Little Pink House_ A True Story of Defiance and Courage - Jeff Benedict [61]
“I wouldn’t say they were fired,” Goebel said. “Their work was done, and they just fell off.”
Paxton found Goebel’s statement disingenuous. He felt firms of that caliber didn’t “fall off.”
“This is a conflict of interest,” Paxton said. “The NLDC was interested in buying properties with the clear intent of demolition.”
Goebel emphasized that the development would serve the best overall interest of the city by increasing tax revenues by $12 million a year. Most of the revenue, he insisted, would come from Pfizer, which would help the city’s schools, health care, and art and cultural programs. He sounded like Claire had fed him his lines.
Steffian didn’t appreciate Goebel’s sidestepping the coalition’s core issue: saving homes. He challenged Goebel, saying the homes could easily be integrated into any development design.
Goebel didn’t have an answer.
Matt Dery nudged Susette. “Ask Goebel if he’s going to do anything to help us save our homes,” he said.
“Mr. Goebel,” Susette said, “is there anything that you or the NLDC is going to do to help save our homes?”
“In order to complete the development of the area, in order to do that, we must acquire all the homes,” said Goebel, adding that the homes he had seen were not in good shape. Speechless, Susette turned to Dery. Goebel’s dig hit Dery like a punch in the heart. Only Paxton’s fingers’ pecking at his laptop keyboard broke the awkward silence.
“He didn’t even lie and at least say they would try and save our houses,” Susette whispered to Dery.
After a distinguished career as an architect and designer, John Steffian had no patience for what Goebel was saying. What did Goebel know about engineering, architecture, and urban design? The guy was a retired admiral, not an urban planner. He was used to giving orders. In this instance, he sounded a lot like an NLDC yes-man, a preprogrammed mouthpiece who would say anything to justify the agency’s determination to give Pfizer what it wanted—an entirely new neighborhood.
The next morning’s headline read: “NLDC will demolish all the homes in the Fort Trumbull area even though a coalition has asked it to preserve them.”
December 15, 1999
Governor Rowland had had it. Nearly six months had passed since the Freedom of Information Commission had ordered the NLDC to turn over documents to the newspaper. And it still had not complied. Meanwhile, the NLDC’s battle with holdout homeowners in Fort Trumbull had become a full-blown controversy with no signs of slowing down. Protest letters and essays had become routine on the newspaper’s editorial page. The public sentiment seemed to be tilting in favor of the property owners. The media seemed headed that way too. Worst of all, time had clearly demonstrated that Claire was not someone the state could control.
The governor decided to remind her where the power rested. He issued Claire a letter threatening to withhold state funds from the NLDC if it didn’t comply with the freedom-of-information law. The governor made sure the press got a copy of the letter.
Claire issued a written statement, promising to comply.
When John Steffian completed his alternative design for the Fort Trumbull peninsula, the coalition distributed copies to the media, along with a press release. Steffian also sent his plans to the NLDC. The renderings showed a way to integrate the existing historic neighborhood into the new development in such a way that the old would complement the new. Steffian’s plan also preserved the elements important to Pfizer, including waterfront access and new amenities appealing in a corporate campus.
No one at the NLDC cared to see Steffian’s design—not Claire, not Goebel, not Percy. A staffer merely stuffed the plan in a file cabinet.
Chastised by the governor, Claire had her lawyers withdraw the freedom-of-information appeal. Still smarting from the defeat, she wrote to publisher Reid MacCluggage.