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VIAGRA TIME

September 29, 1997

For George Milne and Pfizer, the big day had arrived: the pharmaceutical company filed its new drug application with the FDA. “VIAGRA … is indicated for the treatment of erectile dysfunction,” the application letter read. “The physiological mechanism responsible for erection of the penis involves the release of nitric oxide in the corpus cavernosum in response to sexual stimulation.”

Pfizer made a medical case for the drug’s importance and asked the FDA to fast-track Viagra through the approval process. If approved, Viagra sales would easily pay for the company’s new research facility.

While Pfizer pressed the FDA, Claire continued working on Milne. Over a series of private meetings and conversations with him, she had hammered home the idea that Pfizer could become New London’s economic savior. A decision to build a research facility in the city would be akin to getting Macy’s to anchor a newly constructed mall, only on a much larger scale. Rather than just generate jobs and revenue, Pfizer could really improve lives.

The idea of leading an urban renaissance in New London had some appeal to Milne. So did the site’s close proximity to Pfizer’s existing labs. Claire suggested the two facilities could be linked by water vessels transporting employees back and forth. If the state was willing to sweeten the pot enough, certainly Pfizer could at least consider the possibility.

Milne agreed to visit the property again.

Kurt Cobain’s nihilistic voice wasn’t one Susette would have instinctively chosen to drone through her stereo while she diced vegetables on a wooden cutting board in her kitchen. But years of listening to her sons’ music had turned her into a Nirvana fan. The habit of preparing large meals had stuck with her too, although she now lived alone. She dumped the vegetables into the giant soup pot on the stove.

Suddenly she heard a loud rap at the front door. It was Billy Von Winkle.

“C’mon in,” she yelled over the music.

“Hi, Red.”

“How’s Jenny?” she asked, smiling.

“Oh, Do-what? She’s fine,” Von Winkle said, inspecting the house. “Well, this is a nice place. To think it was for sale for eight years and I never bought it.” They both smiled. “Then I would have owned all the houses in the neighborhood,” he said.

“It didn’t look this way when I bought it,” she said, explaining how she had replaced all the curtains and window shades, puttied all the nail holes, and stripped and refinished the hardwood floors.

He asked what she had used to sand the floors. Sandpaper, she told him. “I did it on my hands and knees.”

“Why didn’t you use a machine?”

“Had someone showed me, I probably would have used a machine,” she said. “I just did it the hard way. Then I polyurethaned the floors.”

Impressed, Von Winkle nodded.

She showed him the staircase leading to the upstairs. “The steps are one hundred years old,” she said.

“They look good,” he said.

She had had to pull up the carpet and remove layers of old paint to expose the original stair treads. “This time I got smarter and used a heat gun,” she told him. “Then I stained them with a whitewash, and I painted the molding hunter green.”

“You’ve done a lot here,” he said.

Only two major projects remained, she said: furnishing the rooms with antiques and putting in raised flower beds made of granite on the outside. But she didn’t have enough money for antiques and granite, at least not yet.

Von Winkle liked her ambition. He opened a kitchen closet. It was jammed with vegetable cans. “What is this, the grocery store?” he said.

“Just about,” she said, explaining that she still had not gotten used to buying for just herself.

“You got any beer?” he asked.

“No,” she said, inviting him to come back later for stew.

He declined. He had stopped in only to check on her and say hello.

October 1997

Barely a stone’s throw from Susette’s house, Claire and Steve Percy accompanied Milne back onto the mill site. It was a sunny, brisk morning. Without the summer heat, the sewer plant’s foul odor was not as obvious. The surrounding scenery