Patriot Hearts

by John Furlong

  Afterward, everyone drove to the church. We walked to Nodar’s gravesite, which was still quite fresh. A robust, beautifully robed priest arrived, along with Nodar’s father, David, and Dodo. There was a short service that was interrupted at one point when Dodo lay down on the grave and began sobbing uncontrollably. It was a profoundly emotional moment that would forever be seared into my memory.

  After the service, everyone milled around for a little bit and then it was time to head to the community hall, where a feast had been planned. I needed to find a private moment to talk to Nodar’s father. The family would be receiving the equivalent of CAN$150,000 insurance money as a result of Nodar’s death. But who knew how long it was going to take for that to arrive? It was obvious the family could use money now. We had earlier decided to try and raise some cash the family could access while waiting for the insurance to arrive.

  We had raised $25,000 by auctioning off one of the podiums that was used during the medals ceremonies at the Games. That money, which we converted to euros, was stuffed inside an envelope that was sitting in the breast pocket of my suit jacket. I had been trying to divine some sense of how this gesture would be greeted. I wanted to make sure the family would feel it was appropriate and not crass in any way. I knew Bakuriani had an all-cash culture, so writing a cheque, which we would normally have done, would have been problematic.

  At the community hall, someone helped secure a room in which Renee and I joined David and his brother Felix, Nodar’s Olympic coach. An interpreter was there as well. I explained that my executive team wanted to help the Kumaritashvili family until more money arrived. We figured David and his wife and daughter could use some support. I pulled out the envelope and handed it to him. I told him how much was in it.

  His expression conveyed a multitude of emotions. He seemed slightly embarrassed but also relieved. I also saw the slightest hint of joy in that sad, burdened face. He’d have the pain of his loss for the rest of his life, but the money would help make that life easier. David came over and hugged me. I shook his hand, which was rough and strong, hardened by a lifetime outdoors. We walked into the hall where the feast was underway. It was a pretty sombre affair and reminded me of my grandfather’s funeral. People were still in a state of shock and were doing what they could to comfort David and his wife. They too had also lost a son when Nodar died, that much was evident.

  It was time to go. I said my goodbyes to Nodar’s parents and Uncle Felix, and hopped into the back of the Land Rover idling outside. I was exhausted and dreading the marathon journey back to Canada. Evening was beginning to fall on the town as we pulled away. I looked back one last time to see the twinkling lights of Bakuriani fading in the cold night air. I lay my head against the window and closed my eyes.

  I had done the best I could.

  Epilogue

  EVEN TODAY, THE commemorative DVD boxed set and other videos on the 2010 Winter Olympics sit on my living room coffee table unopened.

  I’m not sure why I haven’t been able to watch the beautifully packaged coverage of the Games, especially given that I missed so much while darting from event to event. Perhaps I don’t want to listen to my nervous, self-conscious attempts at French in my opening and closing ceremonies speeches. More likely, however, it’s because I’m not sure I can handle the tsunami of emotions that would roll to the surface at the first sight of the athletes, the Blue Jackets, the waterfront cauldron, the crowds, Nodar . . .

  There will likely be a day when I’m ready to watch it, but not yet.

  In the months since the Games ended I’ve run into thousands of people—on planes, restaurants, walking the streets—who have all insisted on telling me an Olympic story, their Olympic story, one that usually makes both of us smile. To say that listening to them makes me feel incredibly happy sounds trite, I know. But honestly, there is no other way to describe the warm feeling I get whenever I talk to people who tell me how the Games touched their lives, made them feel prouder to be Canadian than at any other time.

  One young Blue Jacket I met told me he had refused a $10,000 offer for his uniform—too proud to give it up, he said. Another who told me of her time volunteering at the Pacific Coliseum welled up with tears talking about it. There was the gentleman who slept in his car every night but never missed a shift in Whistler and the woman who came by bus all the way from Ontario to serve at the Games. These are the trophies I crave: stories of extraordinary Canadians who delivered profound heroics and considered themselves privileged to have volunteered.

  I’ve had over 10,000 letters, cards, e-mails or calls from people around the world who felt the need to say thank you. They still trickle in and are all the proof I will ever need to know that the pebble of hope we tossed into a pond 14 years ago continues to ripple.

  My team has long since been disbanded; happily, many of them are off to great new careers. I have taken scores of reference calls from employers looking to hire VANOC alumni. It’s made me feel incredibly proud that their value is so high. Some of my colleagues did crash emotionally after the Olympics ended, at least for a while, as they tried to cope with no longer waking up to the high drama and excitement that had filled their lives for years. Some have been lured to London for the 2012 Games or Sochi in 2014 to do it all over again—they’ve become Olympic gypsies.

  Hard as it was, the promises we made to balance the Games operations budget and build the venues have been kept. The venues were built for the $580-million budget we had and there will be no operating deficit. Our final report confirmed that about 90 per cent of the Games’ operating budget revenue came from the private sector and from ticket buyers. Government invested in targeted areas like the torch relay and the opening and closing ceremonies.

