Gail was already shaking her head. “That’s pretty standard. Once the town planner and the site-plan committee sign onto something, the right people are lined up. Tom Chambers made it very clear from the start he was in favor of the project, and would pull every string he could to help it pass, even before he got on the board of selectmen. By the time the idea of a state-financed town loan was first announced in the paper-with public meeting notices and all the rest-he and his brother and several others, with Adelman in the lead, had already been working on the idea for months. I also doubt Gene was quite as ignorant as it looks. He’s got a bit of the politician in him, too.
“Go to Adelman for the details… And to the Bank of Brattleboro as well-they were scrambling to be part of the deal, but looking for all the help they could get. This was too big a bite for B of B to take in the first place-one of the Boston or New York banks would’ve been a more natural choice, but you know local pride… So I’m sure they all played a part in the two million from the state. But all that’s not unusual.”
“Isn’t Gene and NeverTom playing footsie a little unlikely,” I asked, “given the bad blood between their families?”
“For one thing, the bad blood was between their fathers. The sons never had much to do with one another. For another, who do you think owns the land abutting Lacaille’s property? By having Lacaille take all the risks on the project, the Chambers brothers stood to make a fortune.”
“By now,” Willette resumed, “Gene Lacaille is pressing ahead for permits.” He shuffled the papers before Gail. “Since they all knew they had zoning problems the planning commission wouldn’t accept, the project was next taken to the zoning board of adjustment.”
Gail interrupted briefly. “That fits the low-profile approach. Few members of the public know or care what goes on at the ZBA-it’s too technical and boring. So if you’re expecting opposition, it’s best to get all your obvious problems ruled on before you hit the commission, which is more in the public eye. I remember the newspaper played a key role here, too, which is why Gene cozied up to Stan Katz early on. When they went to the ZBA, it was noted in the paper, but with no fanfare or editorials. Katz was soft-pedaling to favor the project’s passage-not that you’d ever get him to admit it, of course.”
“Okay,” Willette continued, “as zoning administrator, Eddy Knox conducts an investigation into how the proposal might conflict with the various by-laws and restrictions of record. He discovers, among lesser problems, that for a building that size, there isn’t enough land left over to meet both landscaping and parking requirements. One or both have to be scaled down. The wording of his report was the second concern that caught our attention. Reading between the lines, you can clearly see where he softens his own findings by citing earlier exceptions in other projects, some of them not even in Brattleboro, and generally bends over backward to stress how minimally he thinks the project steps over the line.”
Gail frowned. “That, I’d look into. Eddy’s a picky, black-and-white guy. I was still a selectman back then, and although we weren’t part of the process early on, I remember seeing that report, and thinking that for a negative finding it was awfully rosy. But I was for the project, too, in the end, so I didn’t think much about it. Lacaille had a good track record, the Bank of Brattleboro was backing it, the state was making positive noises about funds for the town loan. I went with the flow like everyone else. But thinking back, the tone of that report was artificially upbeat.”
Willette’s enthusiasm grew as his suspicions found support. “Right, right, and Rob Garfield, the ZBA head, used that upbeat tone to sell the granting of the variances. That hit us, too, although not hard enough to qualify as a red light. It seemed pretty handy that Garfield was right there being so supportive, especially given his relationship with Knox.”
“I agree,” Gail said. “The two of them have never gotten along. I even asked Eddy once how he could work with a ZBA head he didn’t like. He told me he needed the job, and that as long as he kept his reports straight and narrow, Garfield would never have the ammunition to get him fired. Unfortunately for your theory, Garfield was gung-ho for the project from the start, so he didn’t need to be bought off.”
“Okay,” Willette continued, his spirit undampened. “Now the ball ends up in the planning commission’s lap.” Once again, he shuffled some papers, bringing the relevant ones to the top. “By this time, months have passed, and Mary Wallis has organized her opposition, generating letters to the editor, disrupting commission meetings, circulating leaflets and holding rallies, and getting other groups interested. A couple of selectmen begin to wobble in public statements, and the commission is feeling the heat. On the other hand, Tom Chambers, Lou Adelman, Harold Matson of the B of B, and most of the business community are screaming about jobs and commercial vitality and how the convention center will help put the town on the map.”
He paused briefly. “That’s when the fight over landscaping hit the fan, exposing the commission’s famous quirkiness with a vengeance. Despite the ZBA having granted all the necessary variances, including how much landscaping Gene Lacaille had to supply-to the exact number and type of trees and shrubs-the commission, using its own mandated criterion on landscaping, began talking about the ‘feel’ of the project-how it looked from the interstate, how the color might jar with the fall foliage, how the architecture looked harsh against the skyline.”
Willette riffled through a thick wad of minutes. “Back and forth it went, with Gene trying to come up with affordable compromises, and the commission seeming to change its mind with every shift in the political wind.”
He extracted a single stapled sheaf. “Until this meeting, where Ned Fallows, who’d been all but invisible from the start, suddenly stepped to center stage and came down hard on Gene’s side. Given Ned’s influence on the commission, that did the trick. Even with Mary Wallis screaming from the sidelines, the project was okayed. It went to the selectmen, who quickly passed it three to two, and then Lacaille delivered it to the Act 250 district coordinator, who reviewed it in record time. The final approval was given by the Act 250 board a year and a half after the idea was first proposed to the town planner.”
Gail was looking confused. “Who is it you’re worried about here? Ned Fallows or the district coordinator?”
Willette was momentarily silent, knowing of Gail’s deep affection for Fallows. It was Ron who spoke, for the first time since we’d entered the room. “I’m afraid we think it’s Ned. Tracking the arguments on the aesthetics angle, there’s no explanation why he suddenly backed this project so hard. The minutes of this meeting show him almost browbeating the other members. And his influence didn’t just sway the commission-the selectmen mentioned it as well, when they took their vote later on. Ned made the difference.”
There was a stillness in the room as the three of us watched Gail, who sat rigidly still, staring sightlessly at the clutter of documents before her.
When she moved at last, it was to stare directly at me, her eyes narrowed and her face flushed. “I was the swing vote on the select board. I backed Gene because of Ned… You better be damn sure about this, Joe. Don’t… Fuck it up.”
She stood stiffly and took in the others. “Are we done?”
Following his flamboyant presentation, Willette looked suddenly pale and stunned at its startling outcome. “Yes… Of course. Thank you.”
Gail turned and left the room.
“I didn’t realize… I mean, I knew they were friends-” Willette began.
“Ned Fallows was the main reason Gail entered politics,” I explained. “He was like a godfather to her-the person who taught her to think beyond her own self-interest. If we find he was dirty, it’s going to take a terrible toll on her.”