Crazy Town: The Rob Ford Story Page 18

  On the night of the ball, February 23, 2013, it looked like Ford was once again a no-show. The cocktail hour and silent auction had come and gone, and still no mayor. Ainslie checked in with Ford’s chief of staff, Mark Towhey.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Towhey told him.

  “Okay. Where’s the mayor?” Ainslie asked.

  “Well, he’s on his way. But he’s not quite himself …”

  Indeed, when Towhey connected with Ford before the gala, the mayor had been muttering incoherently, flushed, and breathing heavily. More perplexing, he had his two young children with him, as well as two friends. One of them was Bruno Bellissimo, a crack addict who had met Ford in high school. The other was Alexander “Sandro” Lisi. He was the one driving the whole group to the Liberty Grand in his Range Rover.

  Towhey was suspicious of Lisi. He’d been told that Lisi was a friend of the Ford family, but he suspected there was more to it. He was right, although he wouldn’t learn just how toxic the relationship was for several more months. On the night of the Garrison Ball, Towhey was just trying to get in and out without causing a scene.

  Lisi pulled up to the Liberty Grand shortly after 7 P.M. One of the mayor’s young staff members, who was also at the event, took the two Ford children to McDonald’s while Towhey tried to figure out what to do. Ford insisted on going inside. So, as eight hundred guests in ball gowns and tuxedos were being served salad, Ford stumbled through the front doors. Towhey directed the mayor to the downstairs coat check. Ford tripped on the stairs, and one of the event staff caught him. He was heaving and disoriented.

  Around this time, one of the ball’s thirteen organizers decided to make a washroom run. The organizer spotted the mayor and Towhey hanging around at the bottom of the stairs. Upon getting closer, the organizer noticed something was wrong. Ford, tie askew, sweaty and red-faced, seemed to be high or having some sort of medical emergency.

  “We know each other, and he stopped me to say hello,” the organizer said. “He was babbling. I couldn’t understand him. He was talking really fast, something about flooding issues in Etobicoke. It was totally incoherent. He was making no sense. But I never smelled any booze.… He wasn’t even really looking at me. He would giggle.”

  The organizer approached the mayor’s staff and Councillor Ainslie several times to see about “helping the mayor to make a dignified but early exit.” According to the organizer, the staff said, “‘No, no, it’s okay.’ … It was bizarre.”

  Rather than leave, Ford and his small entourage went to sit at their table. At that point, Ainslie went to speak with Towhey himself, urging the chief of staff to get the mayor out of there. (Towhey denies this.) Ford left about an hour later.

  For a few weeks, news of the mayor’s bizarre appearance at the Garrison Ball stayed within a tight group of organizers and military personnel. But after the Sarah Thomson incident, people began to whisper about a developing pattern.

  The Garrison gossip made it to my desk the second week of March 2013. The first person I called, one of the organizers, confirmed it. My questions seemed to reignite some frustration about the night. “It felt disrespectful to the event,” the organizer said. “Several high-level military officials were quite upset.”

  According to this individual, the mayor already looked “hammered” when he arrived. No one could smell alcohol, but he was definitely “out of it.” Paul Ainslie was reasonably close with both Rob and Doug Ford. He was a member of the mayor’s executive committee, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t lie to me if I asked him directly about it. I decided to call him next.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I know this puts you in a difficult position …”

  “Oh, no,” Ainslie chuckled nervously.

  “… I know that you asked the mayor to leave the Garrison Ball two weeks ago. I hear some of the military guests were really offended.”

  Silence.

  “… And I know that you were the one who lobbied for him to come and you felt guilty. So I have to ask, why did you ask him to leave?”

  “I really can’t comment on that.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t ask him to leave?”

  “… No.”

  “No, what?”

  Silence.

  “I’m told the mayor seemed impaired.”

  We went back and forth a few more times, over a couple days. After some soul-searching, Ainslie called.

  “You can say I urged the mayor’s chief of staff, Mark Towhey, to have the mayor leave the event. I’m not going to comment on why.”

