Crazy Town: The Rob Ford Story (15 page)

But at the first meeting of city council in mid-December 2010, Ford proved his critics wrong. He scored a trio of quick victories with votes to spare. Council voted 39–6 to repeal the vehicle registration tax, 28–17 to make the TTC an essential service (the Ontario government had to approve of the change, which it did), and 40–5 to reduce councillors’ office budgets from $50,445 to $30,000.

The momentum kept up in the New Year with his first budget. As promised, Ford balanced the books without service reductions or tax increases. “This is the beginning of a new era,” he boasted. In truth, the mayor’s maiden budget was an unexceptional, stay-the-course document that relied, ironically, on surpluses from the Miller years. Partly acknowledging this, Ford cautioned that the real hunt for waste, or “gravy,” as he had memorably called it during the election, would start in March. The city was going to hire outside experts to comb through each department searching for efficiencies. They would leave “no stone unturned,” and if managers pushed back, “then we will have to find new managers.”

On the surface, the Ford administration looked wellorganized and professional. Pull back the curtain, and it was a different story. Stintz caught her first glimpse during budget discussions. The mayor’s office had signed off on a ten-cent fare increase, so the TTC built its numbers around that revenue.
Then, the night before the budget announcement, Kouvalis phoned. “The mayor doesn’t want a fare increase,” he told Stintz. “Go figure it out.” Officials spent the night altering months of work by hand. There would be no increase.

It got worse from there. After the fare turnaround, Stintz was called to the mayor’s office in late January for a brainstorming session on the new transit plan. Upon arrival, she learned that they already had one: cancel the proposed LRT along Eglinton Street in the middle of the city and use that money to turn the proposed Sheppard LRT line in the north into a subway. Stintz looked around the room to see if they were serious. She was the councillor for Ward 16 Eglinton-Lawrence. “I invited them to replace me as chair. I also explained this was never going to get through council.” Eglinton impacts half a dozen wards on the east side of the city, meaning half a dozen councillors would be unlikely to support axing transit expansion along this corridor. Kouvalis, Towhey, the mayor, Doug Ford, and Stintz’s assistant were in the room. Rob Ford didn’t say much. Doug kept insisting the private sector would “give us billions!” to pay for subways, which Stintz said was completely unrealistic. “I left that meeting thinking, These guys are nuts. And you can put that in your book.”

AS A CANDIDATE
, Ford pledged to run a transparent government. But as mayor, he was astoundingly secretive. His office refused to release his daily schedule, something most political leaders do, including Ford’s predecessors. My colleague Daniel Dale tells of calling staff in the Chicago mayor’s office—we frequently use the Windy City as a comparison in stories: Toronto does x, Chicago
does y, Montreal does z—and having Ford’s schedule come up in conversation. Dale mentioned that Ford didn’t release them, and the aide in Chicago was lost for words. “But, but then how do you know where to go to cover him?” Exactly. In 2013, when asked about a misbehaving member of his staff, Ford laid out his views on the public’s right to know: “It’s actually no one’s business what happens in my office.”

Given that Ford’s staff continued to freeze out the
Toronto Star
, reporters from the paper relied on Twitter to keep track of the mayor’s whereabouts. Sometimes our colleagues in the City Hall press gallery would give us a heads-up about an appearance, and sometimes not. All considered, it wasn’t as big a problem as you might expect. The mayor of Toronto almost never spoke to reporters, which, if it needs saying, was extremely unusual. Meanwhile, Doug Ford had become the de facto spokesperson for the administration. (To the annoyance of Ford’s staff, Doug still took the
Star
’s calls, because he couldn’t help himself when asked for his opinion.) The problem with that arrangement was that reporters could never tell if Doug Ford was speaking for himself or the mayor. One of the first things Doug did after being elected was to contact city staff to see about installing a door in the wall between his Ward 2 office and the mayor’s office. This would give him round-theclock access without anyone seeing him come or go. City staff put the kibosh on the idea, largely because of the expense, but door or no door, title or no title, Doug was as much a part of the mayor’s office as the chief of staff. Doug acted on behalf of the mayor in meetings with business leaders, city staff, and councillors. As far as he was concerned, Rob might be mayor, but it was the Ford family that was running the city. (This led
to numerous blow-ups with Nick Kouvalis, the chief of staff. Kouvalis was fed up. He quit two months after the inauguration.) This caused a great deal of tension between the Ford brothers, sometimes publicly.

