LAKEVILLE — Attorney General William Tong knows first hand about the plight of immigrants.
He spoke to a standing-room-only crowd at Trinity Lime Rock Church March 6, which together with those on Zoom totaled 225. The event was hosted by Vecinos Seguros 2, a grassroots organization that works to make sure those without legal status know their rights.
Tong has been an outspoken critic of President Donald Trump’s immigration policies and is part of a group of attorneys general around the country who are banding together to take legal action against his actions.
He stirred the audience with his personal story. Growing up in West Hartford, where he remembered kids showing up at his school from Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam after he was the first Asian student enrolled, he thought “they were refugees and I was the son of immigrants. I thought I was better than them. In fullness of time, I realized what we were all doing here. My parents and grandparents ran for their lives in China. I am nothing but the son of refugees. There was no daylight between those kids and the immigrants showing up today.”
Tong related how his parents met while both were working in a restaurant in Hartford. One day, in the 1970s, a representative from the Immigration and Naturalization Service showed up and because his father was undocumented, was threatened with deportation. After much thought, the senior Tong was resigned to the fact he would have to leave. But shortly before the deadline, while driving along the Berlin Turnpike, he decided to make a last-ditch effort. He went home and wrote a six-page handwritten letter to then-President Richard Nixon explaining his case. The INS agent returned later and said the president had read the letter and sent the message that the country welcomed him and urged him to stay.
Tong said he’s often asked what brings him hope during these times. “In one generation, I went from that Chinese restaurant to attorney general of this state. There are kids out there now; families living with that dream. We need to help them keep it.”
The attorney general said that when Trump talks about denaturalizing citizens and then about anchor babies, he is talking about him. “Banning birthright citizens is utterly and brazenly unconstitutional.” Audience members, as they did several times during the presentation, applauded loudly.
Speaking on the importance of immigration for moral and economic structural reasons, Tong noted, “America runs on Dunkin’ and immigrant workers. There would be no economy without immigrants.” Half of all farm workers are undocumented, as are half of those working in the meat packing industry he said.
It was standing-room only for Attorney General William Tong’s talk on immigration at Trinity Church Lime Rock Thursday, March 7. Photo by Ruth Epstein
Touching on Connecticut’s Trust Act that was passed in 2013, Tong explained that it limits how local law enforcement can cooperate with federal immigration officials to protect the rights of undocumented immigrants. He called efforts to repeal the act “ridiculous,” saying “the federal government does its job and we here do ours.” He said if anyone tries to get rid of the act, he will fight it and believes he’ll win, emphasizing several times that Connecticut is a sovereign state. The federal government has a lot of power, but can’t come to Connecticut to tell its citizens what to do.
When asked what people can do to help those without legal status, Tong advised not to put anyone at risk and make sure they have a plan if ICE shows up. Agents must have a judicial warrant to come on private property. He also recommended they seek people who will provide pro-bono legal advice. He said those holding green cards have legal status and should be respected by ICE. He also recommended not using the word “sanctuary” since it has no legal meaning and can be inflammatory. He was also forthright in saying not everyone can be protected from deportation.
He added there is no evidence to support the claims that immigrants create crime more than American citizens and stressed the Trust Act does not protect violent criminals.
At the outset, Tong said he and his colleagues had sued the federal government when Trump and the Office of Policy and Management tried to freeze all federal funding for a variety of grants, especially those dealing with medical research. “We now have an injunction to stop him from breaking the law. Remembering we have checks and balances, we’re serving as the only check since there is so much disinformation out there.”
Coming to the end of his message, Tong’s tone was foreboding. “We’re not on the precipice of a constitutional crisis, we’re in one. Trump is already not in compliance with federal court orders. If he doesn’t follow Supreme Court rulings, we’re in a dark place. We all have the responsibility to take to the streets and speak out.”
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Savannah Stevenson as Mrs. Paroo and Elliott Andrews who plays Harold Hill in the nationally touring production of “The Music Man.”
Then she became a lawyer instead.
“The leap from performing to lawyering isn’t as significant as it seems,” Stevenson said one recent morning from somewhere between tour stops on the national tour of Meredith Willson’s “The Music Man,” in which she now plays Mrs. Paroo, the Irish immigrant mother of Marian the librarian.
For 18 years, Stevenson practiced law at high-profile New York firms specializing in criminal defense before eventually becoming head of ethics, compliance and risk at Peloton during the company’s dizzying pandemic boom years.
