Patriot Hearts

by John Furlong

  As the athletes were bussed down from Whistler on March 12, the ceremonies team was removing any final blemishes from the stadium set-up. It was a beautiful and inviting atmosphere. We had a full house. The dress rehearsal the night before had gone well. The performers were giddy with excitement backstage—only Patrick Roberge was really biting his nails.

  The night was free of the soul-searching tensions that were present exactly four weeks before. The high drama of the Olympics was past now and the crowd was ready to let it all hang out one more time. Sold out it was. Spirits were high. The Governor General, prime minister, premier (decked out in red), local mayors and many others were all there as the countdown began. Performers gave it their all, sang their hearts out, and danced with joyous energy.

  The athlete parade was beautiful, unprecedented for ambiance and oomph. It was emotional, energetic and every team was welcomed as if they were indeed the only one there, with the one possible exception—Canada. The arrival of Team Canada, including five-time gold medal winner-to-be Lauren Woolstencroft, seemed to electrify the crowd. The best kind of mayhem was happening.

  The Governor General took the field early in the show, flanked by small children and beaming with pleasure, and the crowd responded warmly. We saw Rick Hansen and Betty and Rolly Fox, and were reminded time and again of the remarkable contribution people with disabilities have made to Canada and the world. The RCMP and Canadian Armed Forces were there in their finest protocol colours, delighted again to serve. It was a proud night for VANOC and a wonderful night for Canada.

  In my speech I recognized the athletes whose lives were now interconnected forever because of these Games. I used the occasion to draw attention to the giving spirit of men and women of sport the world over: “Those who have made it their personal mission in life to use sport to build better lives, and inspire children . . . Sport is our common language and because so many in the world live in harm’s way our message of peace through sport has never been more important.”

  It was a night to give thanks to so many. I concluded with a final wish for the athletes: “May this night be the beginning of the time of your life.” And then I introduced Sir Phil, who was charming, strong and clear about the occasion this was. He spoke eloquently about values and gave thanks for the Paralympics’ good fortune to be in Canada. If ever a man was in his element it was Sir Phil. If all he had done was sing the words of “Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore,” the crowd of 60,000 would still have made him feel like Elvis. He was now every bit the great leader he had hoped to become when he took the reins at the IPC. He was strong, proud, vibrant, passionate, thoughtful and humorous. It was a night he would never forget. Paralympic Winter Sport was at centre stage and it was on live television. After having seen the rehearsals, the network did itself proud and put the ceremonies on for the entire country to enjoy in real time. We were the first Paralympic Winter Games organizing committee to broadcast the Games live. In the end, CTV delivered over 60 hours of coverage and millions watched—a runaway record. For the IPC, this was now the new standard. Sochi can expect to get pushed further in 2014. Sir Phil’s relentless persuasion had paid off huge. He revelled in calling on Governor General Michaëlle Jean to declare the Games officially open.

  The Paralympic flame arrived to great fanfare and was carried to centre field by Betty and Rolly Fox, as so many pondered the gift their heroic son had given to his country. The flame was passed around a ring of torchbearers and eventually handed to Zach Beaumont, a 15-year-old future Paralympic star who lit the cauldron as if life’s greatest honour had been bestowed on him.

  For me, the rest of the night was a blur, a media conference, a walk through the infectious atmosphere downtown before crashing into bed exhausted. Athletes were en route back to their villages, for one more sleep before game day, and all was set for competitions the next morning.

  On Saturday, March 13, the athletes’ wait was over. I woke up with a massive headache, seeing stars, and tried all kinds of medication just so I could manage. My migraines have become fewer in recent years but when they come they are brutal—like this one. Like a needle behind my eye. The day was at fever pitch by midmorning, so I needed to shake it off. The talk now was all about sledge hockey and whether the Canadian team had it in them to repeat their historic gold medal feat from Turin.