  Meanwhile, the Star’s Kevin Donovan worked his contacts and brought in two other sources on the ball’s organizing committee, as well as a military reservist. Said one organizer, “He seemed either drunk, high, or had a medical condition.” A prominent Ottawa conservative confirmed that the mayor seemed impaired.

  In a front-page story on March 26, 2013—under the headline “‘Intoxicated’ Ford Asked to Leave Gala: Inner Circle Repeatedly Urged Mayor to Enter Rehab”—the Toronto Star made public something already widely known in political, media, and law enforcement circles: Rob Ford appeared to have a drinking problem, and it was impacting his mayoralty.

  Five sources confirmed the mayor’s struggle with alcohol and attempts to get him help. Three organizers and a few other guests confirmed the mayor’s erratic state at the Garrison Ball. Our story included details about the Bier Markt (minus the alleged cocaine use), the LCBO sightings on Twitter, a brief mention of Sarah Thomson’s allegation, and a rundown of earlier hints of trouble: the domestic calls, the 1999 drunk driving charge, and the hockey game incident. None of our main sources could be named. Some were affiliated with the police and military and were thereby constrained from taking a stance on such a controversial issue. Others were working in politics, where sharing dirty laundry about your boss, even to save his life, isn’t a wise career move.

  Paul Ainslie was the only primary source named in the investigation. For telling the truth, he was vilified. And so was the Toronto Star.

  The three Ford brothers, Randy, Rob, and Doug, pose in front of a portrait of their late father, Doug Sr., at the family business, Deco Labels & Tags. March 22, 2010. © David Rider/Toronto Star.

  Mayoral candidate Rob Ford and his brother (and campaign manager) Doug Ford meet with Dieter Doneit-Henderson (left)— an HIV-positive gay man—and his husband, Colville (right), during the 2010 campaign. Ford was there to apologize for comments he had made about people who contract the virus.

  © Rick Madonik/Toronto Star.

  Mayor-elect Rob Ford celebrates his landslide victory alongside his mother, Diane, and wife, Renata. October 25, 2010.

  © Lucas Oleniuk/Toronto Star.

  Controversial hockey commentator Don Cherry poses with Rob Ford on inauguration day at City Hall. December 7, 2010.

  © Tannis Toohey/Toronto Star.

  Nick Kouvalis, the architect of Rob Ford’s winning campaign and later his chief of staff, during an executive committee meeting at City Hall. December 8, 2010. © Carlos Osorio/Toronto Star.

  Mayor Rob Ford talks with his brother, Councillor Doug Ford, during a compliance audit committee meeting. The committee opted not to prosecute Ford for campaign spending violations. February 25, 2013. © David Cooper/Toronto Star.

  An intoxicated Mayor Rob Ford greets other St. Patrick’s Day revellers on his way to the Bier Markt bar in downtown Toronto in 2012. Courtesy of Jennifer Gordon.

  Mayor Rob Ford’s high school football team, the Don Bosco Eagles, wins the semi-final match. They would go on to compete in the Metro Bowl. November 21, 2012. © Richard Lautens/Toronto Star.

  Rob Ford poses with Anthony Smith, Monir Kassim, and Muhammad Khattak in front of an alleged crack house at 15 Windsor Road. The Star was given this photo by the men trying to sell a video of the mayor smoking what looked like crack cocaine. Early 2013.

  Kevin Donovan and I (Kevin is in the back seat) meet with Mohamed Farah to watch footage of the so-cal
led crack video. May 3, 2013. © Dale Brazao/Toronto Star.

  Mayor Rob Ford and Alexander “Sandro” Lisi (far right), his friend and occasional driver, at a Toronto Maple Leafs game. May 8, 2013. © Joe Warmington/Toronto Sun.

  Investigative reporter Kevin Donovan defends the Toronto Star’s coverage of the so-called crack video at the Ontario Press Council. September 9, 2013. © Colin McConnell/Toronto Star.

  Chief Bill Blair announces that the Toronto Police Service has recovered the video of Rob Ford appearing to smoke crack cocaine. October 31, 2013. © Andrew Francis Wallace/Toronto Star.

