by John Furlong
When I finally emerged from my office, I could feel the penetrating eyes of the organization fall upon me. By that point the members of my team knew what had happened. It was all over the television. In the build-up to the Games we had developed protocols for just about every crisis scenario you could think of. We had confronted make-believe plane crashes, riots, major injuries, mustard gas—you name it and we had prepared for it. But never in our wildest dreams did we imagine the death of an athlete on opening day.
By now, we had learned more details about what happened. Nodar had lost control at the end of the course and was flipped over the side wall of the track into a pole. I saw the crash played on television once and would never watch it again, despite the networks showing it repeatedly for the next several days. Nodar was travelling at 143.3 kilometres an hour at the moment of impact. It was his final training run and his twenty-fifth time down the Whistler track.
A joint ad hoc meeting with the IOC was quickly convened. I had never felt a room so heavily burdened with sadness and grief. I looked at Jacques Rogge, who always seemed to be completely in control of his emotions. He seemed completely lost. He was not alone.
People were expressing views on what needed to be done, and for the first while everyone seemed to be talking at cross purposes. It was an uneasy environment. I remember looking over at Jacques sitting at the end of the table and listening to him say that our Games were now going to be remembered for this tragedy. No argument from me. I told him it was critical that we managed this moment with extraordinary dignity and compassion or the Canadian public would be deeply disappointed in us.
I told Jacques that it was imperative that we acknowledge without hesitation what had happened, be honest and forthright and not try and explain it as anything other than what it was. In other words, the worst thing we could do was to try and make excuses and sound defensive or rationalize the accident in any way. I felt we needed to lead first with our hearts.
This was a day to honour a young man who died pursuing his dream. We needed to express that in the most profoundly human way we could. His teammates would be devastated. Fellow lugers would be devastated. The people of Georgia would be grief-stricken— his family heartbroken beyond words. The athletes in Vancouver and especially in Whistler would be overcome with sadness. We also needed to start thinking about how we were going to address this loss in the opening ceremonies that night. On that point we all agreed.
Gilbert Felli was a commanding presence in the meeting. He did a good job of assuring people that, as dark as this moment was, we would get through it. We had to get through it. And we would respond with dignity and composure. I was willing to listen to any idea, provided it not diminish the empathy we both felt and needed to show.
Jacques and I would be attending a swiftly called news conference at the Main Press Centre later that morning to discuss the tragedy. Our communications staff tried to impress upon us the message we needed to impart to the media, but I wasn’t interested in talking points. Not today. I didn’t want to hear about what issues may or may not be in play. I had no intention of discussing the factors that may have contributed to the young man’s death. I was simply going to be honest about how I was feeling: devastated, for the young man and his family. I wanted the public to know how wounded my team was by what happened. I was going to speak from the heart—that’s all I knew how to do. There would be plenty of time in the days ahead to dissect exactly what had happened on the track.
In the meantime, there were practical matters to be dealt with such as an autopsy and returning Nodar’s body to Georgia. What were our legal obligations? We discovered that Nodar’s coach was his uncle and two of the athlete’s teammates had been classmates. Nodar’s life was intertwined with the life of every villager where he lived in the mountains of Georgia. His uncle had the horrible task of phoning Nodar’s family back home to give them the news. I ended up cancelling a number of events scheduled for that day, including one with the Governor General.
Jacques and I took separate cars to the Main Press Centre for the 11:30 AM news conference. We arrived early and sat in an ante room. Jacques was not someone who was comfortable expressing his emotions publicly. He was always so stoic, reserved, coming across as cold and detached at times. But for most of the morning he had looked on the verge of tears. I realized that I was going to need to help him get through this news conference and he was somehow going to need to help me. At one point while we waited we hugged one another. He told me that over his career as an orthopedic surgeon he had performed countless difficult surgeries, even lost some patients, but those experiences had not prepared him for this tragedy.
We were both barely able to hold back the tears we felt welling up. It was not the best shape to be in just before walking into a room to stare down the world’s media, knowing they were going to have some tough questions about someone who had lost his life on our watch. If I had felt this lonely or vulnerable ever before, I could not remember.
I honestly don’t recall much about the news conference. A lot of camera clicking and tape rolling. Every chair seemed to have someone in it. I remember Jacques having to stop and compose himself at one point. I patted his back to support him and help him along. I told reporters how heartbroken our organization was, how I felt I’d lost a son myself. Jacques said Nodar’s death had cast a shadow over the Games.
There were questions about the speed of the track and whether it was too dangerous. I wasn’t planning to spend much time answering hypothetical questions at this point. There were investigations underway and it wasn’t a day to assign blame; it was a day to honour the life of an Olympic athlete who had died doing what he loved. A young man with the hopes of an entire country behind him. The media were quite decent and respectful during the press conference. Indeed, most there seemed to share the deep sense of grief that overwhelmed the day. I think the men and women in the room could tell our feelings were genuine, knew that we were in shock, that we were hurt, that we wanted to do the right thing for this young man’s family. Not a good day to push anyone too hard.
