Patriot Hearts (36 page)

“You should know, James, that the number of people who are bilingual and working for
VANOC
is dramatically higher on a percentage basis than the number of bilingual people working for the federal government in Vancouver,” I said, as I had many times before.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said.

The truth was the number of bilingual volunteers we had amassed to deliver the Games was equal in size to a mid-size Canadian town. By any measure, we had moved heaven and earth to live up to this obligation. And he knew it.

“James,” I said, “I briefed you in person on this stuff and you had my direct line. All you had to do was pick up the phone and talk to me first and I might have helped give you a little background to everything that was going on to get French content into the opening. You are our partner and we deserved better. That’s all I ask for. Just give us a chance to explain our side of the story before you go out there and attack us for not doing enough. I thought you were completely unfair. And frankly I didn’t appreciate waking up Saturday morning and reading what you had to say in the paper.”

By Monday there was mounting pressure from commentators like Réjean Tremblay and representatives from other cultural organizations to increase the amount of French content in the closing ceremonies to make up for the perceived lack in the opening.

Ironically, Réjean was in the crowd at the Quebec House reception too. We spoke and he told me he was just “doing his job” when he ripped into me at the press conference. And then he went on to say that, the ceremonies aside, he was having a perfectly bilingual experience and that these were the best Games he had ever experienced as a journalist. Too bad he hadn’t put any of that in his column.

You can imagine how thrilled we were about demands for the closing ceremonies to incorporate more French. I phoned David Atkins to warn him about what was being said because it was going to reach him sooner or later. David was even more annoyed than I was. What did people honestly think? That we could be changing acts and inserting new production numbers at the last minute to suit the tastes of a few aggrieved people? I couldn’t agree more with David. The show was long since ready to air.

It would be one of the biggest shows ever produced in Canada. It had been carefully put together over a couple of years. Rehearsals had been going on for months and would be ramped up throughout the course of the Games. The artists had already arrived and were rehearsing. All of the songs had already been recorded. Compact discs with all of the music would be coming out five minutes after the closing ceremony ended. Now people wanted us to just kick someone out of the lineup and insert someone who sang in French?

I knew already that there was more French in the closing than the opening. That was just how it was put together. But I couldn’t be more specific without spoiling the surprise. Still, publicly I needed to be seen as listening to the complaints. I did not want to come across as rude or arrogant. But the matter was becoming a big problem because it was zapping energy out of our ceremonies team, who were already running on empty. And David Atkins was ready to blow a gasket at any moment.

I was hearing that we might soon be getting a call from the Prime Minister’s Office about the matter. When I heard this I thought, “Okay, that’s enough. I’ve got to put an end to this now.” I managed to track down the number for the
PMO
through a friend. I told the woman who answered the phone that I needed to talk to the prime minister.

“Who is this?” she said.

“This is John Furlong,” I replied. “I’m the chief executive officer of the Winter Games in Vancouver and this is a matter of considerable urgency.”

The woman asked me what did urgent mean? Today? Tomorrow?

“No,” I said. “Right now. I need to talk to the prime minister right now. This is a significant matter related to the delivery of the Games.”

She said she would go and find out what his schedule was and get back to me. It couldn’t have been more than a half-hour later when my cellphone rang. The voice on the other end said, “The prime minister would like to talk to you.”

Deep breath.

I thanked Stephen Harper for calling me back and began outlining the predicament
VANOC
was facing generally but more so as it related to potentially making changes to the closing ceremonies to include more French content. I wanted him to know that we cared greatly about this issue and always had. I told him that there was going to be more French in the closing as it was and then explained what had happened with some of our attempts to beef up the French content in the opening. I also shared my thoughts with him about some of the personal criticism I was receiving for my efforts to speak French in my opening night address.

One blog I came across accidentally was merciless in its attack on me. “John Furlong’s attempt at French was a disgraceful symbol of bilingualism,” the person wrote. And for good measure he said my attempt at our second language was “atrocious” and “disgusting.” Boy, that made me feel good.

I shared my frustration about this with the prime minister, whom I saw as an introverted and private man, just as I am. “This is not my language,” I told him. “This is very, very difficult, sometimes terrifying for me.”

The prime minister couldn’t have been more thoughtful and sympathetic. “I’ve had the same challenge in my own career,” he said. “I’ve had it my whole political life.”

He told me that one of the ways he managed around it was to speak French early in his remarks. He found that francophones were more respectful when people made an attempt at French early on in such a situation. “This is the advice I would give you,” he said. “Put the French up front and people will cheer you for it. Don’t worry about the critics. The people in Quebec will be delighted that you made the effort. It’s all about effort.”

“But prime minister,” I said. “You’re a rock star at this compared to me. This is not comfortable for me. I look down at my notes and the words start moving on me.”

He chuckled but was generous with his support and assurances.

We talked a bit about the demands for more French in the closing. I outlined the logistical realities of changing up the show at this late stage. He knew we weren’t going to be making any big changes. “Do your best,” he said to me. “Whenever there is an opportunity to include the spoken word in French put it in there. Just see what you can do. I know it will be wonderful and you guys will do a terrific job. The country is very proud of you. I’m really looking forward to it.”

I explained that having our partners criticizing us over French content was making life very uncomfortable for a lot of people who were doing their damndest to make the country proud. Morale was suffering. I felt he heard what I was saying.

It was a great conversation, and the prime minister made me feel a whole lot better about the situation. To be honest, throughout the entire Games I thought Stephen Harper was a real leader and brought a great spirit to the Olympics. Just seeing him there cheering madly, living every moment as if he himself were playing, was reassuring. He certainly played his part with class and looked good in red. If he had been distant and unsure about the Games at one time he had morphed into a rabid supporter.