  After the mayor admitted to smoking crack cocaine, his sister, Kathy Ford, and mother, Diane Ford, sit down with CP24 news to defend him. November 7, 2013. © CP24.

  Mayor Rob Ford drags his wife, Renata, through a throng of reporters after apologizing for making vulgar comments. November 14, 2013. © Steve Russell/Toronto Star.

  City councillors turn their backs to Mayor Rob Ford after he refuses to step down. November 14, 2013. © Mark Blinch/REUTERS.

  TEN

  PATHOLOGICAL

  LIARS

  Ispent the night trapped on the edge of sleep, my restless brain refusing to be quiet. Every conversation I’d had over the past year, every story I’d written, everything I’d seen—it was all cycling through my mind at high speed on repeat. Now and again, exhaustion would take over and I’d start to drift off, but then the memories would become so vivid I’d jolt awake to ask a question. At 5:45 A.M., I figured I had been in bed long enough and put on a pot of coffee. The story would be online soon. Sitting at my computer, I heard the paper hit the carpet in the hallway outside my condo. A gentle bump—the culmination of a year’s work. I ran to the door. The smell of ink made it real.

  I spread the paper out on my dining room table and stared at the story, letting reality sink in. “‘Intoxicated’ Ford Asked to Leave Gala,” by Robyn Doolittle and Kevin Donovan.

  We had published a story saying the mayor of Toronto needed to go to rehab, according to his own staff. We had revealed that he’d been booted from a military charity ball for showing up impaired, and that those closest to him thought his drinking was affecting his job. Our story was explosive. Things were going to be different—for the mayor, for the city, for the Star, and for me.

  Rob Ford’s time as mayor could now be divided into two periods: before the Garrison Ball story and after. Until that morning, a huge piece of background had been missing from City Hall coverage. Why had the Ford administration lost control of council? Because the mayor was not around to steer the ship. So where was Ford? Struggling with alcohol, according to his own staff. Clues that something was wrong had been out there for a year, through sightings of Ford posted on Twitter, rumblings in the police community, and whispers in the corridors of City Hall. But before the Garrison Ball story, the public had never been let in on the secret. It was a tricky situation. Something like the bachelorette party run-in would come up, but reporters hadn’t been able to write the story. Doing so would have required raising serious questions about the mayor’s personal life, questions too sensitive to hinge on one unflattering photo.

  As I sat sipping my coffee, I thought about how our investigation could pave the way for a more honest conversation on what was happening in our municipal government. As a journalist, it’s always a difficult decision to report on an elected official’s personal life. There has to be an overriding public interest—if someone’s ability to do their job properly has been compromised, for example. This clearly seemed to be the case with Rob Ford, and until that Tuesday morning, no one outside the City Hall bubble was talking about it. It was a conversation Toronto deserved to be in on.

  Kevin Donovan and I had interviews booked all day. When newspapers print a controversial story, reporters and publishers have to defend it, answer questions, and be accountable to the public. We knew we were going to take heat for the number of anonymous sources in the piece. But the key detail in our story—that the mayor was asked to leave a military ball—had a very credible name attached to it, Councillor Paul Ainslie. We had a pattern we could point to: the drunken tirade at the Maple Leafs game, the domestic incidents involving calls to the police, the photos on social media, a named woman who saw the mayor “inebriated” before entering the Bier Markt, as well as our five well-vetted confidential sources. And Ford’s staff believed he needed to be in rehab. This was a matter of huge public interest.

  With minutes to spare, I arrived at the CityNews studio for what would be my second TV interview ever and bumbled my way through it. I’m a fidgeter, and I say “like” and “you know” more times than I should. Donovan is the pro. Just as he was finishing up a radio interview with the CBC, I got a text from a former Ford staffer: “Let’s hope he gets help.”

  The city was awake now, and news was getting around. Twitter was, predictably, having a news-junkie meltdown. Ford’s office hadn’t responded, but Doug Ford was on the attack. As I headed into City Hall, Doug was being interviewed by AM640 talk radio host John Oakley.

  Oakley: “Do you plan to sue, Doug? … If you feel he’s been maligned unfairly and he’s been slandered, will you launch a lawsuit?”

