12 May—When Michael Peloquin asked the Litchfield Planning and Zoning Commission at a public hearing to change a zone designation for his convenience, the public reaction was—decidedly, unabashedly, and predictably—against his request and proposed development. So Peloquin warned the nice people (who, however, wouldn’t hesitate to run him out of town on a rail—after tarring and feathering him) that he was determined to get his way and was willing to go broke to do it.

Judge Peloquin obviously knows the various administrative and juridical appeals and/or remedies available to him, so one of his threats was to build dreaded affordable housing on the site (because that would supersede zoning regs), “although we don’t want to go that route.” So he and his bankers also could almost certainly succeed with a less intensive super-luxury development or even sell off the fallow land to a public-spirited tycoon simply to leave it be.

Does Michael Peloquin know the intricacies, vicissitudes, and other concomitants of going broke? We won’t speculate. But he does know about reacting Trumpishly when he doesn’t get his way. For example, remember Hathaway shirts? (Yeah, the guy with the eye patch.) They had been made in Waterville, Maine, for 165 years before the plant shut down in 2002. And the little city, having found itself stuck with the real estate, offered it for sale.

Well, from out in Arizona, public-spirited Mike Peloquin started the ball rolling by offering Waterville’s asking price of $1.3 million because he was going to try to restart shirt manufacturing (even though the Hathaway brand had been sold) and provide jobs again. Laudable. Really.

But Mike couldn’t or simply didn’t want to round up the full amount in cash, so Waterville accommodated him by lowering the price to $950,000. Cash. Clearly the city wanted to get rid of the old factory. But Peloquin, for whatever reason (and we can only guess), countered with $750,000 cash and the remaining $200,000 to be financed by the seller over a number of years. (Frankly, that seems entirely reasonable.)

But Waterville’s refusal to accept his terms raised Peloquin’s hackles, so he threatened (or promised) the city’s lawyer, “$750,000 for the building now, or I move the equipment up the road to [an old shoe factory in] Dexter [for $159,000]. My reputation will not be judge [sic] by you or the Waterville Town Council.”

Peloquin was annoyed that the city wouldn’t (or didn’t) trust him to pay the $200,000: “The bottom line here . . . is your trust of me.” Absolutely. Talk about “the bubble reputation even in the cannon’s mouth.” Peloquin assured the local press, “I’m not trying to be obnoxious here. This town’s giving me nothing.” And we don’t disagree.

So no deal. The old Hathaway shirt factory in Waterville is now the Hathaway Creative Center and shoes are still being made in the Dexter factory—by another manufacturer.

Fast forward 22 years to Litchfield, then, which also is giving Michael Peloquin nothing other than the unquestionable privilege and unspeakable pleasure of living here. Of course. But here’s what the Internal Revenue Service has given him, as filed in the town’s land records. We haven’t found any releases of the IRS liens totaling $487,899.22, but Mike still has time to pay, settle, or whatever. We wish him the best of luck: