Little Pink House_ A True Story of Defiance and Courage - Jeff Benedict [52]
Part of the decline in the governor’s enthusiasm stemmed from the fact that many homeowners still occupied homes in Fort Trumbull, and they had shown no signs of leaving. The prospect of resorting to eminent domain to evict them was starting to make the Rowland administration skittish. To keep the governor happy and the development on track, the NLDC had to deal with the holdouts. Claire asked the NLDC’s real-estate acquisition team to come up with a recommendation. She received a memo with a plan. “To date,” the memo said, “it appears that the process has been to purchase properties throughout the area. We have reached the point in the program where we need to move in a more coordinated fashion. The goal should be to get control of blocks of property.”
With entire blocks, the NLDC felt, it could start demolition, wiping out entire rows of houses and buildings. Besides being cost-effective, this approach might dampen residents’ desire to stick around in a neighborhood overrun by excavators and dump trucks. “If we can create a sense of inevitability,” the memo said, “it may motivate additional property owners to sell.”
July 8, 1999
The radio in Susette’s emergency-response vehicle reported a fire on Trumbull Street.
“What did they say?” Susette asked her partner.
“There’s a fire on Trumbull Street,” her partner responded.
“Oh, my God! There’s only one house on Trumbull Street. And it’s right behind mine.”
They sped to Susette’s neighborhood. Smoke billowed from the area of her home. “Oh, my God, my house is on fire!” she yelled, jumping from the truck.
Firemen on the scene assured her that the flames had not spread to her house. Smoke had, however. And the heat from the fire had melted the paint on the exterior of her house. The Odessa Rose finish had been ruined. Firefighters were hosing down the outside of the house to cool it off.
“You better go upstairs and shut your windows,” the fire marshal told her.
With firemen guiding her, Susette entered her home. It had filled with smoke and the inescapable smell of burning. Water from the fire hoses had seeped inside. The place was a mess.
Exiting the house, Susette looked around and tried not to cry. In one direction she saw cranes and construction vehicles erecting steel girders for the new Pfizer complex. In another direction she saw a burning house surrounded by fire trucks. The house on the other side of hers had been empty since it had been acquired by the NLDC. It all looked pretty bleak.
“This is one way to get rid of her,” one fireman joked to another.
The comment left Susette unsettled. The African American family that owned the house behind hers had barely escaped the flames. Now homeless and too poor to find housing elsewhere, they ended up on the street, ultimately moving in to a relative’s crowded apartment. The NLDC acquired the burnt home and left the charred structure standing. Susette couldn’t look out her kitchen or bedroom windows without seeing it.
Fire officials concluded foul play had not been the cause of the fire. All Susette knew was that one more family that had refused to sell out was now gone.
20
THE TWEED CROWD
July 9, 1999
A bunker mentality quickly overtook the NLDC. The state’s Freedom of Information Commission had just issued a final order saying the NLDC was a public agency and had to comply with the Freedom of Information Act. The ruling meant a big victory for the newspaper and more headaches for Claire.
For starters, the newspaper was pressing to find out what the agency had done with all the money it had received. One of the NLDC’s biggest expenditures was for consultants. The biggest consultant contract involved the Downes Group, the construction firm with ties to the governor. One of the reasons the NLDC had hired Downes was the company’s reputation for having the right connections to move a massive development project along. Pfizer’s deadlines called for a firm that knew how to