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 LAND GRAB What do property-seizure laws, Indian burial mounds, a new highway in Rockford and Chicago filmmaker Rusty Nails have in common?
Watching Tom Ditzler navigate what's left of his 17-acre farm in far west suburban Rockford, you'd never suspect that he is legally blind. Though his footpaths are clogged by chunks of mud and debris dredged up from the construction occurring on his property, he stumbles only occasionally as he points out the distinguishing marks of the land, now since marred. "Here's the creek," he says, gesturing toward a muddy, stagnant pool of water. "It used to meander beautifully. It was bordered by these big beautiful oak trees. Now it looks more like an industrial channel." Tom, a Vietnam War veteran, and his wife Janice, have lived on this land for thirty-two years. In April 1999, Winnebago County seized more than 9 acres of their property, using a controversial bit of legislation, known as "quick take," with the intent of building a new highway. One of the provisions of eminent domain (which allows governments to seize privately owned property when it's "necessary" for public good and use), quick take allows the government to take possession of land immediately, and negotiate with the property owner later. Eminent domain is only a little kinder to property owners, allowing for negotiation before property is appropriated. In January 1999, a neighbor, who had been approached about a small piece of his land affected by the new highway, told the Ditzlers their land was also in jeopardy, and the couple has been on a virtual roller coaster since. "Our first reaction was stunned, devastated," Tom remembers. "You hear about governments doing this kind of thing to people, but you never really believe it until it happens to you." When the Ditzlers settled here after the Vietnam War, in which Tom lost his eyesight, they were told, as Janice says, by Veterans Affairs "to find a place we could live for the rest of our lives. We found this beautiful place, and made it our home." The timing couldn't have been worse for the Ditzlers, as just two years ago, their daughter passed away from Cystic Fibrosis at age 22. "She was engaged, had her dress made and everything... but we all decided to postpone it, hoping she would get better and be able to walk down the aisle," Janice remembers. "She was in a wheelchair because she just couldn't breathe well... A few weeks later, she died." It wasn't long after this tragedy that Tom first heard on the radio that the title for part of his property now belonged to Winnebago County. "I didn't even get the news firsthand, I had to hear it on the radio." The Ditzlers quickly set into motion, hiring a lawyer and leaping on any media attention they could get. It didn't take long for the people of Rockford to take notice. "I've been on the news so much I feel like a star," Tom laughs. "We had three [TV] stations here at once." In this case, Winnebago County seized the Ditzler property in order to build a new highway, hoping to link Rockford's floundering West Side, future home to scattered Section 8 housing known as Hope VI, to the rest of the city. And here's where things get tricky. The proposed four-lane highway, dubbed the Springfield-Harrison Connection, could have, many say, been built more cost-effectively by revising already existing roadways. But the route cutting through the Ditzler property held certain benefits, not the least of which is the provision of access roads for quarries owned by Rockford Blacktop. Rockford Blacktop owns 95 percent of quarries in Winnebago County, but a few currently have no access roads; with construction of the Springfield-Harrison extension, they will. Coincidentally -- or not -- Rockford Blacktop contributed, as reported by a local paper, The Rock River Times, a chunk of campaign money to Winnebago County Board Chairwoman Kristine Cohn. Cohn actually received about 63 percent of her war chest from local development-related businesses, including building contractors and real estate developers -- some of which are benefiting from this new highway. When asked to comment on the allegation made by Rock River Times, Cohn bristled, stating "I would challenge that. There was a large number of inaccuracies [in that article]. I receive contributions from individuals who own business', who are parts of business', yes... This is a plan for a road that has been on the books for over twenty years. This was conceived before I ever even thought of being a politician. There are individual landowners [affected by this] and I understand their concern, their distaste, even their discomfort about this. But this wasn't just Kris Cohn's plan. It is the citizens' plan, developed by the county board and voted upon." Cohn also claims that all permits were attained properly, and that the use of the Ditzler's property was ascertained as the best fit by a private engineering company. Cohn, refusing to directly answer most questions, finally says, "The road is being built and there is nothing more to say." The Ditzler case has not only managed to rumple the feathers of many Rockford residents, but has drawn a whole cast of characters into its soap-opera fold, thanks largely to vigilant reporting by The Rock River Times. Editor and publisher Frank Schier has been especially vocal about his disgust with quick take