By any measure he’s a terrible candidate for mayor. But his obsession with cost-cutting and his contempt for City Hall have pushed him to the front of the pack. The unlikely allure of Rob Ford
Follow the leader: Ford has downplayed his family’s wealth and crafted an Everyman persona
Fifty-five barbecues.
Over the summer, Rob Ford, aspirant to the office of mayor of Toronto, ample, happy and flushed, ate his way through 55 orgies of hot dogs and hamburgers and handshakes and photo ops. Five he hosted personally; two were fundraisers in his mother’s backyard, attended by loyal supporters and political heavyweights, such as the finance minister Jim Flaherty. The rest were held by community groups and political organizations like the Ontario PC Youth Association. As the weeks passed, the barbecues grew in size, and the cheers for Ford’s speeches longer and louder.
Ask anyone in Ford Country why they plan to vote for him and you get variations on the same litany: he answers my phone calls; he helped me when I needed help; he doesn’t waste taxpayers’ money. At one event I attended, held in a plaza on Dixon Road, Wilma, an intimidating woman in a faux leopard hat, told me she supports Ford because “we need a damn housecleaning at city hall.” Twenty-five-year-old Richard values Ford’s campaign to strip city councillors of perks, like free TTC passes and free parking, and supports Ford’s opposition to the land transfer tax because his wheelchair-bound father needs a new home, but he can’t afford it because of the tax.
The object of all this public affection is a big man but somehow not an imposing one. Ford is a serial smiler who looks up slightly when he speaks. When he shows his teeth, his eyes vanish into a haze of blond, almost albino lashes, and you’re left with the disconcerting feeling that he’s not actually looking at you. There’s something preeningly feline about him, too—he has a tendency to sweep one hand back over his hair (a rather lovely winter wheat in colour), or stroke his cheeks from side to side, perhaps because they are often sweaty.
By the end of the summer, polls showed that Ford had pulled ahead of George Smitherman, his only serious competition. Later this month, we could all wake up newly minted inhabitants of Ford Country. There are many who find that a very scary prospect. To them, Ford is a foul-mouthed buffoon with a long history of embarrassing gaffes and no grander vision of Toronto than a city that could be run more cheaply. His fans, on the other hand, can’t wait to see city hall wrenched from the grasp of big spenders and put into the hands of an ordinary guy who understands the problems facing ordinary people. That man, their man, is Rob Ford.
Mass appeal: “It’s not Bay Street or the Albany Club that’s behind me,” Ford says. “It’s Main Street”
He is a lifelong resident of Etobicoke, the area west of the Humber River that constitutes a kind of buffer state between Toronto and Mississauga. There’s money there—central and southeast Etobicoke in particular—and the meandering side streets off Royal York Road constitute a world of spacious homes, treed avenues, and expansive parkland and golf courses. The feeling changes dramatically as you head north. The neighbourhood of Rexdale is immigrant territory, a down-at-the-heels, dense tract of apartment blocks, strip plazas and industrial parks; parts of it lie directly in the flight path of planes heading for Pearson.
Ford grew up in a secluded enclave off Royal York Road near Chapman Valley Park, the youngest of four kids. His widowed mother, Diane, still lives in the same house. The property isn’t grand, though it has a three-car garage, the front yard is attractively landscaped, and it has the benefit of a large backyard butting up against the park, with a pool and children’s playhouse. For decor, Diane Ford favours Asian urns and statuary; there are large metal urns flanking the garage, several Chinese-style lion statues in the backyard and an American-style eagle posed menacingly behind some bushes in the front yard. Rob Ford’s own home is a modest bungalow in the nearby Edenbridge neighbourhood.
Gerarl Hannon’s reference to Rob Ford’s feeling his face gestures as “feline” seems misappropriated. Rather, Mr. Hannon’s betrayal of the Ford family by gaining their trust to enter their home and freely interview them, then publishing such as an ugly portrait of the man who many love and hope will be their future mayor, is, indeed, feline.
October 23, 2010 at 9:20 pm | by MilitaMilita
This was an election of “Who sucks the least”. Good luck Toronto, you’re going to need it. For your sake, I hope “Stopping the Gravy Train” actually has some plans behind it because apparently it’s the solution to every problem and the answer to every question he’s asked. If he can govern as well as he can repeat campaign slogans, he’ll be great.
November 2, 2010 at 12:22 pm | by BWhy do you have a pedophile named Gerald Hannon writing articles for you?
November 12, 2011 at 2:43 pm | by dddI don’t know what is more dneerssipg, The electoral history of Mississauga, or reading this post and realizing that Toronto is doomed.
February 12, 2012 at 7:35 am | by bimbo