“At some point in time, I got married and had children,” she said matter-of-factly. “And then life kind of unfolded.”
Stevenson and her husband began renting a house in Falls Village “just to get out of the city on the weekends.”
“We fell in love with it, of course,” she said. “And then when the pandemic hit, we of course fled the city up to that house and decided not to go back.”
Sharon Playhouse Board President Savannah Stevenson, former attorney and lifelong theater loverProvided
The family — Stevenson, her husband Jon, and daughters C.C. and Sylvie — became full-time Salisbury residents in 2020.
Then came another plot twist.
While the world was buying exercise bikes and streaming spin classes from their living rooms, Stevenson was part of Peloton’s legal leadership team. But after the company’s spectacular rise came the somewhat inevitable crash.
“In 2023, the board decided to let the entire executive team go,” she said.
Suddenly, Stevenson found herself unemployed in Northwest Connecticut with time on her hands and a teenage daughter deeply immersed in the Sharon Playhouse YouthStage program.
“My older daughter said to me, ‘Well, as long as you’re bringing me to and from rehearsals every day, why don’t you audition for the show?’”
She auditioned.
“And they were like, ‘Oh, you actually can sing.’”
What followed sounds like the plot of a feel-good movie about reinvention in middle age: mother and daughter performing together at the Sharon Playhouse while Stevenson rediscovered a part of herself she had set aside decades earlier.
“It was the most joyful experience ever,” she said. “And I kind of realized that now, in my late 40s — I’ll be 50 this year — I’ve aged into this entire new crop of roles. The mothers, the older wise women, the cougar,” she said, laughing. “All of these great older women’s roles.”
So, she started auditioning.
And getting the parts.
Now she’s on a six-month national tour.
“It really does feel like a full-circle moment for me,” Stevenson said.
If that sounds glamorous, Stevenson is quick to point out that touring theater is less champagne and more buses, protein bars and Peloton app workouts in hotel rooms.
“There are certainly times where it’s a show Monday night in one city, get on the bus, show Tuesday night in another city, get on the bus,” she said. “There’s a lot of time on the bus.”
Mostly, though, she talks about the crew with something approaching reverence.
“We finish a show at 10:30 or 11 at night. They load out the entire set onto trucks. Then they sleep on the bus, get to the next city at 8 a.m., load it all back in and rebuild it,” she said. “They work so hard. It’s incredible.”
In “The Music Man,” Stevenson now plays the role she once dreamed of from the opposite side of the generational divide.
“I would have sung Marian in my 20s,” she said. “Now I get to play her Irish mother, Mrs. Paroo.”
There is a scene where Marian sings “My White Knight,” and Stevenson stands nearby as Mrs. Paroo listening silently. And while the younger actress sings about longing and possibility, Stevenson finds herself thinking about her own daughters.
“Sometimes I just find myself standing there with a tear running down my cheek,” she said.
Meanwhile back home, Stevenson has become one of the Sharon Playhouse’s most visible champions. She joined the board in 2023 and stepped into the role of president this year.
“There’s social science that provides really strong evidence about the benefits of having a theater in your community,” Stevenson said. “Lower rates of violence. Higher rates of volunteerism. Higher graduation rates.”
She speaks about theater the way some people speak about public libraries or churches — as essential civic infrastructure.
“Sharing laughter, tears, music and dancing through stories that illuminate our common humanity touches us in a way that builds connection, empathy and genuine community,” she said.
Much of that conviction comes from watching what theater has done for her own children.
When her oldest daughter interviewed at competitive boarding schools this year, Stevenson said interviewers repeatedly commented on her poise and confidence.
“They would say to me, ‘All that theater education is really paying off,’” Stevenson said. “She can establish connection with people readily.”
When asked what advice she might offer to other women contemplating a midlife pivot, Stevenson resisted the fantasy of reckless transformation.
“I don’t think it’s about jumping without a net,” she said.
Instead, she advocates something more measured.
“It’s about making a calculated risk,” she said. “And then, once you’ve run those calculations and feel planful enough about it, really diving into that risk headlong.”
Which is perhaps another way of saying that sometimes the girl who once sang show tunes in Atlanta and studied musical theater at Carnegie Mellon never actually disappears.
Sometimes she’s just waiting patiently for her cue.
For tickets to The Music Man, visit themusicmantour.com
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