Patriot Hearts

by John Furlong

  I thought of all the children who would be waking up the next day, having dreamt all night of competing in an Olympics themselves one day, the next Sidney Crosby among them.

  14

  A Final Farewell to Nodar

  THE NEXT MORNING I was greeted with poetic headlines trumpeting the success of the Games. The positive reviews came from some of our harshest critics. “Londoners have a tough act to follow in 2012,” declared London’s Daily Telegraph, one of the British papers that had slammed us earlier. Its Fleet Street competitors expressed similar sentiments. David Atkins’s master stroke in the closing ceremonies was universally applauded. Even the French content received positive reviews.

  But March 1 meant it was time for tens of thousands of our visitors to begin heading home. The party was over, and now we faced a large army of very tired people descending on our airport. The experience that Olympic goers have at the airport can leave an indelible mark on their memories, which is why we always considered “Day 18” one of the most important on our Olympic calendar. The last thing we wanted was to have the special feelings that our visitors were leaving with sullied by their time getting checked in and passing through airport security.

  As wonderful as the Games in Salt Lake had been, the lasting memory that many people had of those Olympics was the 10-hour lineups and utter chaos at the airport getting home. It was not a pretty sight, and frustrations boiled over on several occasions. We vowed not to let that happen here.

  From the beginning, the Vancouver Airport Authority was a full partner in our Games. The airport was never going to be just a sterile place to land and leave from. We decided to make YVR a venue in itself, to give it a personality. So when people landed in Vancouver they knew instantly they were in an Olympic host city. Larry Berg, the CEO of the VAA, did a brilliant job along with members of our team in dressing the airport up in our Olympic colours and making arrivals feel as if they were being greeted by their own personal welcoming party.

  After an early and happy breakfast at which my colleagues and I received the highly coveted Olympic Order from the IOC, I headed to the airport to see how things were going and to thank the Blue Jackets and airport volunteers who were there from early dawn making sure people’s needs were met. By the time I arrived, the place was humming as exquisitely as the London Philharmonic. Thousands of passengers had already left. Security was a breeze and the planes were leaving on time.

  In preparation, the airport had constructed what was tantamount to another terminal to handle the overflow customer traffic the Olympics created. Any time any of the lines got too long, people were directed to this temporary (now permanent) building, where they were processed almost immediately.

  The IOC was especially impressed with how smoothly departure day was going, such a contrast to most Games. I think part of the problem was that other organizing committees had not seen the magic of having the airport as a full partner, one that was deemed to be crucial to the overall Games. It took effort to make sure that a partner that was only called upon to be at the top of its game for a brief period felt vital to the Games’ success. All the training that Larry Berg had his staff take to be ready was paying off. There were Blue Jackets and airport volunteers everywhere, some handing out drinks and food. There was even music and other entertainment to keep those waiting in line amused.

  Any exhaustion I felt was masked by the exhilaration I continued to experience. But the day was certainly bittersweet for me because it meant saying farewell to many special friends. There would be so many warm so-longs to people I hadn’t known eight, nine years earlier. Now they were life-long friends, or so I liked to think. People like René Fasel, the president of the International Ice Hockey Federation, who had played such a critical role for us during the bid process. I was going to miss Gerhard Heiberg too. He was such a decent human being. I wondered when, if ever, I’d see him again.

  “You did an unbelievable job, John,” Gerhard told me as we said our goodbyes. Coming from Gerhard, this praise had special meaning. He had been CEO of the Winter Games that had established the highest standard for the event—Lillehammer 1994. If we were one day mentioned in the same company as those Games, that would be the highest compliment we could receive.

  I would even miss Jacques Rogge, though we hadn’t become especially close during my Olympic tenure. But Nodar’s death did establish a bond between us that hadn’t existed before, and when I shook Jacques’s hand for the last time it felt different. He seemed more warm and human than the man I knew before the Games began. He’s never going to be a bubbly, effervescent guy but I have enormous respect for Jacques, for his principles and his dedication to the Olympic cause. His is a tough job.

  I spent a lot of my time at the airport talking to athletes from around the world. “The best Games ever” was a common expression used by many. It sure felt good. I met one guy who fell so in love with Vancouver he bought a condo in Coal Harbour, near where the second cauldron burned. “I couldn’t help myself,” he said.

  AS THOUSANDS TOOK to the skies, a new entourage of excited visitors was landing and the customs hall was full again. The incoming hordes had been prepped for their visit by the massive global coverage of every second of the Olympics—now it was their turn to grab their credentials, board a Games vehicle and soak up the vibe.

  The Paralympics would soon be upon us.

  We were already in full transition mode. No time to rest or celebrate. My team was moving at rocket speed to take down the Olympic look and replace it with that of the Paralympics, a monster job of logistics. Venues were being prepared and modified for different uses. Some no longer in use were already being decommissioned. Volunteers who were getting ready for extended service, thousands of them, took off one badge and stuck on the “three agitos” Paralympic Games replacement—a cost-efficient measure we put in place as the money dried up. It worked beautifully.

