“Good luck buddy”: My unforgettable connection to the world’s most infamous mayor
“He meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people.”
That’s my standard-issue response to any question about Rob Ford’s legacy, mostly because I don’t really know what else to say.
Because how the hell does someone answer this question with any sort of brevity?
Rob Ford – possibly the world’s most complex politician – is dead. He was 46.
It’s interesting how I’m at a loss for words right now. Or at least I don’t really know how to start talking about the man, considering all the digital and verbal ink I’ve spilled on him over the past six or so years.
I wasn’t ever a fan of Rob Ford. Not even once. From the day I learned who he was, up until the day he died, I disliked pretty much everything about him. To me, Rob Ford represented everything that was going wrong with the city I loved. He seemingly hated art, beautiful public spaces, social programs, and bike lanes. I also saw him as something of a hypocrite. For a man that was so concerned about the taxpayer, one of his top priorities was anything but “fiscally conservative” to me.
I never understood the “subways subways subways” rhetoric – especially when said subways would mean tearing up master agreements and paying hefty cancellation fees. Especially when people that actually understood public transportation and infrastructure couldn’t have expressed any more clearly that a wide-reaching LRT line would be better than a toothless money pit of a Scarborough subway in every measurable way. Especially when it was apparent that he didn’t even understand what an LRT was.
Anyway.
Many will find it distasteful, but it’s impossible to talk about Ford’s legacy without bringing up his flaws and his scandals. There were many.
Drunk driving, addiction, allegations of domestic abuse, apparent misogyny, racism, homophobia, and alleged connections to murders and prison beatings. His name came up in recorded conversations between people involved in gangs, drugs, and weapons trafficking.
He forgot about, and then lied about, and then remembered the time he berated a couple at a Leafs game. Same goes for the time he was arrested for possession in Florida. He was briefly removed from office due to a conflict of interest violation, and he was caught more than once on tape in drunken, violent, rants.
He hosted a St. Patrick’s Day bender in his office and more than once showed up to public events completely tanked – sometimes even with his kids in tow. He refused to attend Toronto’s Pride parade, and more or less said that it’s their own damn fault if cyclists are killed in traffic. He denied smoking crack cocaine when asked specifically about it for six months, and (falsely) called a city hall reporter for Canada’s most popular newspaper a pedophile and a peeping Tom.
As a citizen, and as a person opposed to nearly every fibre of Rob Ford’s politics – this was horrifying to watch. This man, this monster was mayor of my Toronto.
But, like Ford, you could say there’s some hypocrisy in my story as well. As I say all of this, I really benefitted from his antics because I am a journalist. Who knows how my career would’ve arced without him?
On October 31, 2013 former police chief Bill Blair said the crack tape was real. For many, it was the first real confirmation of Ford’s addictions. Earlier that year Gawker and The Toronto Star said they saw a video of him smoking crack. Before that The Star reported an impaired mayoral visit to a swanky military ball, which made for a pretty awkward press conference when Ford was giving the key to the city to an old family friend.
I took a step that Halloween. After Blair’s revelation, two friends and myself made our first of what would be many drives downtown that fall…in a black Cadillac Escalade. I’m not kidding. We tried to fit in with the crowd of reporters there, and I think we did a pretty good job. Just like the rest of them, we staked out the mayors office, making small talk with the camera operators and chuckling to each other as Doug Ford walked by, glaring at us.
The mayor had to say something, right? The crack tape that he “[had] not seen or [did not] exist” was real and the police chief said so.
He did emerge from his office late that day, and gave a prepared statement in front of those garish decorations. He denied everything and confirmed nothing. He said he couldn’t address the video because…something about the courts. I shouted a question that day.
I felt so self-righteous. If he was so concerned about “things before the courts” then why did he call into a talk radio program to comment on the Richard Kachkar trial? Like everyone else, I didn’t get an answer. It was a weird question, but damn was I proud. Oh and then we all chased him down into the parking garage.
Adam, Nathan, and I dined like kings that night in a small Etobicoke pub. We did the hell out of some JOURNALISM that day.
Following schooldays were spent outside that office. We learned a lot about city hall and the press gallery in those days. We learned which reporters were friendly to student journalists, and which ones weren’t. We learned that some video reporters don’t like when students get a better shot than them – and that they’re not afraid to yell at students in front of everyone…or call our dean. Seriously.
But man, we were covering the biggest story in the country – nothing could dampen our spirits.
The day he admitted it all sure was something. I remember it all so clearly, and it kind of makes me sick.
I remember being outside the elevator, and starting to shoot video on my phone each time the elevator came up to our floor. I remember how my heart leapt as that obese, sweaty, exhausted, man stepped out of the elevator – wearing that ridiculous tie. I remember the confidence I felt, as I timed my entry into the scrum perfectly. I had a great spot.
I remember (was it Global’s Jackson Proskow?) the question that got him to engage:
“Why do you keep sending your brother out to defend you?” – Doug attacked Blair earlier.
God he was calm that day, mumbling out his answers to the soon-to-be meaningless questions and finally, he prompted us.
“You asked me a question back in May and you can repeat that question.”
I still cringe thinking about this moment. Despite the cue, it seemed to take an eternity for someone to figure out what to ask. It was on the tip of my tongue, and I still don’t understand why I didn’t blurt it out.
“Have you smoked crack cocaine?” – it was for sure Jackson that time. Could’ve been me.
Regardless, we returned to the school newsroom that day as the proudest guys in the world. What a time to be alive! We were doing the news!
Later that day, we returned to city hall for a press conference in the mayor’s protocol lounge. “Holy shit, are you serious?” – was the reaction from our prof that we drove downtown, upon seeing the black Escalade. That room was far too small for a crush of reporters that big. Security was checking credentials for reporters to get in, and somehow our student cards passed the test.
He didn’t resign that day either.
I learned so much that week, and in the weeks and months that followed. I ended up a finalist for Student Journalist of the Year at the Ontario Newspaper Awards that spring, as a result of my writing. It was quite the year.
I’m now comfortably in the journalism industry in a job I adore.
To me, without a doubt, Rob Ford is the worst mayor Toronto has ever had and he will likely be the worst mayor it ever will have. But to many, he was the best ever.
Those that still supported him, after everything, loved his politics and didn’t care about all the other stuff. I, like many, thought his methods were ridiculous. To me, it was absurd that the mayor of North America’s fifth largest city was helping constituents cut wood and fill potholes. Praise for him “telling like it is” made me bristle. Didn’t they know he was a notorious liar and compulsive exaggerator? How many times could we scream that he DID NOT save the city a billion dollars?
But, he did help people cut wood and fill potholes. He made the time to call people and know their names, and many people really appreciated that. He rode wave after wave of that stuff to reelection. Many of the people that still loved Rob Ford all the way to the bitter end were touched by his own brand of customer service at some point. No amount of dissent can change that. It’s not my place – or anyone else’s – to tell people who were positively touched by the guy how to feel.
Rob Ford really was one of a kind. His story was practically Shakespearean. We’ve never really seen a politician like him and we may never again. Although we only met directly once, he shook my hand and said “good luck buddy” (on finishing my degree, I think) I feel like my path in life would have been completely different if not for him. I don’t know what would have become of me without him.
