Little Pink House_ A True Story of Defiance and Courage - Jeff Benedict [117]
Over the next couple of days, NLDC officials testified that the agency had in fact made changes and modifications to the development plan, including exceptions that allowed some existing buildings to remain, such as the Italian Dramatic Club. The point was clear: although the NLDC wanted a ninety-acre footprint for redevelopment, it wasn’t essential for the agency to acquire every parcel of real estate within that footprint to achieve its goals.
Anticipating that Claire would be their most difficult witness, Bullock and Berliner scheduled her toward the end of the NLDC’s slate. Accompanied by her college-age son, she entered the courtroom and made her way to the witness stand.
Accustomed to a certain degree of deference, Claire got none from Corradino. He seemed to know little if anything about her or her reputation. Earlier in the trial, he had repeatedly referred to her as “this lady,” prompting Londregan to eventually point out that Claire was the president of the NLDC, among other things. To Corradino, she was just another witness.
To Berliner and Bullock, she was the worst kind of bully, disguising her heavy-handed tactics as goodwill for the poor. After her experience taking Claire’s deposition, Berliner had compiled an array of questions designed to hem Claire in with yes or no answers.
From the start of her testimony, Claire looked and sounded less certain and less ornery than she had in her deposition. Yet she still managed to turn her answers into commentaries about the loftiness of the NLDC’s objectives and the complexity of its work. After one particularly long and evasive answer, Berliner zeroed in.
“Was the answer to my question yes?”
Remaining evasive, Claire continued to lecture.
Corradino had heard enough. “Okay,” he said, interrupting Claire, “why don’t we do this? Realizing that life is short, when you’re asked a question, if you can answer a yes or no, answer yes or no.”
Berliner repeated her question to Claire. “So the final answer to my question was yes?”
“I did already say that, yes,” Claire said. “I just said it at the end instead of the beginning. That’s the way French logic goes. I’m sorry. I will try to use Anglo-American logic.”
Berliner asked her about a specific date in the process for producing a development plan.
“What’s the relevance of the date?” Claire responded.
Corradino looked at Claire. “You can’t object on relevance,” he informed her. “They’re the ones that object. You try to answer the question.”
From the gallery, Kathleen Mitchell couldn’t believe what she was thinking and feeling—sympathy for Claire. For three years Claire had been the face of the enemy in Fort Trumbull. Mitchell had spent that entire time trying to bloody that face with a relentless assault through words, slogans, and protests. Through it all she had seen Claire one way: as a cold, calculating power broker. But suddenly, Claire was in an inferior position. Instead of being in charge, she had been forced into a defensive posture, like a pampered house pet being dropped suddenly into a jungle. A lawyer was badgering her, and a judge was telling her what she could and couldn’t say. Mitchell almost didn’t recognize Claire.
The trial, in many respects, was Claire’s swan song. Already gone from Connecticut College, Claire’s days as president of the NLDC were now numbered, too. She didn’t plan to seek reappointment, and the agency would soon name a new president. A lot had changed since Claire had stood shoulder to shoulder with Governor Rowland and George Milne while leading city officials down the Thames River on a cruise ship to kick off the revitalization of New London.
After Berliner finished with Claire, it fell to Londregan to restore her credibility. It was a strange role reversal. He had never cared for Claire