Meanwhile the torch relay continued to the delight of tens of thousands of people jamming the streets, oblivious to what had happened. I was getting grateful e-mails every other minute from people telling me how this was the greatest thing that had ever happened to Vancouver. I wished I could have shared in that elation.
After the news conference, my attention turned to my staff working at the Whistler Sliding Centre, where the accident had occurred. I knew they would be on the verge of breaking down completely over the accident and I was especially worried about our top man there, Craig Lehto. This group was responsible for the operation of the track, so if anyone was going to feel responsible for Nodar’s death it was these people. There were also big decisions to make. I called Craig later in the day to see how he was doing. A physically imposing but soft-spoken man, he was barely hanging on. I planned to see him the next day in person.
The track was immediately closed so police and others could do whatever forensic work was needed. There were even discussions about whether the luge events should be cancelled entirely.
In the meantime, we were learning more about Nodar and his family. We were informed that according to their customs, the body needed to be buried soon. Given the requirements of Canadian law and the autopsy and coroner’s investigation that would need to be completed, it was unlikely we could repatriate his body back to Georgia before Thursday—a week away.
I also had to start thinking about the opening ceremonies and what we were going to do to acknowledge Nodar’s death. The IOC had its ideas and I had mine. I would also have to change my opening night speech, as would Jacques. I phoned David Atkins and we talked about possible scenarios. David was the only person who would know exactly how we could achieve a level of balance between showing the appropriate respect and compassion for this young man while at the same time giving the world the opening ceremonies for which it had been waiting.
> At first, the IOC wanted to open the ceremonies with a moment of silence. David was against that. He said that would start the ceremonies in the worst possible way. I felt for David at this moment and I trusted his judgment. Here he was preparing for an incredibly complex undertaking, getting the artists and the stadium ready and at the last minute we say to him: “Oh, by the way, David you need to incorporate a major change to your plans.”
I repeated to him that if the event wasn’t managed properly the public would be furious that we didn’t demonstrate the proper respect while the world watched. We would never be forgiven for a bad blunder with something like this. The stakes were enormous. I told him that when the Georgia team walked into the stadium we could expect the loudest ovation of the night, next to that for the Canadians. But David knew all this intuitively anyway. The Nodar tragedy would remind me once again why our tiny friend from Australia was the perfect choice for the job. In my mind, he was a Canadian with an Aussie accent.
In the meantime, I was really worried about the capacity of the International Luge Federation (FIL) to handle this crisis. At the meeting with the IOC that morning, representatives from FIL seemed overwhelmed—shell-shocked and scared. They didn’t have the communication skills and expertise to manage a problem of this enormity. They were going to be under relentless scrutiny and pressure from the media. Their organization was going to come under attack about the conditions of the track. There would be questions about what happened now. Would events go ahead? Would the track be changed? I remember telling Josef Fendt, the federation’s president, that his organization needed to lean on us for help and support. I asked Renee Smith-Valade, our vice-president of communications, to assign someone to them right away. She was already on it. Managing this crisis was her biggest test too. It was important that we did everything possible to ensure that the athletes who would be competing had the best experience possible.
The day was evaporating on me. The relay was moving throughout the city to non-stop applause from the tens of thousands of people lining the route and would conclude sometime after noon. Given the events of the day, it was a bright spot and allowed me to feel a little joy amid the gloom. Even a protest flare-up on the east side of the city could not quell the spirit of the crowd.
In the afternoon, I went up to my hotel room to start getting ready for the opening ceremonies. I remember standing in front of the bathroom mirror putting on a black tie and thinking about how odd it all felt. I thought about my speech and was anxious that I strike the right chord when it came to acknowledging Nodar. I also wanted to ensure that people in the stadium still had a great experience. I practised my speech several times, still sweating over the few sentences in French. I had written the speech word for word myself, like every one I had ever given. Before the morning tragedy, I had been feeling good about the messages I was going to be communicating. Now I was distracted and my confidence was shaky.
At the stadium, I needed to visit with the folks at CTV, who had been there all day fine-tuning their evening coverage plans. I was going to be interviewed by Brian Williams, who was anchoring their coverage. I know Brian well and he’s a terrific guy with loads of Olympic experience. But the interview felt awkward and uncomfortable almost from the start. The network was our Olympic partner, and yet at this moment I felt CTV standing back from us. It was almost as if Brian was trying to establish some professional distance. While I was talking to him, protests were going on outside. They made it difficult to concentrate, that’s for sure. It was not my favourite interview.
The weather, meanwhile, was dreadful. A torrential downpour was creating havoc on the roads. Protesters were also helping to gum up traffic. Unfortunately, the protest got closer to BC Place Stadium than we anticipated. Originally, buses carrying media, IOC dignitaries and others were supposed to pull up outside the stadium seven and eight at a time, discharging people going to the show. But the protest not only slowed progress of the buses to the stadium, it also forced the police to restrict the number of buses stopping to one at a time. Those getting off the buses were being pelted with objects by the protesters. It was brutal.