  As I write this, VANOC is a speck of its former size. From the 50,000 who came together in February 2010, only a few remain to pay the bills, clean up complex accounts, file reports and secure the archives for those who come to explore in the future. Our campus is now the new domain of the Vancouver Police Department. The sport venues were quickly decommissioned and are all functioning and serving their new legacy purpose. The next generation of athletes is already in training at some of them.

  The Athletes’ Village in Whistler has been converted to residential housing as planned and is a wonderful testament to the community’s own sustainability vision. For Vancouver there is still work ahead to sell the remaining condominiums at Southeast False Creek, in what surely must be one of the most desirable housing developments on the continent. The Canada Line has hit its five-year passenger projections already, and the drive to Whistler is safer and faster. The Convention Centre in Vancouver is attracting global accolades and accelerated new business. In November, the prestigious FutureBrand global survey for the first time called Canada the world’s top country brand, an honour attributed to the Olympics. The 2010 Games were also named the world’s best-run event, beating out the FIFA World Cup, the Super Bowl, the World Series and the Tour de France.

  I could go on.

  Vancouver has a wider smile on its face now too—and is perhaps a little more extroverted and confident. The reluctance to believe and the angst that caused some to leave town before the Games hit have been replaced by deep pride and a “we can do anything” attitude.

  I have travelled all over Canada, the U.S. and Europe over the past several months telling the story of the Games. To many, I think we were a puzzle. Even today, the most asked question is: How did you pull it off? Many want to know about what was happening behind the scenes—this book, I hope, tells that story.

  I have heard scores of descriptions from people on the street— perfect strangers—who talk about their pride at being Canadian. A woman in Winnipeg well into her retirement years told me she had never watched sport in her life until the Vancouver Olympics. Her husband confirmed her transformation from holdout to superfan. I’ve heard of lawns decorated in Olympic colours and homemade Canadian flags, cauldrons and snowmen dressed as goaltenders. I’ve rece
ived poetry, art, music and lyrics from all over, and photographs of children exercising their Olympic imaginations in scores of different ways.

  I admit to being filled with an undeniable bias about the power of international sport, so I may not be the best one to speak about the lasting legacy of Vancouver 2010. But I know that the example of Vancouver is something we must build on. We discovered so much about ourselves and so much happened here. We emerged a champion nation.

  The Games lifted us up, filled us with confidence. George Cope, the CEO for Bell Canada, recalls being stuck in traffic, watching the women’s hockey final with family members on his phone, realizing that he was gazing at the future. A few months later, George led the purchase of CTV and talked about that Olympic moment as being the inspiration for the gigantic move.

  I have been through a deeply personal journey. I have seen so many places and met so many extraordinary people. Being CEO of the Vancouver Organizing Committee for the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games was never a job; it was a cause. I believed in our mission from the moment I gazed at the heroics of Native American runner Billy Mills in Tokyo in 1964. I’m pretty sure that in many countries of the world, a man with a foreign accent like mine would not be given a chance to live such a dream. In Canada, no such barrier exists.

  When I began my journey I had no grandchildren—I now have 11. My children Maria, John, Damien, Emma and Molly are closer to me than ever. The Games touched each of them in different ways, and they cheered for me every day and lived the difficult days too. I hope they will be filled with pride for all their days to come and pass it on to their own children and grandchildren.

  Over the year since the Games ended I have received many honours. I won’t lie, it is lovely to be recognized but the truth is mine was a shared adventure. The work was done by thousands. It’s awkward to be singled out when in your heart you know that the credit belongs to so many. I wear my Officer of the Order of Canada and my Order of British Columbia pins with great pride and know I have them because my teammates did heroic things.

  I now chair Own the Podium as a volunteer. My committee is dedicated and its members will be tireless advocates for giving our athletes the tools and support they need to succeed in London and Sochi. The Canadian Olympic team that came to Vancouver was living proof that we can compete with anyone and win.

  Jack Poole was a man of his word. His handshake was more powerful than any contract. The last time we spoke, I promised him that no matter what happened we would keep our promises— all of them. I am most proud today that no one has suggested otherwise. Above all other things, this steadfastness would have mattered most to Jack. We can all learn from his example to exercise humility, trust more, give more, forgive the hurts we have endured and move on.

  The death of Nodar Kumaritashvili will always fill a corner of my memory. A beautiful memorial is now in place at his burial site in Bakuriani. A new luge facility is being planned there in his honour. The chief coroner of British Columbia has handed down his report and found no blame, and we can only hope and pray that sport will never witness such a tragic accident again. The measures taken to make sport safer will never be foolproof, but they must be a continuing preoccupation for all of us.

  This book was never a certainty. But as the games ended it seemed like a good way to move on. Patriot Hearts is intended to pay tribute to the remarkable heroics of so many—examples of Canadians’ courage, conviction and remarkable teamwork. Vancouver 2010 was a celebration of the possible. The Games owe so much to Canadians from a thousand communities who set everything aside to give their hearts unconditionally to this undertaking. No thanks will ever suffice. Their sole reward is in the knowledge and lasting pride of their accomplishments.