  I left the airport in the early afternoon satisfied we had played a near perfect game there. My teammates in the car were noticeably calmer and more at ease but still determined to pour on the effort. They had given blood for me, worried day and night about every detail, always ready to jump in to sort out even the tiniest complication. And they did not let me get away with anything. I was lucky to have them.

  By day’s end, I had heard from all my kids. They were high on pride and just too weary to contemplate normal life again. My son John Jr. called, dying to talk to me about his experience. “You know, Dad,” he said, “I grew up knowing we lived next to a giant. They were bigger and stronger than us. They beat us at most things, they had all the money and the power and where they went we went. And it was okay to us that we lived in their shadow. The next generation will never know these feelings. Never again will we Canadians compete in sport or in anything and feel like we don’t belong. From now on we will compete even up, feel like we can win and we will be confident we can achieve success in anything.”

  Wow, I thought, if that was the sole, lasting legacy from these Games, it would have all been worth it.

  WHILE THERE WAS a tendency to want to savour and soak up the warm atmosphere, it was now time to tend fully to the three weeks still to come. We had but a few days to ready everything so the Paralympic athletes could settle in and acclimatize. By morning I would remind our executive that we must stay alert and not become complacent. On the streets the public was itching for Round Two. My colleagues assured me that all stations were manned and that we would be ready by mid-week. True to form we were.

  The transition from Olympic to Paralympic was faultless to the point that we even had time on our hands. We had expected more challenges. By mid-week the athletes, coaches and officials were all on the ground, and the village atmosphere in both Whistler and Vancouver was comfortable. Technical experts and other event officials were busy putting final touches to everything and making sure the venues were at the required standard for competition.

  One of the questions most often asked of me over
the past 10 years is why are the Olympics and Paralympics not staged together? Surely there are efficiencies that could be realized by holding the two events at the same time? Surely it would be less costly? And wouldn’t the Paralympians prefer to perform on the same grand stage as the other Olympians and not on one that comes with a little less glitz and glamour?

  In the past, some Paralympic events have been showcased in the Olympics, but the fact is the IOC and IPC have no desire for an integrated event. Both want independence and a separate identity. Also, one is based in Switzerland and the other in Germany; integrating the two would add costs, not lessen them. Athletes’ villages would have to be expanded to accommodate the extra competitors that would be on the ground at the same time. Food facilities would have to be bigger as well. The venues after the Olympics are modified significantly for Paralympic use, so more venues would need to be built if events were to be staged simultaneously. And extra grandstands and a whole host of other support facilities would have to be built as well.

  That said, it is difficult for an organizing committee like VANOC to start all over again after the Olympics have ended. The team is dead tired yet must immediately bounce back into action. We had seen this challenge coming and decided to organize the Games around a simple strategy—two Games inside a one-festival approach delivered by one team. In the past, the organization of the Paralympics has, at times, been contracted out to a separate agency (this is what they did in Turin, for example). But we felt that approach added unnecessary risk.

  We knew that expectations would be high to deliver something special for the Paralympics and not treat them in any way as a second-tier event. So we committed ourselves to the same quality of delivery and transitioned very quickly.

  It was time to turn my attention, at least in part, to the opening ceremonies. Patrick Roberge—the show’s executive producer— and his team were already sweating in the stadium. Rehearsals had been a bit raw but were improving. Patrick had great confidence in the creative aspects of the show but had had no stadium time under his belt yet. If ever an executive producer faced serious adversity, it was Patrick. BC Place was the one venue where the transition had not been smooth. Patrick had the benefit of all the key Olympic staging and overlay materials but was frustrated about the general state he found the building in. It was like waking up the morning after a big party in your home and having to do all the clean-up, but with no part in making the mess. Patrick had expected an easier takeover.

  His team tackled that building head-on, and by the weekend it too was sparkling and the cast was gelling. He needed every minute to practise and nail the surprise elements, and the artists were in overdrive getting the music and songs just right. The International Paralympic Committee (IPC) got an early look at some of the rehearsals and loved what was in store.

  What was essentially a low-budget show was beginning to look exactly the opposite. Rumours circulated about broadcasting the opening ceremonies. One minute they were going to be live, then tape delay and then live again. The IPC was now freaking out. The public was watching closely and expected the Paralympics to be live too; in this country natural justice is expected. We had promised live and still hoped for it. CTV wasn’t sure the show could hold a live audience for two hours.

  By noon on March 2 we were on the road again, headed for Ottawa and the start of the Paralympic torch relay in the nation’s capital. Jeff Mooney, one of our most dedicated, hard-working board members, could see how hard we were running and gave us, as he had before, complimentary use of his plane and pilot to get us safely to Ottawa and back. A lifesaver of a gesture. To us, Jeff was like the guy sitting on the bench always ready to leap over the boards and help out. The firepower and soul behind the A&W empire, he had contributed so much to VANOC, especially in the area of communications and marketing. On that day, Jeff was our favourite citizen.

