A Spat Over a Renovated
Mansion Turns Ugly

PASCAGOULA, Miss. -- "I deeply regret and sincerely apologize . . . for the unfortunate incident involving the dog poop shoveled from my yard on May 16, 1999. My conduct was inappropriate as a good neighbor."

So wrote Terry Carter after sending the leavings of his St. Bernard puppy arcing more than 30 feet over a nine-foot wall onto the grounds of Longfellow House, a storied antebellum mansion that overlooks the shore in this Gulf Coast town. Mr. Carter is the director of the local chamber of commerce.

That episode was just one of the volleys in an outlandish and volatile feud over Longfellow. The row seemed at first to be merely an amusing spat exposing fault lines among Pascagoula's legal and business elite. But before long, a gun was drawn, armed guards and private investigators were hired and U.S. Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott and Mississippi Attorney General Mike Moore were drawn into the fray.

Richard Scruggs, a local plaintiffs' attorney who has made millions in asbestos and tobacco litigation, bought Longfellow for $200,000 in 1993. He then set about restoring it for use as a reception hall for the community.

His plans upset some prominent Pascagoula citizens with houses adjacent to the Longfellow property who worried about traffic and noise. "Some of them are concerned the bubbas will be down there having beer parties and peeing in their flower beds," Mr. Scruggs said as the renovations got under way.

A New Orleans slave trader built Longfellow, a three-story Greek Revival house set amid enormous moss-draped oaks, in 1850. It remained a private residence until Ingalls Shipbuilding Corp., which is based here, bought it in the 1940s and converted the house and its 40 acres of grounds into a small resort and club. (The house had come to be called Longfellow based on the false story that the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once stayed there.)

Many Pascagoula residents have fond recollections of days spent lounging at the Longfellow pool or biking on the property's tree-shaded paths as peacocks strutted about the grounds. From the end of a pier that jutted into the Gulf, visitors could pick up a phone and order hamburgers and pink lemonade, which would be delivered by white-jacketed waiters on bicycles.

Ingalls later sold Longfellow, and it was soon headed for the wrecking ball. Mr. Scruggs stepped in to rescue it just as he and Mr. Moore, the attorney general, were preparing to file Mississippi's landmark lawsuit against the tobacco industry.

Renovating Longfellow

As the litigation progressed, Mr. Scruggs's wife, Diane, threw herself into the renovation of Longfellow. Overseeing a team of craftsmen -- and spending more than $1.2 million -- she restored the home to a level of high glitter and polish.

But a number of nearby property owners remained unhappy, and in September 1997 they persuaded the Pascagoula City Council to place limits on the number of outdoor functions Longfellow could host on weekends. One of those seeking the limits was Mr. Carter. Another was Joe Colingo, who heads the largest law firm in Pascagoula. Mr. Colingo's colleagues have long opposed Mr. Scruggs's firm in asbestos litigation, and Mr. Colingo was one of the lead local lawyers defending the cigarette makers in the Mississippi suit.

Mr. Scruggs, 53 years old, challenged the city-council limits in court. He has also fought back in other ways. When a house was put up for sale in Oakhurst, a gated subdivision where a number of the Longfellow foes live, Mr. Scruggs bought it, and word spread that he might have his housekeeper live there. "I just let the speculation run," says Mr. Scruggs, laughing.

Saying he was responding to concerns about light and noise, Mr. Scruggs ripped down a wrought-iron fence along the back of Longfellow and built a nine-foot-tall concrete wall in its place. For those on the other side, the wall blocked water views and onshore breezes, which give critical relief from Pascagoula's sweltering summer heat. Most affected was a home occupied by Mark Lyell, a local surgeon, and his wife, Suzanne, Joe Colingo's daughter.

Despite the sparring, a number of functions were held at Longfellow during 1998 and early 1999, and matters seemed to settle into an uneasy standoff. This spring, preparations were under way for what was to be Longfellow's biggest event: the wedding reception of Sen. Lott's daughter, Tyler, who is also the Scruggs's niece. (Sen. Lott, who married Diane Scruggs's older sister, is from Pascagoula.)