  The stinging rebukes from the British media and others as the Games began were replaced by accolades and words of triumph as the flame was extinguished. The Independent signed off with, “And overall, for athletes, fans, the media, and the host nation especially, the Games were a triumph.” The Guardian, merciless in its criticism at the beginning, concluded by saying, “Bottle that Vancouver enthusiasm and London 2012 will really hit the spot. The London Olympics can take their cue from Vancouver, its organizers and its volunteers.”

  The effect of the Games will take time to sink in. Prime Minister Harper has said, “Mark my words, some day historians will look back at Canada’s growing strength in the twenty-first century and they will say that it all began here on the west coast, with the best Winter Olympic Games the world has ever seen.” I believe he is right.

  The Canada we all love was for a shining moment a place of genuine wonder, causing one U.S. reporter to poignantly ask “Why can’t we be more like Canada?”

  Now they know us, eh?

  Acknowledgements

  THE SUM OF all fears is forgetting to thank those whose heartfelt, generous contributions have touched your life and your work so completely. I hope I have not failed in this regard.

  I had given up on the notion of writing about this story until Scott McIntyre showed up and put it to me that the Games had changed the country. A flattering notion, I have to admit, and he is a heck of a salesman.

  If there was a book in me, I knew I would never extract it alone. It would still be locked away in my mind were it not for the magic touch of my good friend Gary Mason, who somehow managed to peel back my instinctive desire for privacy to find the words and the voice. Over these months, we have been friends and brothers and amid the thousands of e-mails and phone calls I have grown to appreciate Gary’s intuitive mind and one-of-a-kind craftsmanship. To him, good enough was never going to be good enough. Thanks too to Marvin Storrow, our great friend who gave us the space to work and argue so we could bring this book to life.

  To the entire team at Douglas and McIntyre, thank you for believing in this project and most especially to our gifted editor Trena White for her patience and painstaking contribution to helping get the manuscript across the finish line. You are forgiven for any screaming you may have done in private.

  The vision for Canada’s Games would have evaporated into a slow, subtle retreat had some remarkable, pioneering presidents and CEOs not completely embraced our lofty mission of touching Canada's soul: George Cope of Bell Canada, Gord Nixon of RBC, Robert Dutton of Rona, Ron Brennerman of Petro-Canada, Arturo S. Elias of General Motors and Jeff Sherman of The Hudson’s Bay Company. They and over 60 more CEOs of Canada’s best companies and their employees and customers became champions and ambassadors in this mission of helping us make this about the many and not the few. They gave us our wings—far from traditional sponsors, they did much of the heavy lifting and became the very best kind of teammates.

  I thank the thousands of men and women of VANOC, my dedicated executive team and those who toiled tirelessly outside my door trying to make me look and do good, and the heroes at every desk on every floor at headquarters, and of course those remarkable English- and French-speaking, blue-clad volunteers from all over for their selfless sacrifice. You gave and gave and gave again. This story is, in truth, your story. I will never forget you.

  To Prime Minister Chrétien for a great start—and Prime Minister Harper for a great finish. To Premier Campbell, who always had our backs and your colleagues from every province and territory who joined you, thank you for believing in this one-of-a-kind adventure. To Olympic Ministers Owen, Emerson, Moore, Lunn, Hansen and McNeill, your support, your ideas, your courage and your friendship meant the world to us. To all those elected to high public office across the country—all sides and at all levels—thanks for caring and for never letting us down.

  To the supportive board members of Vancouver 2010, past and present—great Canadians all of you—your service inspired us all.

  TO THE RCMP, the courageous men and women in uniform, public servants, Games ambassadors and of course our remarkable athletes— your contributions were truly heroic. Warm appreciation to all at the IOC for helping us in the best and most difficult of times
, and to Bob Storey, who taught me how the whole process works—a debt I will never be able to repay.

  Ninety-nine per cent of Canadians watched the Games in person or on TV. You cheered, celebrated, wore red and lived every moment with us—you were the real difference makers. The title of this book, Patriot Hearts, was inspired by your embrace of these Games—thank you all.

  I am blessed with wonderful friends—hundreds of them who cheered me on every day. To name them all would be impossible; they know who they are, but thanks to you I survived this and became a better human being.

  To Jack and Darlene Poole, thank you for a remarkable journey, for never doubting me and for the deepest kind of unconditional friendship.

  To my children, Maria, Johnnie, Damien, Emma and Molly and your children—your love, respect and support has meant the world to me. You paid a high price but never gave up on me when I was everywhere under heaven but at home. Because of you, I am the luckiest dad alive.

  To Mom and Dad, wherever you are, I thank you for your sacrifices and your example and for teaching me about hard work, humility and how to live a better life. I promise I will never stop trying.

  This book, just like the Games, was a walk on thin ice for me. A thousand times along the way I might have given up. I am grateful beyond words that I did not and am thankful for the support, encouragement, compassion, love, deep loyalty and inspiration of my dearest friend Catherine Bachand—demonstrated in a thousand ways. Hers is a patriot heart. Thank you so much!

  Jack and John—the friendship of a lifetime.