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With help from Bullock and the institute, Susette got busy preparing her testimony for the Senate Judiciary Committee hearing.

Behind closed doors, Londregan and the city council met to decide what to do about the NLDC. The councilors remained adamant that the agency had to be reined in. A message had to be sent. The best way to do it was to remove the leadership.

Londregan agreed. From the day Claire Gaudiani had been appointed head of the NLDC, the agency had consistently failed to keep the city in the loop on its decisions. This had been going on for years, and it was time to put a stop to it.

Londregan and the city council agreed that the NLDC needed an ultimatum: either the NLDC would remove Goebel and Joplin at once, or the council would dissolve the entire agency.

September 19, 2005

In damage-control mode, the NLDC rescinded its eviction notices. Nonetheless, the city council convened a public meeting at City Hall to vote on whether or not to cut ties with the agency. All the people who had fought to protect the Fort Trumbull neighborhood showed up beforehand for a massive rally to protest eminent domain. The holdout homeowners attended, along with many of the original members of the Save Fort Trumbull Coalition, including Professor Fred Paxton and Steve and Amy Hallquist. The reunion resembled a revival.

Yet times had clearly changed. Instead of a few dozen supporters from New London, hundreds of newcomers had come from outside the city to show solidarity with the holdouts. When the rally ended, they all tried to pack the council chamber. Throngs of people jammed the lobby and the stairwells leading to the chamber, making it impossible for two of the councilors to get to the meeting.

In the chaos, the fire marshal ordered the crowd to clear the building, declaring that the number of people exceeded that permitted by the building’s fire code. Other than those in the chamber, everyone else had to evacuate. That didn’t sit well with the crowd. Tempers flared. Policemen formed a barricade outside the chamber. Those stuck in the halls and stairwells began shouting.

One councilor emerged from the chamber to assure everyone outside that the meeting would not go on without them.

Nobody believed it. Fort Trumbull holdout Michael Cristofaro, who had received one of the eviction notices, started shouting at the councilor, demanding a chance to address the council.

Emboldened by Cristofaro’s fiery words, the crowd began yelling louder.

“You’re inciting these people,” the councilor said. “Stop yelling!”

Democracy—messy and volatile—had shown up at City Hall and the politicians didn’t know how to handle it. The scene around the chamber was teetering on anarchy.

The city council decided to abort the meeting and postpone the vote. Clearly they needed a bigger venue to accommodate the public.

The police ordered everyone to clear the building.

Susette missed all the commotion. She had flown to Washington to get ready for her appearance the following morning before the Senate Judiciary Committee. Her situation was on the minds of many in Washington. And the outrage over the Supreme Court’s decision hadn’t died down. A group in Los Angeles had started a national campaign to have Justice David Souter’s home in New Hampshire condemned and taken by eminent domain.

In her Washington hotel room, Susette panicked. In twelve hours she’d be testifying before the U.S. Senate and she didn’t have her opening statement written. She had already submitted carefully prepared written testimony, but she wanted to make a separate, personal statement when she appeared before the committee.

With so much going on at once, she couldn’t think straight anymore. Desperate, she telephoned Mitchell back in New London for help.

“All right, calm down,” Mitchell said. “I’ll dictate something to you.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“I don’t even have anything to write on.”

Mitchell couldn’t help laughing.

“Wait, I’ve got