and Rockford's politicos: "To me this whole situation highlights the need for campaign finance reform, because essentially the taxpayer is financing private development. It's outrageous." Schier also championed Rockford citizens in one of many editorials to "honk if you don't like what you see" when driving by. As a result, the Ditzlers hear a honk from passersby just about every five minutes. "We see so many people come by here honking, giving us the thumbs up," Tom says. "Everyone from police officers to the engineers working on the land have come up to us and said, 'Tom, we don't like what we're doing to you.'" In addition to many protests and prayer vigils held on their property, the Ditzler's have also had a lobby of loyal supporters -- around two dozen people -- show up at many of their court dates. Though the land in question represents the Ditzler livelihood of raising horses, it is also host to American Indian burial mounds and wetlands containing beavers, deer, egrets, and, as Tom says (according to a bird watcher who came to his land once), more than fifty species of birds. Since construction began in July, the wildlife has been on the run; deer tracks can be seen across the dirt, and Janice says the day construction began, hundreds of frogs were seen on the property, making a fast getaway. Enter Chicago filmmaker, Rusty Nails, who released his debut film, "Acne," to mixed reception last year. Nails caught wind of the story from a co-worker at the Web content company Supersphere. He was invited to come out to one of the numerous protests held at the Ditzler residence, and though his interest was piqued, he was hesitant to join the crowd. "I had a bit of reluctance because I didn't know what was happening. I thought that there might be some kind of action against construction people. I didn't know if the kids were going to be tying themselves together to trees. I was really reluctant to get into that whole scene, but I decided to go at the last minute... I had only been shooting, like shows at the Fireside [for Supersphere]. This was the first political thing I was going to be covering." Nails' hesitancy was smoothed over quickly, however, by a gracious reception from the Ditzlers and the sight of the contested land. "The property was just so beautiful and amazing. And the Ditzlers were incredibly nice and very sweet to this gang-this group-of something like thirteen people they didn't know," he says. "There were people from Texas that had just heard of it off the Internet. Once I got there, the story just drew me in immediately. I generally work on fiction films, and this was the first time I'd done anything documentary, and it was really, completely compelling. The more people that answered me, the more interesting it became. Just being around the Ditzlers was incredible. They need help pretty badly. Just the fact that I'm there, I think, for them, is some sort of comfort also, so I like being there. Everyone I've brought over there has remarked how beautiful they are." How did what appears to be a local property-seizure issue become so controversial? In addition to the disputed land's unusual characteristics, there've been a number of twists and turns involving the powers-that-be in Springfield, namely Governor George Ryan. A bill, passed in July 1999, was the first to earmark the Ditzler's land for the Springfield-Harrison Connection, and contained what are known as scrivener's errors -- basically typos, including a reference to the Ditzler's land as a property existing in Kentucky. But at that point no one appeared to notice or care, and the bill was passed. But less than a year later, Bill 1680, which included the correction on the location of the Ditzler property and other quick take proposals for the year 2000, apparently caught the eye of Gov. Ryan. In July 2000, he wrote in a letter to the Illinois General Assembly, "This [Ditzler] farm poses neither a danger nor a nuisance to the community. Therefore, I cannot condone the possible destruction of this family's business and livelihood without allowing them their day in open court." Ryan vetoed the bill. That same night, Tom Ditzler received a call from the governor's mansion. "I didn't know he had vetoed the bill until I got a call from Springfield, from Amy Burch, the Rockford Register Star reporter in Springfield. She said, 'Have you heard the news yet?' I told her I didn't know what she was talking about. She said, 'Gov. Ryan vetoed Bill 1680.' And I thought she was some sort of crank caller. And she says no, honest to God. She says, 'This is big news down here in Springfield, because this has got a lot of quick take legislation effected by this.' "The following Monday I got a call from the gov's mansion, congratulating me on the veto and the man said, 'enjoy your land.' Two days after I got this call we heard the chain saws running." Before the destruction of the Ditzler property began, a rare phenomenon occurred in the scope of American politics: The American Indian burial mounds actually changed the route of the Springfield-Harrison Connection. Joseph Standing Bear Shranz is president of Save Our Ancestors' Remains and Resources (SOARRING), which facilitates the repatriation of tribes. He came out to inspect the land in April, and convinced of the existence of the Indian burial grounds, quickly set into motion, involving the powerful Ho-Chunk