Little Pink House_ A True Story of Defiance and Courage - Jeff Benedict [44]
The Freedom of Information Commission set a hearing date.
17
WEDGES
August 1998
Steve and Amy Hallquist had fallen in love on a tour bus in New London in 1997. A paint contractor in her midforties, Amy had wanted a different line of work. She took a job as a tour-bus driver, and her first day on the job, she met Steve, the tour guide. A former teacher and the son of a preacher, forty-two-year-old Steve had a gift for oratory. They did their first tour together a couple of blocks from Fort Trumbull. She liked his over-the-collar-length hair and his neatly trimmed beard. He liked her wavy black hair and frequent smile.
A year to the day after meeting, they got married and bought a home just outside the ninety-acre peninsula targeted for redevelopment by the NLDC. The Hallquists closed on their home the same day Pfizer announced its plans to build its research headquarters in New London. They immediately got involved in the community. A few months later, they attended a public meeting hosted by the NLDC at a downtown church. The place was packed, but Amy managed to find two seats right in front.
Claire arrived in a white blouse with a colorful scarf, her hair pinned back, showcasing pearl earrings and a seasonal tan. Using maps and diagrams, she walked the audience through her vision for the future of New London. Amy and Steve thought she looked like the Vanna White of development. And they liked what she was pitching.
“What we want is a world-class, hip little city,” Claire told the audience.
The Hallquists were captivated, along with most of the audience. The atmosphere felt like a pep rally.
As soon as the meeting broke up, Steve and Amy approached Claire and introduced themselves. She greeted them warmly. When she learned that Steve and Amy were community activists, Claire asked them to get involved. She asked Amy to write a letter to the newspaper in support of the NLDC’s revitalization efforts, and Amy agreed.
September 1, 1998
Susette thought men in business suits looked silly wearing hard hats and wielding gold-tipped shovels. But she didn’t laugh when VIPs were on hand to watch Governor Rowland and George Milne break ground on Pfizer’s $220 million facility next door. Only eight months had passed since the two men and Claire had announced the development. The ceremonial start of construction illustrated the project’s speed.
“Years from now,” Governor Rowland told the audience, “this will be a case study in how to revive a community.”
The implication insulted Billy Von Winkle. For years, the city had ignored the broken sidewalks, failed to make garbage pickups, and neglected a smelly sewage-treatment plant in the middle of the neighborhood. During that time, Von Winkle had quietly bought up old buildings with his own money and then rehabbed them on his own time. One by one, he had turned some of the neighborhood’s most blighted structures into quality, affordable housing. He even moved into the neighborhood himself and opened up his own business. At no cost to taxpayers or the city, Von Winkle had probably invested and done more than anyone else to improve the neighborhood around the Pfizer property.
“We stayed through all the shit,” Von Winkle told Susette. “Now they want to kick us all out and make the neighborhood nice for someone else.”
The idea that she wasn’t worthy of living next door to Pfizer left Susette feeling scorned and slighted too. “Rich white people