eminent-domain abuses in Ohio and Arizona, cases that involved clients represented by the inst.i.tute. In the opening episode of the fall season, in September 2003, 60 Minutes 60 Minutes did a blistering report on the widespread abuse of eminent domain throughout the country, featuring interviews with Bullock and Berliner. The segment didn't mention New London, but it had an immediate impact. In one night, more than ten million Americans became acquainted with a topic they had known little about. Almost every major daily paper in the country ended up covering Berliner's study. The coverage was so widespread that the inst.i.tute received a national award for its expertise in public relations. did a blistering report on the widespread abuse of eminent domain throughout the country, featuring interviews with Bullock and Berliner. The segment didn't mention New London, but it had an immediate impact. In one night, more than ten million Americans became acquainted with a topic they had known little about. Almost every major daily paper in the country ended up covering Berliner's study. The coverage was so widespread that the inst.i.tute received a national award for its expertise in public relations.
March 2, 2004 Scott Bullock was on his computer when he received an e-mail from the Connecticut Supreme Court, informing him that the decision would be posted on the court's Web site the following day. The inst.i.tute had already prepared two press releases, one antic.i.p.ating good news and the other antic.i.p.ating bad news.
The next morning, Bullock and Berliner logged on to the court's Web site and relentlessly clicked the Refresh b.u.t.ton until a link to the decision appeared on the computer screen. Together, they scanned the decision very quickly.
Instantly, the crus.h.i.+ng shock hit them. It was immediately clear that part of the trial court decision had been affirmed and part of it had been reversed; the court had affirmed Judge Corradino's decision to let the city's eminent-domain takings against Beyer, Athenian, and the Cristofaros stand. And it had reversed Corradino's decision to let Kelo, Von Winkle, and Dery keep their homes. ”They reversed the good part and affirmed the bad part,” Bullock said.
Just like that, all of the homeowners were out of luck. The city's munic.i.p.al-development plan-according to the state's highest court-const.i.tuted a public use and therefore gave the government the power to take private property through eminent domain. The fact that a specific use had not been identified for Susette's block didn't matter.
Bullock couldn't believe it. Neither could Berliner.
Groping for something, anything anything positive in the decision, they noted the justices' narrow 43 vote margin. The court was sharply divided. Bullock scanned down to the dissenting opinion. positive in the decision, they noted the justices' narrow 43 vote margin. The court was sharply divided. Bullock scanned down to the dissenting opinion.
”Look,” he said, ”the dissent says the court is going further than it has ever gone in the past. It's right in the first paragraph.”
Berliner knew what Bullock was thinking: they should appeal the decision to the U.S. Supreme Court. But neither of them had ever argued a case before the nation's highest court. Just the idea seemed overwhelming. Where would they begin?
”The dissenting opinion makes the points we need for a pet.i.tion to the Supreme Court,” Bullock said. ”It's right there in the opinion.”
Berliner knew one thing: their clients deserved to have the decision appealed. Every one of them was going to be devastated when they got the news, especially Susette, Von Winkle, and the Dery family. The Connecticut Supreme Court had s.n.a.t.c.hed victory away from them.
Bullock and Berliner divided the clients into two call lists. Bullock called Susette first, reaching her on her cell phone at the hospital. When he told her they had lost-all of them-Susette didn't say a word. Bullock would have thought he had lost the connection, but he could still hear all the hospital noise in the background.
”It's an incredibly disappointing ruling,” he said softly. ”Although it was close, the end result is still that they ruled in favor of the city and the NLDC.”
She still said nothing.
He told her they planned to appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court.
That didn't register. All she could hear was that they had lost.
”We will absolutely appeal this,” he vowed.
”Yeah, okay,” she said, her voice tapering off. ”I understand.”
Susette didn't bother saying good-bye before hanging up and burying her face in her hands. As a little girl growing up in Maine, she had learned to use socks to protect her hands against frigid winter air when her mother couldn't afford to buy her mittens. It had proven to be a road map for what lay ahead. Throughout her life she had improvised to compensate for what she didn't have. Suddenly she had an invalid husband and was on the verge of having no place to live.
Where would they go? How would she afford to support them? And what if the city came after her for the rent money she would now owe for unlawfully occupying the house for the previous two years?
She couldn't help thinking she should have just gotten out when Pfizer had first come to town. G.o.d, what have I done? G.o.d, what have I done? she thought. she thought.
When Bullock reached Matt Dery, he was still at work. He had already read the decision online from his office computer. He couldn't believe it. There would be no neighborhood celebration at his house this time. A neighborhood funeral seemed more appropriate.
Billy Von Winkle was in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood when Bullock reached him with the bad news. He didn't take it as badly as the others. Bullock talked up the prospect of going to the U.S. Supreme Court. ”The Supreme Court is always a huge long shot,” he said. ”But we will absolutely appeal this.”
”All right, Bull. What are our chances?”
Bullock had to smile. Von Winkle was the businessman in the group, the numbers guy. He had a way of sizing things up and getting right to the bottom line.
Normally, Bullock explained, chances were slim. But in this instance, he figured, the chances were better than normal because the dissenting judges on the Connecticut Supreme Court had plainly stated that the court had made a decision that went far beyond anywhere it had previously gone. That cried out for judicial review.
Von Winkle was up for another round. What did they have to lose?
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