Pat MacAdam on Brian Mulroney

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From today’s Ottawa Sun:

When I look back at Brian Mulroney’s roller-coaster life since his 1993 resignation, I think of phrases from Francis Thompson’s poem The Hound of Heaven.

Brian has been hounded by malicious innuendos “down the nights and down the days….down the arches of the years; down the labyrinthine ways.”

We have been friends since September 1955, at St. F.X. He was Brian or “Bones.” When he was sworn in as prime minister 29 years later, he became “Sir” or “Prime Minister” — as a mark of respect. He still has that respect.

One of his cardinal virtues is he has always been there for family and friends. When his father died, he became the breadwinner for his mother and brother and sisters.

He ensured his mother was comfortable in an apartment in the Gleneagles, up the hill from Sherbrooke St.

After his leadership loss in 1976, he had his pick of senior positions — Standard Brands, NHL presidency, et al. When he shook the plum tree, Iron Ore Company of Canada was his choice.

I sometimes ask myself why he would want to leave IOC for politics. When he cut his deal with Iron Ore, Bob Anderson, IOC’s chairman, asked if there was “anything else.”

Brian’s answer was that every director around the boardroom table was a millionaire and he would like to be one too.

Passed!

I have no idea what his salary was at IOC but I suspect he took a 50%-75% cut to serve as PM. At IOC, he had a private air force — a seven-passenger DeHavilland 127 jet, an executive Viscount and a fleet of other prop planes.

He had memberships in exclusive clubs and access to a smashing trout fishing camp in Labrador, accessible only by floatplanes. The camp had two guides on staff and their wives provided us with gourmet meals.

He was the toast of Montreal. One day, Brian, MP Bob Coates and I walked into the Beaver Club at the Queen E. and every head in the room snapped up.

At a Toronto fundraiser for Claude Bennett, he joked he was in politics for “the recognition.” He said it was an exhilarating feeling to walk through a hotel lobby, see heads turn and hear people say: “There goes Bryce Malooney.”

Four years later, in 1980, we were in Bucharest, Romania, pitching iron ore pellets and concentrates at the invitation of Nicolae Ceaucescu. Our 20-minute audience stretched beyond an hour.

Ceaucescu said: “Mr. Mulroney, when Richard Nixon was here, he was in disgrace. He lost the presidency to John Kennedy and California governor to Pat Brown. He sat in that very chair you are sitting in. He didn’t give up. Don’t you give up either. Mr. Mulroney.”

Two years ago, Brian and I were in a limo in New York. He was taking a shuttle to Washington to have breakfast with Sen. Ted Kennedy and I was returning to Ottawa.

He mused, wistfully, “New York is my town.”

I can understand why Caroline, Ben, Mark and Nicholas attended American colleges but I always thought Brian and Mila would move to New York because most of Brian’s professional life was in the U.S.

I was with him in New York when he delivered a speech to a packed audience of agri-bankers in the Rainbow Room at the top of Rockefeller Center. It was a balmy evening. I dismissed our driver and we walked five blocks back to the St. Regis Hotel.

Every 10 feet some smiling person who wanted to shake his hand stopped us.

“Who are these people, Brian? Canadians?”

“No, Americans.”

“How do they recognize you?”

“Don’t forget, J.P., I was prime minister for nine years and I delivered the eulogy at Ronald Reagan’s funeral.”

I was tempted to say “maybe they mistook your chin for Jay Leno’s,” but I didn’t want to rain on his Fifth Avenue parade.

Back in the hotel, he fielded phone calls from Condoleezza Rice and Ted Kennedy. Then, he asked me if I had seen the New York Times that day. There was an article about a blue-chip committee of 30 former U.S. presidents, senators and governors past and present and leading Fortune 500 CEOs formed to raise money for a 9/11 memorial.

The names of Martin Brian Mulroney and a British peer were the only non-Americans on the list of 30.

I was with him in Washington for a speech to a roomful of pension fund managers — clients of the Thayer Group. There was probably $300 billion-$500 billion in the room.

William Cohen, Thayer’s chairman, mayor of Bangor, Maine congressman, senator and former secretary of defence, introduced Brian. I was stunned by the powerful introduction. I looked over to make sure Brian hadn’t passed away between the soup and the salad and Bill was delivering his eulogy.

Next up was Thayer director Jack Kemp, Buffalo Bills quarterback, congressman, cabinet secretary, vice-presidential candidate. He out-did Bill Cohen praising Brian. Then came President George Bush the elder’s campaign manager, Frank Zerbe, another Thayer director. He left Cohen and Kemp behind with his eloquent praise. My head would have exploded.

I will never know why Brian didn’t move to New York to soar with the eagles instead of remaining in Canada to walk among the turkeys at the Oliphant inquiry.

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