The following two quotations from Without Reservation: The Making of America’s Most Powerful Indian Tribe and Foxwoods, The World’s Largest Casino by Jeff Benedict focus on personalities connected with Quakertown: the first, Wendell Comrie and his mother, Geneva (Crouch) Comrie; the second, Joe and Nancy (Watrous) Lozier.  Both Wendell and the Loziers play parts, well beyond the brief quotations below, throughout Benedict’s engaging and troubling story of the rebirth of the Pequot Tribe and the rise of Foxwoods Casino.  Fran Pyle and his mother, Edith (Crouch) Pyle, are also mentioned in the book, which may be ordered online from Amazon.com.

Amazon.com posts the following background: "In 1973, an old American Indian woman dies with nothing left of her tribe but a 214-acre tract of abandoned forest. It seems to be the end of the Mashantucket Pequot tribe. But it is just the beginning. Over the next three decades, the reservation grows to nearly 2,000 acres, home to more than 600 people claiming to be tribal members. It has also become home to Foxwoods, the largest casino in the world, grossing more than $1 billion a year."

 

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A wooden, triangular sign fastened to a post and bearing the words “Comrie’s Mill” hung over a stone wall that wrapped around the property at the comer of Gallup Hill Extension and Pumpkin Hill Road. Mounds of damp sawdust and stacks of neatly cut lumber lined the yard. Eight-foot-high stacks of uncut timbers waited outside a three-story brown barn converted to a sawmill. An extension to the barn contained a ten-foot-long mill saw supported by belts and pulleys. Flanking either side of the mill were two open-air warehouses that held the custom-ordered lumber for area builders and carpenters. An old flatbed pickup truck and a John Deere tractor sat idly on the circular dirt driveway.

Dressed in blue denim overalls and a worn flannel shirt, Wendell Comrie stood alone. The slight breeze ruffled his thinning gray hair. Resting his thick hands in his overall pockets, he was thinking about the lawsuit. It seemed to be all he thought about lately. Of all the defendants, he had the most land at stake. The 262 acres he owned were quite literally his livelihood, brimming with the trees that fed his mill. Losing it would hurt financially, but what ate at him more was the way in which he was losing it. People who had not previously resided in Ledyard, much less on the reservation, had moved to town, hired a fancy lawyer, and filed a lawsuit. It cost them nothing, yet they stood to gain everything. It was the exact opposite of his situation.

As a youth growing up in the Depression, Comrie was taught that he could not get something for nothing. But there were far fewer lawyers competing for work in those days, and as a result, much less litigation. As the 1980s fast approached, America was now home to two-thirds of the lawyers in the world. Americans spent more money litigating against each other than any other people in the world. As a result, old truisms were no longer as reliable. It was hard to accept, but at age sixty-three Comrie realized he was out of step with the times.

In 1918, when Comrie was two years old, his father unexpectedly died, leaving behind a wife and eight children under the age of twelve. Comrie’s mother had no means to provide for her children and was forced to move out of their Ledyard home. Sympathetic Ledyard officials allowed the struggling family to move into the abandoned Johnson-Whipple School while Mrs. Comrie’s older boys worked so the family could eat. When Wendell turned twelve, he found a job pumping gas at the only filling station that was within walking distance from their home. He received a nickel a day plus meals, and he worked hard for tips, offering to air up patron’s tires and wash their windows. Comrie had put away every penny he had earned, even foregoing ice cream or going out with friends. By age sixteen, Comrie had saved $150, enough, he figured, to give his mother what she had always wanted.

“Mom, where would you like to live?” he asked her. “I want to buy a piece of land and build a house so we don’t have to pay rent.”

“Well, there’s a piece of land in Ledyard that I always liked,” she said, referring to a beautiful wooded lot at the corner of Pumpkin Hill Road and Gallup Hill Extension. As a child, she used to walk by the property every day on her way to school.

Comrie discovered that a man named Edward Spicer owned the land. It was not for sale, but Spicer, charmed by the boy’s ambition, agreed to sell the fourteen-acre parcel for $500. After turning over his $150 for the down payment, Comrie turned to race home and tell his mother the news.

“Well, do you want a receipt, son?” Spicer asked him.

“I guess I can trust you, can’t I?” Comrie responded.

Spicer grinned, appreciating Comrie’s youthful inexperience. “What are you going to do if I die tonight?” Spicer asked.

Embarrassed, Comrie smiled. ‘Well, I guess you better give me a receipt.”