  The team was now older, and though they were on the surface full of fire they had noticeably lost that edge. They gave it everything and made it to the semifinals, but there the dream ended. I had gotten to know these guys fairly well and marvelled at how they looked at life. These Games were everything to them and the prospect of repeating gold had been on their minds every minute since 2006. They had challenges to deal with that most of us cannot even contemplate, but they lived life fully and gave everything they had to the community.

  On the ice, it was kamikaze-like action as our guys left not an ounce of effort unexpended. Missing that medal at home was devastating for them. Not getting even the bronze left them inconsolable. The U.S. managed to scramble a molecule of revenge for its gold medal loss to Canada in the men’s hockey tournament at the Olympics by taking gold, stopping dead the three gold medals target Hockey Canada had set for itself. Putting a medal around the necks of the Americans and handing them flowers was a great privilege. They had the look of champions and sang their hearts out when their flag was raised. Not a single fan left the arena for the presentations, so their joy was fully shared and celebrated. Canadians stood and cheered—it looked good on us.

  It’s hard to imagine feeling excited watching wheelchair curling, which parallels a game of on-ice chess. But over at the Vancouver Paralympic Centre at Hillcrest Park the rules of decorum for curling were being tossed out. From the first rock at the Olympics to the last one at the Paralympics, fans took a vacation from all things normal, letting their instincts run amok. The curlers seemed buzzed at first but settled quickly into the craziness and antics of the crowd, which included the wave, numerous, spontaneous O Canadas, and thunderous ovations for even the most modest shot. This was twenty-first-century curling and it was great fun.

  I dropped by the Athletes’ Village in Vancouver mid-week and ran into Jim Armstrong, skip for Canada, once a world-class curler in his own right until his health forced him into a wheelchair. He admitted to being genuinely taken aback by the effervescent atmosphere, and to having underestimated the power of these Games. He was having the time of his life with his teammates and revelled sitting in the village cafeteria meeting the rest of the athletes, drenching himself in the excitement and colour of the Games.

  It was dreams of gold for Jim, who had skipped his team to a world championship the year before, so we were all biting our nails as Korea chewed away at his big lead in the final game. But hang on he did to reprise the heroics of Turin. Watching him accept the gold medal was special, and many were in tears for what was to be our final gold of the Paralympics in Vancouver.

  TWO GREAT CANADIAN stories unfolded in Whistler. Vancouverite Lauren Woolstencroft won five gold medals in Alpine skiing events, making her the darling of the Games. From the start gate to the finish line she was the favourite of the crowd. Blind cross-country skier Brian McKeever, who had made the Olympic team too but was not allowed to compete, gave the crowd at the Nordic Centre much to cheer about, winning three gold medals, which confirmed him as one of Canada’s greatest Paralympians. The Canadian team had a great Paralympics, nailing their lofty Own the Podium third-place target.

  Celebration Plaza in Whistler was full every night as medals were awarded and Canadians and visitors alike piled in to show their appreciation. The Paralympic athletes garnered a special kind of attention from everyone they met. The community showed extraordinary hospitality and had been determined to send everyone home with memories of a storybook place where the world came together. It was as if everyone had been given a key to the resort. Residents were well aware that the contributions they were making would pay a long-term dividend, as visitors wo
uld surely return for a repeat experience sometime down the road—that was how Whistler worked. Whistler had proven itself to be the little town that could and did. It had its own irresistible magic and knew it.

  AS THE OLYMPICS were ending, I received an invitation from the parents of Nodar Kumaritashvili asking that I attend their son’s funeral, due to take place, according to tradition, exactly 40 days after his death. Part of me thought it was a courtesy request and I wondered if indeed they really wanted me there. Their son had not been out of my thoughts since that tragic Friday. To visit his family would be healing for me as well. The problem was that getting to Georgia was near to impossible if I was to fulfill my duties at the Paralympic closing ceremonies in Whistler. So I had a dilemma and I was worried. My team went to work on logistics. Every kind of travel scenario was looked into.

  If I took the last flight to London from Vancouver on Sunday night, I figured I could get to Tbilisi, Georgia’s capital city, jump in a car and drive to the remote village of Bakuriani in time for the service. It would mean crossing the mountains on a slow, busy road, but I was prepared to do anything to get there. But everything would have to be on time for me to pull it off—and I would have to pass on the closing ceremonies, which would be a serious slight to the IPC.