This was the case in mid-February 2011, when Doug suggested the mayor should have more power so that the office wasn’t beholden to council. In some American jurisdictions, such as Chicago, mayors can veto decisions that don’t have a two-thirds majority. Asked about the comment, Rob Ford said Doug had been spending too much time south of the border. (Before getting elected, Doug Ford split his time between Etobicoke and Chicago running Deco Labels.) Reporters pressed the mayor about why Doug seemed to be doing all the talking. Was Ford avoiding the media? “My brother is not the mouthpiece,” Rob said. “I’m always available. I tell you, it’s pretty hard to hide three hundred pounds of fun.”

Nevertheless, Rob Ford continued to be MIA.

A little more than a month later, the
Star
’s Daniel Dale, through freedom-of-information requests, was able to obtain Ford’s daily schedules for the first ten weeks of his reign. They showed Ford had been slated to attend more than 110 events in his first sixty-nine days. They ranged from a Christmas party at the elite Albany Club to a championship spelling bee to Chinese New Year events. The documents revealed Ford had semi-regular meetings with councillors, provincial and federal politicians, and business leaders. Dale checked up on as many of the items as possible. In some cases, Ford had never shown up. In a few others, Doug had taken the mayor’s place. Another interesting tidbit gleaned from the schedules was that Ford still had a foot in the family business. On January 24, 2011—the day Ford’s
budget was to clear the committee level—his schedule said “DECO ALL DAY.” And of course, football was in there too. In one reference, on Thursday, February 3, Ford was scheduled for a “locker room meeting” at 10
A.M
. Yes, football—during a Canadian winter.

After Dale’s story, Ford’s staff began stripping specific names from schedules so that no one could verify his attendance. Several former staffers tell me that releasing a daily schedule would have been challenging, because they were never sure if Ford would show up. Says Adrienne Batra, who after the election became Ford’s press secretary, “It’s fair to say I didn’t know where he was about half of the time.”

Rob Ford’s open disdain for the press shouldn’t have been a surprise. His mayoral campaign was designed to avoid the mainstream media. Whether it was strong-arming councillors or ignoring reporters, Ford was unapologetically doing things differently. And the people who had it the worst were the staff at City Hall.

UNDER PREVIOUS REGIMES
, the opinions of city bureaucrats were more valued, their years of institutional knowledge and expertise routinely put to use. Managers and department heads were more or less treated as partners. The Ford administration had a different style. When marching orders to find reductions were handed down, pushback was not tolerated.

Deputy city manager Sue Corke resigned in March 2011. She later told me, “There was a lack of civility. The environment wasn’t as professional as what I had been used to in thirty years in the public sector. I’m used to a professional environment in
which civil servants are provided with respect and where they provide the best advice to their political masters.” She said the mayor’s staff—and brother—sometimes ignored advice that didn’t fit with their “right-wing ideology.” It was too frustrating a work environment for Corke, who believes social policy should be based on evidence, not ideology.

Another senior manager who left in 2012, and who asked for anonymity to protect remaining staff, told me, “Clearly, there is a lot of influence and persuasion, and I’d even say bullying, to have city staff do the will of the mayor’s office.”

Within the first year, more than a dozen high-level managers left City Hall, some voluntarily, some not. In 2012, Toronto ombudsman Fiona Crean released a report that accused the mayor’s office of interfering in the process of selecting citizen members for the city’s boards and agencies.

Crean—who holds one of the four “accountability” positions created after the MFP scandal—was attacked for five gruelling hours at council when she presented her findings. Councillor Giorgio Mammoliti, once Ford’s mortal enemy, now his caucus whip, accused her of having “political motivations.” Councillor Michelle Berardinetti, a member of Ford’s executive, questioned her objectivity. Councillor Doug Ford said her findings were based on “hearsay.”