Then Mr. Carter, the chamber of commerce chief, let loose. Four electricians were installing parking-lot lighting at the rear of Longfellow House when the excrement came sailing over the wall. Two of the workers, Jeremy Cook and Dustin Hodges, say they quickly climbed up and saw Mr. Carter getting another shovelful ready to fly.

When Mr. Carter refused to come over to apologize, Mr. Scruggs filed charges against him with the Pascagoula police. Mr. Carter, 50, says it was an accident that the dog droppings soared onto the Longfellow grounds. He was aiming, he says, for a strip of grass on his side where he often deposits yard waste. In addition to issuing an apology, he paid a $170 fine for malicious mischief.

Two days later, the electricians were once again in the parking lot, working into the evening as part of the prewedding rush. When a black Jeep Cherokee pulled in with several people inside, Hollis Hodges, Dustin's brother, walked up to see who had dropped by. To his shock, Mr. Hodges says, he found a handgun pointed in his face as the driver got out of the Jeep and, in a profanity-laced tirade, ordered the workers to turn down the radio in their pickup.

'What Are You Doing?'

"I held my hand up and said, 'Whoa, what are you doing with that?' " Mr. Hodges recalls. "I'm going to kill every f------ one of you," the man said, according to Mr. Hodges.

Mr. Hodges says he ducked behind the pickup and dialed 911 on his cell phone as the gunman chased Mr. Hodges's co-workers, who were taking cover behind nearby trees.

As Mr. Hodges was describing the situation to police, he says, the gunman got back in the Jeep and drove away. But the workers quickly learned his identity: attorney Joe Colingo. The electricians pressed charges but learned the next day that Mr. Colingo and two others in the Jeep -- his wife, Johnette, and Dr. Lyell -- had pressed charges against them. Mr. Colingo and the others alleged that the electricians had been physically menacing. The electricians' conduct, Mr. Colingo charged in a filing with the Pascagoula court, put him "in fear of imminent serious bodily harm."

Mr. Colingo, 59, declined to discuss the incident, as did Dr. Lyell and Mrs. Colingo. According to a May 23 account in the Mississippi Press, Mr. Colingo says he got the gun from his car because he felt threatened but didn't point it at anybody or say he would shoot or kill anyone.

Mr. Scruggs assembled a team to defend the electricians -- and to aid in the prosecution of Mr. Colingo. He hired an acoustics technician to measure the noise from the electricians' radio and an investigator to dig up information about Mr. Colingo. He sought a temporary restraining order to bar Mr. Colingo from setting foot on Longfellow property and hired an armed guard to patrol the grounds. And he told the local paper that he and Mrs. Scruggs were "seriously considering" canceling Tyler Lott's wedding reception.

As a showdown loomed, one of Mr. Colingo's law partners approached Attorney General Moore and asked him to mediate. Mr. Moore, a Pascagoula native with his own memories of summer weekends at Longfellow, agreed. "I wasn't acting as attorney general," Mr. Moore says, "I was acting as a person who has a lot of respect for his hometown."

On the evening before the hearing on the restraining order, Mr. Moore conducted telephone diplomacy from Jackson, Miss., much of it on a cell phone while he watched his son's Little League game.

'We'll See Him in Court'

By around 8:30., an agreement seemed near, and a draft typewritten apology was delivered to Mr. Scruggs's office. But the electricians decided it wasn't adequate. "I wanted something in his handwriting, to me, in my name," said Bill Stevenson, one of the group. "I don't think he's going to go for that," Mr. Moore told them. "Then tell him we'll see him in court tomorrow," Mr. Scruggs replied.

Mr. Colingo relented. "Gentlemen, I deeply regret and sincerely apologize for the unfortunate incidents of last week," he wrote. The next morning, both sides announced that they were dropping all charges. And the wedding reception went off without a hitch.

In June, Mr. Scruggs reached out to his foes, taking them out to lunch. "I'd like to see if we can get some hatchets buried somewhere other than in people's heads," he said.

The other side seemed eager to move on as well. Mrs. Lyell even praised the nine-foot wall.

What about all the controversy? she was asked. "What controversy?" she said.

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