  I decided the ceremonies could be reworked and I could deliver my speech early if the IPC would agree to a protocol adjustment. But even then, there was the issue of getting to the airport in time to catch my flight. There was no commercial air or helicopter service available from Whistler. One thing at a time. First I pitched the change in the ceremonies program to Sir Phil. He agreed to go along and understood the significance of what I would be leaving for. I would now be on early in the lineup. My team got to work looking for a transport solution from Whistler, having secured a couple of seats on the last flight to London on Sunday night. Renee Smith-Valade would be coming too, as we expected a media frenzy in Georgia.

  At the eleventh hour, with no solution in sight, I went back to an old friend. I thought that if the Canadian Forces, which had thousands of personnel in the mountains, had choppers in the area they would surely be flying back and forth to Vancouver and might be able to help out. It was a Hail Mary option. Their helicopters were rough-and-ready machines designed for duty in war zones—not exactly passenger-friendly, but who cared? I would have been happy to stand in one. True to form, the army reworked its plans and scheduled a chopper flight to take off minutes after my speech. So failing a last-minute emergency at its end, we had an arrangement in place. It would be a basic flight in the dark that would get us to YVR on time for me to make my flight to London.

  I liked my chances even if success meant flying for the better part of two days, stopping first in London, then Munich and then Tbilisi at 4 AM. It was one of those rare occasions when sleep seemed unimportant. I wanted us to be there and felt anything less would look bad on Canada and reflect badly on the Games. So I sent a note to Georgia that we were moving heaven and earth to get there. The IOC was sending Pat Hickey, the head of the European Olympic Committees, though I thought Jacques Rogge might travel too.

  The last days of the Paralympics were pretty hectic. I went to every venue several times, shook as many hands as I could, hugged those Blue Jackets who were still going strong, attended many receptions and sponsor-hosted occasions and in the final hours attended the IPC closing reception, where the Paralympic Order was awarded to me and, posthumously, to Jack Poole. I practised my closing speech, making a final effort to get my French into better shape. I did some media interviews as well, where I revealed just how exhausted I was. But I also told reporters how much the Olympic experience had affected me. “I have an even greater appreciation today than I’ve ever had in my life about the power of a vision and about what happens when people pursue something with the kind of vigour you can,” I said. “I think something pretty extraordinary has happened in the country and I am glad to have been a part of it.”

  And then I was off to the closing ceremonies.

  At Whistler’s Celebration Plaza, the rain had cleared. The athlete parade came down through the village, past rapturous crowds who were giving them a memorable send-off. The plaza was packed and Patrick Roberge and his backstage crew were ready to deliver a great show. Minutes into the ceremony, with the athletes all in place and after a beautiful rendition of “O Canada,” I was at the podium in my Blue Jacket delivering my very last speech of the Games. “Tonight, together with our many partners, and in the name of all Canadians, we take our final steps across the finish line of Canada’s Games,” I said. “Our work is done. Our best has been given—our dear friend Jack Poole would be a very happy man tonight.”

  I thanked everyone who had made a contribution and especially paid tribute to the athletes, who had “dazzled us with your agility, your strength, your endurance and your sportsmanship. You reflect the best kind of character, integrity and focus and have shown that pain is no match for your courage.”

  Minutes later it was time to go.

  “It is with humility and more than a little regret that we now say goodbye—it has been a true honour to serve. Thank you very much— Go Raibh Míle Maith Agaibh Go Léir. Slán Agus Beannacht.” It was a traditional Gaelic farewell. My dad would have smiled.

  The engine of the SUV was running outside, my bag loaded in the back. I walked off the stage and jumped in the back seat and we were off to the Heliport 15 minutes north of Whistler. It was a strange departure for sure. We met the two pilots and senior armed forces personnel on the tarmac, got our safety briefing, loaded ourselves in and were soon airborne. They were thrilled to help us out and treated this like any serious mission. Heading south, we passed the plaza as the ceremonies continued. There was a glow over the area. I was sad to miss the end and regretted not being there to hear what Sir Phil had to say.