Council eventually voted unanimously to adopt Crean’s recommendations. Three months later, the administration denied Crean’s request for an additional full-time investigator. “The evidence certainly points to this being a political payback for her reports,” left-leaning Councillor Joe Mihevc told the
Star
afterwards. “Budget time is the time to get back at people, and it seems like this is the play.”

Many felt the Ford administration was too harsh with staff. Others say that drastic change meant there would be casualties. Ford got elected because Torontonians believed the public service at City Hall was bloated and wasting money. And whether you loved or loathed the mayor, whether you supported or opposed his methods, City Hall became a leaner operation on Rob Ford’s watch.

Press secretary Adrienne Batra recalled, “Managers were coming to us proactively with budget reductions. Rob Ford set a tone that changed the culture.”

THE GREAT GRAVY HUNT
began on March 21, 2011, the day the executive approved a three-pronged investigation of city services. Council then agreed to pay external consultants three million dollars to drill deep into every department, agency, board, and commission to locate the waste Ford promised was there. Phase One: separate “core” programs from “discretionary” ones. Phase Two: find the flaws, the overlaps, the duplications in delivery of services. Phase Three: determine if people were paying enough for them.

Findings from Phase One, which were prepared by consulting firm KPMG, came out in July 2011. It turned out that most of what the city did was “core.” In fact, the bulk of what the city provides is mandated by the province. The consultants did identify lots of non-essential nice-to-haves, like fluoride in the water, bike lanes, recycling programs, late-night bus routes, and some snow plowing. But most people thought, unsurprisingly, that dental health and being able to drive in the winter were pretty important.

Some backlash was inevitable, but things might have gone differently if the review had steered clear of the library system. This was the issue that, ultimately, galvanized the public and council against the mayor. And it was all Doug Ford’s fault.

On the third week of the core-service-review reports, KPMG presented its findings on the library system to the executive committee. Page 76 left the public baying for blood: “The Library Services could be reduced by reducing the number of branches [there were about one hundred] and/or constraining the hours of service.” Doug Ford threw gasoline on the inferno. “I’ve got more libraries in my area than I have Tim Hortons,” he said, referring to the ubiquitous coffee shops. Beloved Canadian author Margaret Atwood poked back on Twitter: “Twin Fordmayor seems to think those who eat Timbits [doughnuts], like me, don’t read, can’t count, & are stupid eh?” Atwood rallied her 220,000-plus Twitter followers to patronize their local library, then hold book club meetings at their local Tim Hortons. Rather than ignore the jab, the mayor’s brother doubled down, saying he would close a library in his ward “in a heartbeat.” And as far as Atwood was concerned, said Doug, “I don’t even know her. If she walked by me, I wouldn’t have a clue who she is.” His advice to Atwood? “Go run in the next election and get democratically elected. And we’d be more than happy to sit down and listen to Margaret Atwood.”

It was the first time Karen Stintz split publicly with the Fords. In a letter to her constituents, she announced, “I value the Toronto Public Library and can assure my constituents that these are not the type of cuts that I will support.” Speaker Frances Nunziata was next, saying that if anything libraries should be better equipped to deliver city services. On July 28, the executive
committee held a marathon twenty-two-hour meeting to hear from the public. Only three of the 169 members of the public who spoke supported cuts.

Rob Ford seemed to be taking it all in stride, but beneath his confident demeanour he was starting to come apart. The mayor couldn’t rely on his own team. His message was being lost. He knew Doug was getting out of control and irritating his staff, but how could he get rid of his own brother? Looking back, two members of the mayor’s staff at that time told me it was apparent the stress was getting to him.

ROB FORD IS STUMBLING
down Front Street near Blue Jays Way, his drenched shirt hanging loose, the collar unbuttoned around his neck, a Slurpee cup in hand. A bachelorette party is on the sidewalk in front of him. He pushes past.

The girls watch as he starts to cross the street. Doesn’t he look familiar …? Then it clicks. “That’s Rob Ford!”

They chase after him, asking for a photo. He seems to say no, waving his arm and muttering “aaaaah.” But the girls crowd around him. Ford’s eyes are shut and he doesn’t quite manage a smile. One of the girls puts her arms around Ford’s neck and asks for someone to take a photo while she kisses his cheek.