  Jim Richards, our torch relay director, and his advance team were already in Ottawa setting up the details for the traditional First Nations lighting event set to take place on Vancouver Island, before we took the flame to Parliament Hill in mid-morning. We were up at the crack of dawn. I must have done 10 interviews back to back before 8 AM. The country was still buzzing madly from the Olympics and did not want it to stop.

  So we now had a new flame and were headed for Vancouver via some major centres. Before it was all over, throngs would run with the Paralympic torch or participate in some other way, including a 24-hour relay that was held in and around Vancouver. I knew for certain that Jim would execute the events flawlessly and make certain the flame’s arrival at its final destination down to the second. Jim did not disappoint.

  The executive team met at the Cannery Restaurant for a working lunch after the return from Ottawa. It had been a long time since we had had the luxury of a meal together. I couldn’t help but notice the reduced stress on the faces of my teammates. They were younger looking, still united and happy with their work. They had been through a lot and I was deeply proud of each one of them. There were no big issues to report—the transition was buzzing along. The team was confident that all was locked down nicely and ready for the “Second Games.” The restaurant staff fell over themselves to treat us well, and we each left with a gift—a thank you, they said, for what we “had done for our country.”

  Later that afternoon I stopped in to see Kyle Mitchell, who had recruited me and most of the executive team, and who was now giving us a hand to find new careers for our top people. He was determined to find them soft landings so they weren’t worrying about being unemployed in a few short weeks, which would have distracted them from the task at hand. Kyle was a magician and would perform his magic yet again.

  On March 5, Jeff Sherman, CEO of The Bay, ecstatic with the company’s runaway Olympic success, hosted the executive for dinner and talked about the profound impact the Games was having on the iconic store. I thought back to that night, years before, backstage in Toronto with George Heller, the former CEO, and our handshake deal that was at the root of the years of effort and sweat that followed. Now here we were full circle—mission accomplished. The Bay was back. Jeff was gracious and thankful and gave each team member a patented Hudson’s Bay striped blanket to celebrate and remember our partnership. When he said, midway through dinner, that “this was the first February in The Bay’s history in which the company had made a profit,” I felt more than a little bit good.

  By Saturday, March 6, the torch had arrived in Victoria, and I and others were there to receive it. The premier was in fine form and Rick Hansen was too. After a stint as co-mayor of the Olympic Village in Vancouver—along with former Olympic rower Tricia Smith—Rick was on top of the world all over again. The incoming torch runners were beaming. A great community celebration followed. Media were out in full force, still juiced up and fighting their own exhaustion. Then to the Canadian Armed Forces base in Esquimalt for a visit and ceremony, and for me it was back on the float plane to Vancouver, where the work in my office was piling up and mail was coming in from all over. Letters from around the globe were pouring in from those who felt they had to say how appreciative they were. They came from Australia, Chile, the United States, Britain, France, Germany and, of course, from Canada. I felt how far we had come. How much we had already accomplished.

  As the days passed and venues were declared ready, I was busy preparing to make my final progress report to the IPC, a considerably less daunting experience than facing the IOC. For the most part, things Paralympic fell under the leadership of the VANOC sport division. We had decided on a complete reversal of the Turin Games strategy, where on the surface the Paralympics looked as if they were organized by the Turin organizing committee but were in fact contracted out to a separate agency.

  With only days to go now before the start of the Paralympics, ticket sales had taken off, the sledge hockey venue was almost sold out and curling was filling up. The opening ceremonies were within an inch of having the Sold Out sign placed on the door too.

 
; Everything appeared right and ready, and the new look at the venues was impressive. Signs of the Olympics were now largely gone and replaced by a distinctive IPC appearance. While the athletes’ villages were quieter, the new tenants from over 40 countries were buzzing with energy.

  Later that week, with hundreds of practice runs complete and in the wake of a thousand small transition tasks, it was time to talk openly to the media about expectations. Sir Philip Craven, president of the IPC, was in his element, beaming with anticipation, and saying all the right things but also pushing buttons all over to keep the heat on the broadcasters to commit to live coverage. He was good at the pressure game, but he was also warm and thankful and noticeably eager to get on with it. I simply promised a continuation of the large crowds, Canadian medals and Blue Jacket heroics.

  Originally, the plan was for the Paralympics to be entirely staged in Whistler. The IPC loved the intimacy of Whistler and felt the athlete experience would be enhanced if the Games were held in one place. And no doubt it would have been. But cost pressures forced us to take another look at this idea. Having some events in Vancouver, at venues that were ready, would save money. But we had made a promise to be in Whistler only. I felt we could go back on it only with the IPC’s blessing, so I had flown to Manchester, England, for an audience with Sir Phil, a former wheelchair athlete himself and a standout on the basketball court. He had represented Great Britain at many Paralympics and other European championships.

  I felt a little vulnerable sitting in his presence, in his home, where he would put me up for the night. It was not an easy conversation but I honestly believed the Paralympics would come out ahead if we held some of the big events in Vancouver, where they would get more exposure. I promised him that we would not back down from our commitment to make these Paralympics the best ever. While the request shook our relationship a bit, he thankfully let us off the hook.