Comrie spent the remainder of his high school days working after school and weekends to payoff the rest of the loan so he and his brothers could start building their mother a house. With his mother’s health failing during his senior year, he was called to his mother’s bedside, with two of his older brothers. Another brother was off frantically looking for a doctor. Their mother looked much older than her fifty-five years, and it was clear to Comrie that she would soon be joining his father.

As he leaned to comfort his mother, she weakly clutched his hand. He was her baby. “Wendell,” she whispered.

“Yes, Mother, I’m here.”

“Promise me,” she began. “Promise me you’ll always serve the Lord.”

Choking back the tears, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “I promise, Mom,” he cried softly. “I promise.”

His mother never saw the house Comrie built. But in keeping with his promise to his mother, he invited his mother’s sister, who was a widow, to come live in it with him and the other children. She gained a roof over her head, and the Comrie children gained a guardian. It was a good arrangement.

He eventually built his mill on the same property, right alongside the old house. He married and supported his children by making lumber. He never got rich, but he earned a reputation as the most honest businessman in town. Today, as Comrie looked around his mill, he sensed that the Haywards were not being honest in their claim to be the Pequot Indian tribe…

 

— Without Reservation: The Making of America’s Most Powerful Indian Tribe and Foxwoods, The World’s Largest Casino, pp.96-99

 

 

On November 5, 1991, Lozier received 2,148 votes for mayor—213 votes more than the incumbent mayor. Just like that, there was a new mayor in town—impetuous, unpolished, bold, and proud of it. His allegiance was to the traditions that he believed had made America great: industry, hard work, faith in God, and family.

Lozier’s victory forced his wife to become a working mom, a role she had never before experienced. The mayor’s job paid just $50,000 a year, well short of what was needed to support four children (one of whom was in college), pay a mortgage, and meet other family debts. So rather than sell his business, Lozier turned it over to his wife. She oversaw fifty rental properties, dealt with lawyers, and managed the finances for the business. Previously, she did not even manage the family checkbook.

The other major change in Nancy’s life came from the requirement to attend public functions. Private by nature, she preferred to remain out of the spotlight. When she attended her first Memorial Day town parade in 1992, she inconspicuously sat down with her children in the VIP section of bleachers. A town worker came over and politely told her, “I’m sorry, ma’am. But you and your children are going to have to move. These seats are reserved for the mayor and his family.” Without saying anything, Nancy started to get up and move before a woman behind her told the town employee, “She’s the mayor’s wife.”

Going from “Joe and Nancy” to “the mayor and the mayor’s wife” was tough getting used to. But as much as she disliked the new public exposure of her family, she convinced herself it was worth it. Foxwoods was causing Ledyard to undergo rapid and drastic changes. And she was sure Joe’s fearless attitude and bedrock convictions toward protecting Ledyard’s interests would best serve the town.

On January 27, days after talking to Comrie and Holdridge, Lozier made his regular report at the biweekly town council meeting at the town hall. He complained about the BIA taking the twenty-seven-acre parking lot into trust for the tribe. His report was followed by a presentation from his town planner, William Haase, who stunned the town council by explaining that the Pequots could buy land outside the reservation and have it converted to trust land by signing the title over to the BIA.

This fell under the purview of the Indian Reorganization Act (IRA) passed in 1934 by Congress to protect Indian lands against alienation. It authorized the Interior secretary to take title to Indian tribal lands and serve as trustee over them. The Indians maintained possession and control over the use of their lands, while the government became the owner of record, with the words “United States of America” appearing on the deeds.

In contemporary times, few tribes could afford to buy real estate outside their reservations with hopes of annexing it to an existing reservation by having the government take it into trust. The Pequots, however, were taking in hundreds of millions of dollars through Foxwoods. And the land records at the Ledyard town hall indicated the tribe was using the profits to buy up substantial amounts of real estate outside its reservation. Haase unveiled a color-coded map, which Lozier had asked him to prepare, displaying all the land that the tribe had purchased since the casino opened. In theory; there was nothing stopping the tribe from eventually asking the BIA or the Interior secretary to take possession of the titles to all the newly purchased Pequot properties, converting them to trust properties, and removing the real estate from Ledyard’s zoning and tax laws. Haase predicted that the twenty-seven-acre parking lot was just the beginning of a wave of properties within the town that would become converted to federal Indian lands.

