Though he was born into Toronto aristocracy and has spent his entire adult life as a political, corporate and charitable titan, John Tory has no airs about him. He is plain-spoken, unimposing and unfailingly friendly. They are acquired traits—he hasn’t always been this at ease in public—but he has honed them into useful political assets. They are especially handy in awkward situations, like when he attended a community barbecue in May to raise funds for the funeral of Jordan Manners, the 15-year-old fatally shot at C. W. Jefferys Collegiate. In the centre of the courtyard sat some makeshift tables and chairs, which were largely empty, since they were in the most uncomfortable place in the compound; a horde of (mostly white) media had formed a ring about 50 feet away, their cameras and microphones pointing toward the tables, like snipers waiting for someone to cross their path. The few dozen well-wishers in attendance avoided the central tables, preferring instead to mill about behind the cameras or next to the DJ spinning reggae.

Into this discomfiting scene walked Tory, accompanied by his wife, Barbara Hackett. He immediately did what most of the journalists seemed afraid to do, which was merely to employ some fundamental social graces: he approached a small group of people, introduced himself, and asked if he could speak to a member of Manners’ family. After he’d passed on his sympathies, he spoke with the media, who were visibly relieved that a Recognized Talking Head had shown up to bridge the two solitudes. Then he left, without lingering and without fanfare. On the way to his next event, he reflected on the appearance. “I think, when people watch TV, the footage that comes from some corner of Toronto is treated no differently than the footage that comes from Afghanistan or Iraq: it’s just on TV, and it seems to be happening some other place,” he said. “There is a gratitude that comes with your presence. What counts is that you’re there just to say, ‘I watched it on TV and it moved me and I wanted to come in person to say that I’m sorry you’re going through this.’ ”

Despite his kind words and manners, it’s hard not to assume that Tory is using tra­gedy to score points with voters. And while it’s true the optics are good, the political calculus is not quite so crass. Tory makes a habit of attending these events. In the three years since he became leader of the Ontario Progressive Conservative Party, he has attended dozens of community events, each in memory of yet another slain black youth, as well as about half a dozen funerals. No other political leader—neither Liberal Premier Dalton McGuinty, nor Ontario NDP Leader Howard Hampton, nor NDP-leaning mayor David Miller—can lay claim to a similar record of attendance or interest. Mind you, they arguably don’t have to: established political wisdom holds that Liberals and New Democrats by their very nature care deeply about minorities and the plight of the disadvantaged. Tory also cares, but he has to work harder than his competition because most people believe that Conservatives, as Liberal strategist Warren Kinsella puts it, have “tiny black hearts.”

This perception has become so entrenched that it’s jarring to realize just how recently it developed. John Tory represents a less strident brand of conservatism that was once common in this country—one that favours free markets and fiscal prudence, but also believes in social justice and the positive power of government. It’s called Red Toryism, a moniker that has nothing to do with Tory’s family name but is synonymous with his views. It’s the political philosophy whose roots stretch back to Sir John A. Macdonald and the very invention of Canada. In the 1970s and ’80s, during the Bill Davis era in Ontario, it was known as the Big Blue Machine: the ideal combination of organizational strength, political savvy and well-managed, moderate government. In the 1980s, Brian Mulroney borrowed Davis’s formula and his brain trust, riding the Big Blue Machine to two successive federal majority governments. Today, however, few people in Canada equate conservatism with moderation. Federally, the party has taken the Progressive out of its name. Provincially, Mike Harris’s Common Sense Revolution remade the party into one of ideological purity. And the Big Blue Machine of capital-P Progressive Conservatism has been reduced to rusty scraps and popped springs. John Tory has been carrying that broken-down heap on his shoulders since the defeat of the federal PCs in 1993. He is determined to see it rebuilt. He is probably its last hope.