I wasn’t quite finished with James Moore though. After the reception at Quebec House I would have a couple more conversations with him. And I was no less annoyed about the whole controversy.

“James,” I said at one point, “we’re partners, for God’s sake. I mean, I’d never do this to you guys. I’d never get up publicly and say bad things about the federal government. I have never once criticized you guys for anything. I have always been thoughtful and respectful. And who, exactly, is benefiting from all this, James? People from all over the world are looking over our fence and we’re fighting with each other. How does that look? We had the best opening ceremony imaginable and we’re arguing about this and the world is watching.”

And that was pretty much the last time we talked about it. I think the conversation with the prime minister had an effect because shortly thereafter the matter seemed to vaporize. When people approached James Moore looking for a quote he began telling reporters that there was nothing more to say and that the controversy was overblown.

(The only other time French was an issue was after the Games were over. We decided to send
MPS
, B.C.
MLAS
, senators and municipal council members from the host communities each a letter with a souvenir volunteer’s Blue Jacket to thank them for their support over the years. I just wanted them to feel appreciated, and we had the inventory so the gesture wasn’t coming at any extra cost. Universally the reaction was heart-felt, with one exception: the Bloc Québécois sent us a letter telling us that if we did not rewrite our letter to their members in French they would return all the jackets to us. The matter got resolved and they kept the jackets, but it was a final shot that didn’t show a lot of class.)

THAT NIGHT, DAVE COBB
and I went back to
BC
Place Stadium to watch Alexandre Bilodeau receive his gold medal. The morning papers had wall-to-wall coverage of his wonderful victory of the night before. The kid had taken a pretty significant monkey off the country’s back and was getting the recognition he deserved for the honour. It seemed every time I looked at a television monitor, no matter where I was, they were replaying Alexandre’s fabulous run that cinched first place. Displays of patriotism were breaking out all over the place. Delighted fans were soaking it up.

After it was over, Dave and I decided to take another walk outside and see what it was like on the streets. It was even wilder than it had been the night before. We made our way slowly along Robson Street, one of the streets that bisects the downtown core. A part of it had been closed to traffic and had subsequently become a non-stop party zone. Our own Red Square. Most days you could barely move on the street and on those around it. And it was no different on this Monday night. I was surprised by the number of people who seemed to know who I was. But people were coming up again and again and asking to get their pictures taken with me. Being treated like a celebrity in such a genuine way was touching, but I must admit it also felt awkward and embarrassing for someone as naturally shy and introverted as I am.

That said, to feel such positive energy from people was uplifting. Dave and I revelled in that walk, laughing and joking with perfect strangers. It was such a refreshing contrast to the negativity that I had been dealing with over the last few days. It was almost as if there were two worlds: the one inside the media bubble that was pretty grim, even hostile, and this other one, the one in the streets and at the venues that was completely different. People there were happy and having a great time, seemingly unaware of all the so-called controversies and brush fires that were flaring up all over the place.

Another fact that confirmed my two-worlds theory was the number of Canadians who had tuned in to watch Jenn Heil’s medal ceremony the night before: about 8 million, give or take a few thousand. That was a stunning number, and the first time I remember thinking that the country was riveted by what was going on. They were tuning in the action and tuning out all the background noise about cauldrons and problems with buses, among other things.

I remember turning the corner to go down one street on that Monday night where the crowd was particularly dense and boisterous. A number of police officers were there. Dave and I stood back to see how the police were handling what was potentially a dicey situation. But they didn’t have to worry. People were in such a great mood, and so were the officers. The fans were high-fiving the cops, shaking their hands, giving them hugs. People were getting their pictures taken with them. These were the same streets where in 1994 hundreds of people rioted after the Vancouver Canucks lost out in the Stanley Cup finals to the New York Rangers. The Olympic crowd couldn’t have been more different. It was reaffirming to see. And no one seemed to mind that it was raining, though not nearly as hard as the night before.

If the streets of Vancouver and Whistler seemed like global gathering places full of delirious energy, the biggest Cultural Olympiad ever mounted deserved credit for fuelling much of the jubilation. The Cultural team led by Burke Taylor had magically woven together a pan-Canadian showcase of the best talent the country had to offer—on a shoestring budget. Over 2 million people attended events ranging from theatre and dance to music and film that highlighted the rich cultural diversity of Canada.

Performers also came from around the world, led by the Russians and the British, who arrived to give us a taste of what was to come at their Games. For Aboriginal Canada the Cultural Olympiad was a coming-out party. There was something for everyone and every facility that looked remotely like a staging area was used, and all were filled to bursting every night. Unique pavilions were erected to showcase Canada’s many regions, and we cannot forget the 22,000 that crammed into the stadium every night to watch medals presentations and attend concerts.

BY TUESDAY OF
that first week, the French controversy seemed to be behind us. But we had developed a problem with an Olympia ice-cleaning machine at the Richmond Oval and were having to truck a Zamboni—Olympia’s rival—in from Calgary. We knew the media were going to have fun with that at our expense. We would also have to cancel more standing room tickets for Cypress—20,000 in fact. We hated to do it, of course, but the weather threatened to make the area where the spectators were to stand unstable. The last thing we needed was a serious injury. Combined with the 8,000 tickets previously cancelled a total of 28,000 tickets had to be refunded.

As I say, we felt horrible about it. But that is the nature of the Olympics, especially ones held in winter, when the weather can always wreak havoc. At the Calgary Games in 1988, 130,000 tickets had to be cancelled due to high winds. In Nagano 10 years later, 59,000 tickets had to be refunded because of rain and fog. One event had to take place with no spectators. So this sort of stuff was known to happen. It just seemed that given everything else that was going on, the ticket cancellations were being given bigger play than the story might have otherwise deserved.