Haase’s presentation locked the town council room in silence. Few members fully comprehended what Haase and Lozier were suggesting. By passing the 1983 Settlement Act, Congress had cleared the way for the Pequots to forever expand its land base. Lozier told the group that he had already scheduled a meeting in Hartford with Governor Weicker. But a couple of weeks later, Lozier again appeared before the town council and reported on what Weicker said about annexation. “I told Governor Weicker that the BIA took land into trust for the tribe that’s outside their reservation,” Lozier said. “Weicker said ‘No, they can only take land into trust that’s within the settlement boundary.’” Lozier told the council that he tried in vain to convince Weicker that the tribe has already done it and will surely ask for more land to be annexed in the future. “Weicker still didn’t have that picture in his head,” Lozier said.

Days after Lozier reported on his meeting with Weicker, Anna Reiners received another letter from the Trust Services Realty Branch of the BIA. It was dated February 24, 1993. This time she immediately took it to Lozier. It began just like the previous one, notifying Reiners that the bureau was considering an application from the tribe to have additional lands outside their reservation taken into trust by the federal government. As Lozier read further, he became alarmed. This time the tribe was seeking to have six separate parcels on the opposite side of Route 2 annexed to their reservation, significant acreage with commercial potential. To add a new wrinkle, the land they were after extended beyond Ledyard’s borders into the neighboring towns of North Stonington and Preston.

When Reiners left his office, Lozier sat down in his chair and rested his back against his leather cushion. He stared across his desk toward the double-hung windows at the opposite end of the room. When he took office, the first thing he did was turn his desk around to face those windows so he could enjoy the view of the tall oak tree outside his office and the site of the town’s schoolchildren playing across the street during recess.

But in February, the tree was bare and it was too cold for kids to play outside. He looked back down at the letter on his desk from the BIA. “Ledyard is not going to be Ledyard anymore,” Lozier thought to himself. “If indeed the BIA and Pequots are able to do what they want without some checks and balances, then Ledyard is in some serious trouble.”

Lozier knew that the town council was scheduled to meet later that evening, and he would have to recommend how they were going to try and stop the Pequots. “We need a lawyer,” Lozier thought. “Someone who has a background in Native American issues, someone who is familiar with the workings of the federal government and the BIA. But how do I find somebody like that?”

Lozier knew a lot of attorneys, but none who worked in the areas he needed. As he usually did when he felt duress, Lozier bowed his head. “God,” he whispered, “help me find somebody who is honest and will get the job done. Because I know we need someone.”

Later that night when he went to the town council meeting, Lozier brought along a copy of the letter he had been handed earlier in the day by Anna Reiners. He read it out loud to the council and said the town of Ledyard could no longer sit back and let the government take land into trust that was outside the reservation. “The impact of this action is serious,” Lozier told the council, holding up the letter. “And I intend to go to Washington, D.C., to meet with prospective attorneys for the town.” At Lozier’s request, the council introduced a motion to appropriate and transfer $1,000 to the mayor’s personal expense account to pay for his airfare and hotel accommodations. All nine members voted in favor of the motion.

When Lozier arrived home that evening, Nancy was still awake.

“Hey, Nance,” he said, “Do you want to go to Washington with me? The town is sending me down there to speak with Sam Gejdenson and a representative from the BIA, this guy Billie Ott. I’m also going to meet with some lawyers. We would have to pay for your ticket ourselves. But I thought we could go see the Smithsonian and get a couple days together alone.

“Sure,” Nancy said. “I’ll go.”

 

After nearly missing their flight due to the bad weather, the Loziers arrived at National Airport in D.C. twenty minutes before they were due in Representative Sam Gejdenson’s office. Dressed in a suit and carrying mismatched suitcases in either hand, Lozier hailed a cab. “What am I going to say to this guy?” Lozier said, looking for encouragement from his wife as he stood in the waiting area outside Gejdenson’s office. Just then, the door opened and Gejdenson started walking toward him. “Joe, just keep your cool,” she whispered under her breath.

Gejdenson shook Nancy’s hand first, then escorted Lozier inside. As soon as they were out of sight, Nancy sat down on a waiting-room chair and pulled out a paperback book she had brought along. “He wasn’t very impressive,” she thought after standing face-to-face with a U.S. congressman for the first time in her life. “He looked more like a salesman.”

Thirty minutes later Nancy saw Joe coming toward her. His face was cherry red. “Oh, boy,” she thought as she quickly closed her book and threw it into her handbag without bothering to mark her place. “If we do not get out of here right away, there is going to be a Joe Lozier explosion right here in the congressman’s office.”