  Dave Cobb was ready to face the media and would take charge for the coming hours. We were in good, safe hands. The rest of the team would also be there. I was certain we would send our Paralympic friends home with the same efficiency and spirit we had for our Olympic guests.

  This was one time I would have liked to wake up the next morning and read all about it. Sitting beside Admiral Pile, who was himself beaming with pride, I donned night goggles to see the amazing visuals below. As we headed toward Squamish I reflected in solitude on the men and women in uniform around me, and others like them who serve and protect us the world over. Courageous, loyal, proud and driven. My work was easy compared with theirs.

  Forty-five minutes later we were all aboard for London. The trip was mostly a blur. After landing in London, we had to grab a connection to Munich. From Munich we flew to Tbilisi, a beautiful city that sits on the banks of the Mtkvari River. Not that there would be any time for sightseeing or exploring. Not long after landing we were being picked up by members of the Georgia National Olympic Committee and off in an entourage of Land Rovers for what we were expecting to be a three- to four-hour trek to Bakuriani, 160 kilometres to the west.

  At least that is what the people with the Canadian consulate in Turkey had told us. Maybe with normal drivers behind the wheel but not the guys we had, professionals who took corners at great speeds. There were times where I was almost afraid to look at how fast we were going. When I did peek, the speedometer often said 170. More than once Renee and I exchanged glances, wondering if this was going to be our last ride together—our last ride, period.

  But make it we did, arriving in the small town in the early afternoon. Bakuriani is situated on the northern slope of the Trialeti mountain range in the Borjomi Valley. It is covered by centuries-old fir and pine forests, and in Soviet times the area was considered an important ski centre. While it billed itself as a resort town, Bakuriani looked like a community that had seen more than its fair share of hard times. The homes were small. Many of the buildings were half-finished. When we pulled up to the home of Nodar’s family there were dozens of people milling around. Everyone had been waiting f
or us. Nodar’s home was a two-storey grey brick structure. A poster-sized picture of the fallen hero hung on the outside of the house, above the entranceway.

  I was happy that my old friend Pat Hickey had joined us in Tbilisi. Pat was representing the European Athletic Association and I welcomed his moral support. He understood the importance of my presence. If I hadn’t made every effort to get there it would have made everything I had said about Nodar’s death seem like window dressing. But I was flat-out nervous and scared when we arrived. We were going into a community where everyone was clearly going to be devastated. Still, I thought, the people in Bakuriani, especially Nodar’s parents, would have thought less of me if I hadn’t shown up. They had invited me for a reason.

  We walked inside their kitchen, which was crowded with family members. Nodar’s mother, Dodo, was sitting on a couch dressed entirely in black. There was a table packed with food, a framed picture of Nodar sitting on it, his boyish face staring out at us. You could tell that someone had worked all day to make the place sparkling clean. There were also some reporters and TV cameras crowded into the room. Pretty soon people were giving speeches. I was asked to say a few words.

  I hadn’t been expecting it. So I just spoke from the heart, saying that I wished I had been visiting under different circumstances. I said I couldn’t begin to comprehend the heartbreak of Nodar’s parents, and that I thought it was important to be there in person to say how grief-stricken all Canadians felt. I didn’t speak long, and when I finished the room went quiet for what seemed like minutes.

  After the speeches, Renee and I were led behind the house to some makeshift stairs that took us up to a loft. It was Nodar’s room. The bed was scattered with Olympic paraphernalia and other souvenirs from Canada. Above the bed hung a large picture of Nodar holding the Olympic torch, taken in Whistler. The humble surroundings made me realize just how much Nodar Kumaritashvili had had to overcome to get to the Olympics. It was clear he did not have the benefit of a well-to-do family with the kind of money and resources often necessary to support an Olympic dream. But I could also tell that he had the loving support of an entire town behind him.