Nation. Then, Dean Ekberg of Winnebago County Concerned Citizens enlisted the help of Myles Goddard, an instructor of Native American History at the College of DuPage in Glen Ellyn, to conduct an archaeological survey. Such surveys were nothing new to the Ditzler's land; in fact, a phase one survey -- unbeknownst to Tom at the time -- was conducted on the land in 1992, yielding few results. However, upon pressure from SOARRING, the county approved a phase two dig. This, Cohn hoped, would "clear the issue up" of whether the site was indeed home to Native American artifacts. Professional archaeologists from the University of Illinois came out for phase two in May, and although Tom was told to expect a dig lasting "two or three days," the crew hired by the county and the Illinois Department of Transportation (IDOT), he says, spent "barely three hours and used a backhoe," a gruff piece of machinery that acts as a large shovel, certainly not the delicate tool most of us think would be used in searching out artifacts. The archaeologists reportedly found nothing of note. When Goddard came out a month later, he discovered about 150 artifacts, simply by digging in the same trenches the state left, but at a slightly deeper level. By digging 12-24 inches deeper, Goddard unearthed stone tools, spear points, pottery, stone knife blades and a large composite tool, an implement containing a bowstring draw eye, an arrow head sharpener and an arrow-shaft scraper. Certain that a Native American village had existed on the Ditzler property, Goddard composed an affidavit, and along with letters of protest against the Springfield-Harrison extension from the Winnebago County Concerned Citizens, Iowa Tribe and Ho-Chunk Nation, it was sent to Winnebago County, the Illinois Historic Preservation Agency, the IDOT, the Federal Highway Administration and the Federal Advisory Council on Historical Preservation. Though the county publicly discounted the findings by Goddard, siding with their own commissioned survey, construction was delayed. The National Historical Preservation Act requires agencies to make an effort to identify any Indian tribes that might attach significance to historical properties, and invite them to be consulting parties in the planning of any project. Winnebago County had not done this, despite their project's dependence on federal funding. Suddenly, the road was rerouted, allowing it to narrowly miss land encompassing the burial mounds. At this point, Schranz pulled out of the controversy, though not without regret. "As a facilitator, once we get a tribe involved, they're in the driver's seat. They're in control. They supersede," Schranz says about Ho-Chunk's influence. "For their own reasons, they were satisfied with their results... I was probably least happy with this one, out of all the cases over the years. Having known the Ditzlers, I wish I could've had a greater impact." As Gov. Ryan had ordered, the Ditzlers did have their day in court, but it was one badly botched day. Because their second lawyer withdrew from the case on short notice, the Ditzler's were granted little more than two weeks to secure new representation and get that person properly caught up on the complicated case for the appeal of the 1999 decision to quick take their land. Their new counsel knew almost nothing about eminent domain, and though he put his best foot forward, according to the Ditzlers, the Judicial Court of Winnebago County ruled against the Ditzler's in late August and work got back underway. "We've already been granted the authority," says Assistant State's Attorney Gary Kovanda. "What we proceeded under was that public act authorized in July [1999]." Calls put through to Ryan's camp went unanswered, and, as Ryan spokesman Dennis Culloton noted would be the case, the veto was the extent of Ryan's involvement. "It seems to have gotten this sort of, like, grassroots acknowledgement," Nails says of the Ditzler case. "It's been on the radio station almost every day since I've been involved. What's happening out there is morally reprehensible; that somebody who has lived on the same land for thirty-two years, their daughter died on this land, there's Indian burial grounds, there's wetlands there... I mean, this is The American Man: he's a veteran, he lost his eyesight because he was in the war... He's basically what every president mentions in their inaugural speeches. He's what every Republican and Democrat tries to hold up as the great American person." Nails, who has tentatively titled his feature-length documentary, "Highway Robbery," wants to shop around the film trailer at various film festivals around the country, in search of a distributor. With plans for a benefit for the Ditzlers, Nails still holds out hope that something can be changed. Despite lukewarm involvement from an environmental lawyer in Washington, D.C., Tom and Janice have resigned to their fate. "No, we're not holding out any hope anymore. It's gone way too far," Tom says. "Every day except Sunday, we hear the heavy equipment start at daybreak and it doesn't end until dark. It's taken its toll on us." As far as future plans, Tom is unsure. "We want to wait for all this to finish, and then decide whether we can live here or not. But with this highway some thirty feet from my front door, I really don't think we'll be staying."
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