Without saying a word, Joe grabbed their suitcases and headed for the lobby door. Struggling to keep up with him, Nancy scampered behind him. Before she knew it, they had walked twelve blocks in cold Washington drizzle and Joe had still not said a word.

“What happened?” Nancy asked, laboring to catch her breath.

In front of a McDonald’s, Joe stopped and put his suitcases down on i the sidewalk.

“He told me, ‘Your ancestors killed a lot of Indians,” Joe shouted over the traffic.

“Well, what did you say?” Nancy asked. Joe was so worked up he did not even realize that his clothes were soaked clear through.

“I told him, ‘I’m French Canadian. Most likely we were on the Indians’ side,’” Joe responded.

Nancy burst out laughing.

“That about sums up my meeting with our congressman,” he continued.

“Well, now what?” Nancy asked.

“Let’s step inside and get a soda,” he said.

Standing in line at McDonald’s waiting to order, he continued to vent. “I come down here to get his support to work with the town, to get his help with the fact that Ledyard now is home to the largest casino in the world and that the Pequots have so many rights,” Joe complained. “His response was that ‘your forefathers or people killed them and they deserve all these things.’ It was not what I expected him to say.” Lozier could hardly believe that someone who held the dignified office of U.S. congressman would resort to an argument so foolish as “Your people killed the Indians, so the Indians deserve special privileges.” The English killed Indians in New England in the 1600s. Many of the inhabitants of south-eastern Connecticut today were Italian, Irish, German, Polish, and many other European nationalities other than English. They were no more to blame for the Indians’ destruction than was Gejdenson, who was born in Germany in 1948 and listed his occupation as a New England dairy farmer before getting elected to Congress. “Gejdenson never milked a cow in his life,” Lozier snapped.

After finishing their sodas, Joe and Nancy walked the remaining eight blocks to their hotel. After checking in, Joe showered, changed his clothes, and left for his meeting with Billie Ott at the BIA office. When he returned to the hotel nearly two hours later, he had a big grin on his face. “Billie Ott,” Lozier said as he entered the room. “Oh, Mr. Billie Ott.”

“I take it that meeting didn’t go so well either,” Nancy said.

“What a complete waste of airfare,” Joe said. “Meeting with him was even more of a waste of time than Gejdenson. I know one thing now more than I did before we left to come down here. Ledyard has got to have legal representation if we are going to come out of this thing at all. We need someone qualified to take us through this because I know this is going to be hell.

“And another thing,” Joe continued. “The taxi fares in this town are outrageous.”

At 2:00 that afternoon, Joe entered the law offices of Perkins Coie on Fourteenth Street NW. Perkins Coie’s expertise ranged from computer and high-technology law to international business transactions to lobbying to regulation of political activity.

Lozier met with attorney Guy Martin, one of the managing partners in the D.C. office. Lozier told him about the twenty-seven acres that had already gone into trust and complained about the additional 247 acres that the tribe was asking the Interior Department to take into trust. He also complained about the lack of notice provided by the federal government in both instances, as well as the ease with which the government could take land off the Ledyard tax rolls for the tribe.

Martin was quite familiar with the situation Lozier was describing. He worked in the Interior Department during the Carter administration as assistant secretary of the interior in charge of land and water resources. He knew how the Interior Department went about taking land into trust for tribes.

“Joe,” Martin said, “it doesn’t seem at all beyond the range of possibilities that Interior is going to go directly ahead on the tribe’s 247-acre petition and do exactly what it had done in the instance of the 27 acres. You’re in a very difficult situation, mainly because of timing. You have only two weeks until you’re supposed to respond to Interior about this latest request. And I can’t tell you how difficult of a position you’re in with respect to the substance of your problem. I just haven’t looked at it enough.”

“What are our options?” Lozier asked.

“Well, here are my immediate instincts,” Martin said. “Your best opportunity is to try to get a delay while we can assess your situation. My instincts are to immediately appeal at however high a policy level we need to to simply get a delay based on your status as a local government and the apparent haste at which this is being done. We need time to assess your situation and be able to make a meaningful response to this notice from the BIA. We need at least thirty days.”

Martin’s partner Don Baur had worked as an attorney in the Interior Department’s solicitor’s office for five years prior to joining Perkins Coie. Together, Martin and Raur had over twenty-five years experience on Capitol Hill. They were the type of lawyers Ledyard needed, but Lozier worried about how to afford them. He had his work cut out for him.

 

— Without Reservation: The Making of America’s Most Powerful Indian Tribe and Foxwoods, The World’s Largest Casino, pp.257-263