  Ford: “Johnny, that’s their plan, they want to drag us into another lawsuit and then it’s going to be about Rob Ford suing the Star for the next two years.…”

  Oakley: “But don’t you feel that a lawsuit, the severity of a lawsuit, if you’re confident you would win that, wouldn’t that finally put to rest any kind of question marks hanging around the mayor or his behaviour? …”

  Ford: “… That’s their game.… Make no mistake about it, the Star all is part of the same little group that’s going after Rob, the Clayton Rubys of the world, they are all working together.… I’ve never seen Rob drink at any event. Ever.”

  About 9:15 A.M., the mayor left his Etobicoke home, ignoring the reporters camped out front. At 11 A.M. he was scheduled to give heavyweight boxing legend George Chuvalo a key to the city. Chuvalo, who had twice taken on Muhammad Ali, now spent his days as an anti-drugs activist. Chuvalo had lost three sons to heroin addiction. After his second son died of an overdose, his wife committed suicide. The famed boxer, who in 1998 was awarded the Order of Canada, now travelled the country sharing his heartbreaking story with student and parent groups. He was also an old family friend of the Fords.

  The press gallery was hoping Ford would address the Star story before the ceremony. But if precedent was any indication, the mayor was going to make the media ask him about it in front of Chuvalo.

  At City Hall, a small army of reporters, photographers, and television crew had assembled outside the mayor’s office. The first few floors of the building are arranged in a big circle. Visitors walk through the front doors, head past the welcome desk, and then the space opens up into a cavernous rotunda. The second and third floors are stacked in rings around this opening. The mayor’s office is at the south end of the second floor, looking out over Nathan Phillips Square, with the councillors’ offices spread out around the rest of the loop. The set-up means you can always get a good idea of what’s happening in the main building. I stood on the ground floor and watched the press mob every passing councillor, asking for comment. Deputy Mayor Doug Holyday told reporters he had never seen Ford drink.

  The mayor’s black Escalade pulled up to City Hall about 10 A.M. Dozens of reporters crowded around the elevator in front of his office. When the doors slid open, an aide rushed forward to clear the way. Ford stepped out wearing a fixed smile, his eyes trained on the floor.

  “Mayor!”

  “Mayor Ford, were you kicked out of the Garrison event?”

  “Do you have an alcohol problem?”

  “Any comment on these allegations?”

  Ford shook his head. “It’s nonsense,” he said, before disappearing behind his office door.

  Ford’s press secretary, George Christopoulos, finally gave a statement: “For the record, the mayor was not asked to leave th
e gala.”

  Come 11 A.M., the throng of reporters moved to the members’ lounge behind the council chamber for the Chuvalo ceremony. To one side, black-and-white photos of the boxer in his heyday flashed across a screen. Rows of chairs were in front of the podium. Chuvalo was looking handsome in a dark suit, his grey hair slicked back at the sides James Dean style. He looked much younger than seventy-five. Some of Chuvalo’s family, including his second wife, Joanne, were in the crowd. The occasion was feeling awkward. Chuvalo deserved the huge turnout, but with Ford still not properly addressing the Star’s story, most reporters were there for the mayor, not the boxer.

  When Ford emerged from behind a blue curtain, his forehead was dripping with sweat, as it often is. He walked to the podium as if it were any other day.

  “George, I want to thank you for being a friend to our family,” he said. “I know my dad’s up there, wishing he could be here. I know you’ve helped out many of us. And it’s my pleasure now to present you with a key to the City of Toronto.”

  He handed Chuvalo a long flat box with a gold key inside. They posed for a photo, shook hands, and briefly embraced. Chuvalo said a few words.

  Then it was time for questions. The Star’s City Hall bureau chief, David Rider, asked the question no one else wanted to: “Mayor Ford, can you address the story in the Star this morning?”

  Predictably, Ford looked furious.

  “You know what, guys, this is about George Chuvalo,” he said. “If you wanna address this, number one it’s an outright lie. It’s the Toronto Star going after me, again, and again, and again. They’re relentless. That’s fine. I’ll go head to head with the Toronto Star any time.”