Unfortunately, a few key people didn’t get to the stadium on time to see the opening few minutes of the show. Some were clearly annoyed, including those IOC members who were late and not amused. The prime minister did make it on time but was not happy about the fact that some federal officials were late. Some PMO officials weren’t too pleased either and vented hard. While they didn’t come right out and suggest we had screwed up their transportation, that was the clear implication. But as I suspected at the time, and later confirmed, the late bus carrying federal officials and others was operated by Ottawa.
While the delay was just a few minutes, it seemed like a metaphor for the day. Everything was a little off.
The IOC members who were tardy had been a little too casual when it came time to leave their hotel for the stadium. I think they had assumed an effortless process. After that, we had to lay down the law with them and everyone else: the buses are going to leave at precisely the moment they are supposed to. You are either on that bus or not, but it’s not waiting. It would end up being the last time we had problems getting IOC members or dignitaries on buses on time.
By the time I took my seat in the president’s box at BC Place, an upscale section roped off for Jacques Rogge, the prime minister, the Governor General, the premier and others, the stadium was mostly packed. The late arrivals very quickly filled the place up. I was getting e-mails on my BlackBerry every five to 10 seconds at this point. There were notes of sympathy from friends who were wondering how I was holding up given the events of the day. But mostly there were e-mails from people telling me what a great day it had been in the city and how proud they were, Nodar’s death notwithstanding. People around the world were sending messages of congratulations and wishing us well. It was nice to get the feedback because my brain was still too frozen and overflowing with painful thoughts about Nodar to focus on anything else. Darlene Poole was sitting beside me, lost in her own thoughts about her beloved Jack, how much he would have loved to have been there in the front row.
I remember being especially nervous about the opening scene of the ceremonies, which would end with snowboarder Johnny Lyall jumping through a set of Olympic rings in the stadium. I had witnessed him doing it successfully many times during practice. This was for real. There would be no second takes if it didn’t work or he fell and crashed horribly. But Johnny nailed his part perfectly and from the floor welcomed the world in English and French. My heart immediately slowed by a few thousand beats. We were on.
As I sat watching the show, my mind wandered. The spectacle was wondrous. A great Canadian story was manifesting itself and the world was watching. But I couldn’t stop worrying about my team. They had definitely been knocked off their game by Nodar’s death. Dave Cobb, Terry Wright, Cathy Priestner Allinger and the rest of the executive had had a hellish day and were doing their own soul-searching. More than once that day, I recall thinking that we were going to find out pretty quickly how good an organization we really were. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry about the situation deteriorating further. It’s like the plane that starts falling out of the sky at 35,000 feet. If the pilot doesn’t have control by 10,000 feet it’s crashing. We were in that plane right now and it was my job to somehow bring us out of that free fall. If we didn’t get the situation under control, all of the problems were going to be laid at my feet and everyone was going to say: “See, he was the wrong guy after all. He didn’t have nearly the right experience. What were we thinking?”
Everywhere I looked inside the stadium people were smiling. Behind me sat the chiefs of the four First Nations whose traditional territories the Games were being held on. They represented the Squamish Nation, Musqueam Indian Band, Lil’wat First Nation and Tsleil-Waututh First Nation. They were being recognized as heads of state and sat behind the prime minister and Governor General. One of the most impressive and
heartwarming parts of the evening was the welcome of the athletes by the Aboriginal peoples of Canada. This is where the hundreds of hand-picked young Native leaders, sent to us by their elders, came on to the floor to dance and sing and greet the athletes as they walked into the stadium. No other country could have presented this, not this way.
The show seemed to rivet the audience. I could sense the crowd was waiting for the team from Georgia to enter the stadium and when it did, with each of the athletes and coaches wearing a black armband in honour of Nodar, they received a prolonged, genuine Canadian standing ovation, just as I knew they would. It was both beautiful and a little heartbreaking to watch. My eyes were wet, but I was so proud of our country. We were reaching out the only way we knew—embracing our wounded visitors.
About halfway through the show, Jacques and I were beckoned to the green room in the bowels of the stadium to get ready for our appearance onstage. Makeup. Earphones. Sound checks. Pretty soon I was walking out with the IOC president and standing before the lectern, more nervous than I had ever been in my life. After Jacques delivered a joint statement of condolence, I was alone at the lectern, shaking and self-conscious.
“With Jack Poole and Nodar Kumaritashvili in our hearts,” I began, “and standing on the shoulders of every Canadian, I commit that the men and women of Vancouver 2010 . . . are ready to deliver the performance of a lifetime.”
I had hoped to reach out to the athletes, to let them all know how much we admired and respected what they did, on so many levels. I wanted to express that we had the utmost confidence and belief in them. But I also wanted to acknowledge the heavy hearts with which they would be competing. “At these Games you now have the added burden to shine and be united around your fallen comrade Nodar. May you carry his Olympic dream on your shoulders and compete with his spirit in your hearts.”