Little Pink House_ A True Story of Defiance and Courage - Jeff Benedict [116]
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
Confused, Judge Corradino looked over his glasses at Von Winkle. Bullock was confused too.
O’Connell continued. “The deed to 31 Smith Street describes a person named William M. Von Winkle,” he said. “Is that you?”
“Yes, it is.”
O’Connell read the deed to the third building owned by Von Winkle and noted that it, like the first deed, assigned ownership to William A. Von Winkle. “That’s not you?” O’Connell asked.
“No.”
“Who is that?”
“That would be my father.”
“So you own only one of these three buildings. Is that correct?”
Judge Corradino shifted his eyes from O’Connell to Von Winkle. Bullock leaned over to his co-counsel. “Where’s he going with this?” he whispered.
Von Winkle didn’t know where O’Connell was headed either. But he figured that any confusion over the names on the deeds had been caused by O’Connell’s own law firm when it set up the trust. He couldn’t swallow the fact that O’Connell had the nerve to try to use this confusion to undermine his standing in front of the judge. Von Winkle had promised Bullock he’d behave on the stand. But he also felt the judge should know O’Connell’s role in the mix-up.
“Well,” he said, looking at O’Connell with contempt, “your office set up a trust, which, if you went back, you could find it. You’ll know exactly who the owner is. That was done three years ago.”
Corradino lowered his glasses. Susette and others in the courtroom laughed. Bullock raised his eyebrows and put his hand in front of his face to conceal his smile. But O’Connell didn’t appreciate Von Winkle’s response.
“Well, if you can answer my question,” O’Connell said. “Is it correct that you only own one—”
“Well—” Von Winkle interrupted him.
Corradino cut off Von Winkle. “Wait until he finishes the question.”
“What’s that, sir?” Von Winkle asked O’Connell.
“That you only own one building, known as 31 Smith Street. Is that correct?”
“I’m not sure who owns anything.”
O’Connell didn’t know what to do next. “You’re not sure whether you own these buildings at all?”
“Well, I believe I own them. I’m not sure.”
“Do you collect the rents?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you turn the rents over to anyone else?”
“No.”
“Yet you’re not sure that you own the buildings. Is that correct?”
“I’m not sure how you set things up for me, sir, in your office.”
Bullock had to laugh. As much as he didn’t want Von Winkle to square off with O’Connell, he took some pleasure in seeing his client turn the tables on his adversary.
“I don’t think I have any more questions,” O’Connell said.
Londregan knew Von Winkle’s reputation well. He had no intention of challenging him. That would be like picking a fight with a porcupine: even if you won you got pricked. Rather, Londregan planned a more nonconfrontational approach. He simply wanted to make the point that one of Von Winkle’s buildings was so close to the street that it didn’t conform to current zoning regulations. And any attempts to widen the road to accommodate increased traffic would conflict with the location of his building, therefore justifying its removal.
“Mr. Von Winkle, how are you?”
“Not bad,” he said.
“Do you agree with the opening statement of your attorney that you’re not opposed to the implementation of the municipal-development plan so long as it doesn’t take your property?”
“Right, so long as it doesn’t take my property.”
Londregan directed him to a photograph of his brick building. “Looking at the bottom left-hand corner, am I correct that the foundation of this building comes to the edge of the sidewalk there?”
“Yes, it does,” Von Winkle said.
“Do you happen to know about how wide that sidewalk is?”
“Since I paid for it, I should,” Von Winkle said, to laughter from the spectators. “Six and a half feet.”
“Is it fair to say that the foundation of that building comes right to the edge of the sidewalk?”
“Yes. Six and a half feet to the street.”
Londregan had gotten what he wanted.
“Your Honor, I have nothing further.”
By the end of the first day, each of the property owners had