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But Goebel’s military background had trained him to respect the chain of command. On September 18, he reported to the council that the Italian Dramatic Club would be allowed to remain and that the owners of the club would retain title to the property. Members of the city council didn’t get it. The press didn’t get it either. The Day started asking questions. Nobody involved had a good answer. “I think the NLDC recognized that as the city changes, aspects of the city’s heritage have to remain sacrosanct,” Jay Levin told the paper.

If the implications hadn’t been so serious, Levin’s answer would have qualified as comedy. Everyone involved in the decision started backtracking. Justice Angelo Santaniello denied having helped the club. Steve Percy, of the NLDC, became indignant at any suggestion that politics had played a role in the outcome. But politics was the only reason the club had been spared. The building had no more historical value to the city’s heritage than the historic homes and streets in the Fort Trumbull neighborhood did.

Susette didn’t know anything about the Italian Dramatic Club until she read in the newspaper that it had been spared the wrecking ball. The comments by Levin, Santaniello, and Percy infuriated her. She called Mitchell.

“I am rippin’!” Susette said. “This is all a political shit show.”

Mitchell had read the article. She shared Susette’s anger, and Levin’s insistence that the Italian Dramatic Club had special historical significance had her laughing.

“Levin is full of shit,” Susette shouted. “There’s nothing historic about the IDC. Why can’t he see the historic value of the houses that we live in? Matt Dery’s father’s house is an original whaling house.” Mitchell agreed. “Unless the IDC is where the mob bosses from Providence come to meet,” Susette said, “it’s no historic landmark.”

Mitchell got a kick out of Susette’s passion. “Well, what would you like to do?”

“I want you to write them and tell them they’re all full of shit,” Susette said. “And that I’m not going to stand for it.” Mitchell doubted that would be productive. Susette didn’t care. “They’re coming in here and making up this crap about saving a historic building,” Susette said. “But they’ve already torn down all these historic homes. Our houses are actually historic. We all know it’s a crock of crap. We all know it’s politics. They sit there and say politics had nothing to do with it. Politics has everything to do with it in New London.”

“I’ll write the letter,” Mitchell said.

After hanging up, Susette couldn’t stop fuming. She walked two blocks to the men’s club. Three cars were parked outside. Otherwise, the place looked abandoned. Tall weeds poked through cracks in the pavement leading up to the door. She knocked. No one answered. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Male voices rose from the basement. She slowly made her way downstairs. Three men were seated at a table, eating cheese and drinking wine. They turned and gave her a funny look.

“I’m Susette Kelo, and I live on East Street,” she said.

The men looked at each other. “This is a men’s club,” one of the men pointed out. “Women are not allowed in.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be here long,” she said, looking around. She felt like she had walked into a scene from The Godfather. “I just want to know what you guys did to make it so you could stay, because I want to stay too.”

Caught off guard, the men said nothing.

“We don’t want to stop the development,” Susette continued. “We just want to keep our homes.”

The oldest of the three men looked her in the eye. “We’re sorry for you,” he said. “But it is better not to fight. It will cost you too much money.”

She wondered how much they had paid and to whom to get their way. Again, she asked what they had done to save their club.

“We didn’t have anything to do with it,” one of the men said. “We’re really not sure what happened.”

The longer Susette stayed, the friendlier the men became. In the end, they repeated their advice not to fight the NLDC.

By the time Susette returned home, Mitchell had finished a draft letter