'Olympic curse' doesn't faze Furlong
The self-effacing Vanoc CEO has survived scandals, snafus and exhaustion by believing in his quest
By Miro Cernetig, Vancouver Sun
October 30, 2009
Those who start the quest to bring the Olympics to their country soon hear about the dream's darker side -- "the Olympic Curse." It's the bad juju that seems to befall those who grasp for the torch.
Simply put, most executives who start an Olympic bid rarely get to finish the job, struck down either by scandal, organizational snafus, exhaustion, failing health or a shift in the political winds that squeezes them out before the Olympic cauldron is ever fired up in their hometown.
John Furlong's certainly aware of the curse. So are most of the 1,300 employees he leads inside the Vancouver Olympic Organizing Committee. But with 106 days to go before the Games begin, this lanky, soft-spoken Irish immigrant knows he's survived it.
When the Olympic torch touches down in Victoria this morning, Furlong will be there, too, a little surprised himself that he's survived his nine-year marathon to bring the 2010 Winter Olympics to Canada.
"I know many of the guys [they're almost always men in the IOC world] who have done this and they have left the project," says Furlong, sitting inside his office in a rare moment of repose, the sun setting into a bank of golden clouds as another day ends. "They were all good people. They gave it everything they had. It exhausted them. It wore them out. This is a tough project and it lasts a long, long time."
Many were betting Furlong wouldn't survive the curse, either. Somewhat shy and self-effacing, he was a surprise pick -- some initially predicted an ill-advised one -- to lead Vancouver's Olympic bid and the Games itself. He had no experience in running a complex, $1.7-billion organization like the Vancouver Olympic Organizing Committee. He was also a political neophyte, running Vancouver's Arbutus Club for Vancouver's elite, hardly preparation for the internecine politics of the IOC.
Furlong also lacks a super-sized ego, often considered requisite for an Olympic CEO to deal with the International Olympic Committee officials, heads of state, corporate tycoons and star athletes and their coaches, all of whom come with a modern Olympics.
The first few times I saw Furlong, I suspected he might not last, either. He always seemed slightly strained, drawn and near exhaustion. There was a sense of siege about him. The Olympic curse never seemed very far away.
Take the news conference, in 2006, where he had to offer up the first signs there may be trouble with Vanoc's budget. In what is a familiar ritual in Olympic cities, Furlong announced construction overruns on Olympic venues. He asked Ottawa and the provincial government to kick in more money. Ottawa and Victoria agreed, but vowed there would be no more money coming.
Then there was the controversy over Vanoc's portion of the closing ceremonies at the 2006 Olympics in Turin, where lush, green Vancouver seemed to get lost in Canadian images of the arctic ice and snow that dominated the show. Furlong was out in front again, defending the performance, citing what has become his mantra: "This isn't just Vancouver's Games. It's Canada's Games."
But some powerful people in British Columbia were clearly miffed, Premier Gordon Campbell included. "I thought there were lots of stereotypes that are not what the new Canada is," the Premier told The Sun in 2006. "Ice fishing is one of the parts of Canada. But it's not the only part. When you're inviting people, you don't have to tell them this is a cold place. I think there's lots we can do and we'll improve."
Furlong didn't back down. He told the premier the focus of the Olympics is national in scope. Campbell seemed to acquiesce, even when he was denied his request to make the white Spirit Bear an Olympic mascot.
But the job -- which Furlong says for almost eight years has left him less than an hour a day to himself for reading before bed -- was taking a toll, even on his carefully guarded private life.
For eight years, there were calls at all hours. At dinners. During holidays. In bed. His Blackberry never stopped buzzing. He's travelled more than four million miles in the air, meaning he rarely got to see his children and grandchildren. His marriage foundered and he and his wife Gail became estranged. "Separated," he's quick to point out when I mistakenly referred to it as a divorce.
"I think the Games were hard on our family," he acknowledges, a rare comment on his personal life. "It just isn't easy. It's extremely tense all the time. It isn't easy for any of us here." After a pause, though, he reflects back on his separation, anxious not to blame the Olympics for a private matter. "It wasn't because of the Games."
If all that wasn't enough, the global financial crisis exploded around him. At that point, Furlong should have been basking in the news that all the Olympic venues were being built ahead of time and on budget. But the crisis suddenly meant some major Olympic corporate sponsors, crucial partners in balancing Vanoc's books, were in danger of reneging on deals, blowing a massive hole in the budget.
Furlong was forced to go back to his staff and begin a round of deep cost-cutting, everything from cancelling medal ceremonies in Whistler to downgrading the grade of paper in tour guides. His hours only got longer and the strain on his face was visible.
It finally took its toll. This time last year, many thought Furlong was on the verge of exhaustion. Friends worried about this health and, finally, he had to take some time off. "At Christmas last year I was sick, and happy to be sick," he says. "Between Christmas and New Year I just stayed in bed and tried to get healthy. The last year has been exhausting. There's no doubt about it."
If the Olympic curse seemed ready to claim another Olympic CEO, it was just about then. Asked how he thought he survived, Furlong puts it mostly down to his Irish work ethic. He says he put his head down, recalling the three words from the immigration officer he met when entering Canada in 1974: "Make us better."
"You can't half do this," he says. "This isn't a project that goes away. I think one of the reasons I've been able to manage it, I've just taken the position that it is what it is. I'm going to do what I have to do, and someday it will be over. To be honest, it's tough on everybody."
After observing Furlong for more than four years, I'd never question that his tireless tenacity is a big reason he's hung onto Vanoc's top job until the end. But there are a few other traits, some that don't pop out at first -- or more precisely, that Furlong doesn't boast about -- that have played even bigger roles in getting him to the Olympic finish line.
The first is Furlong's fierce, though carefully hidden, immigrant pride. It's the fuel that drives him to prove himself to others. While there's a self-effacing, old-world charm to Furlong -- he is known to literally give someone an Olympic jacket off his back if they happen to say they admire it -- he's got an ego. And he loathes being sold short.
"I think all of us ... don't like being underestimated," he says in his Irish lilt. "I didn't think I'd be in this position. But it was not easy to read all of that and be underestimated. But if you think about successful people, and people who have done good things, everyone has to start somewhere."
Furlong also has a disarming humility. In the last eight years he has found himself in the company of prime ministers, presidents and premiers. Thanks to running the Olympics, he's now one of the movers and shakers in Vancouver. A few weeks ago he even took to the podium at the United Nations, to introduce a feel-good resolution calling for countries to use the 2010 Olympics to promote world peace.
"That was amazing," he says, breaking into a smile. "I wish my parents were alive to have seen that."
But the limelight isn't what he craves: "I'd rather do this with a paper bag over my head rather than the way we're doing it. I often get credit for work I don't do."
Furlong's reticence to hog the spotlight is what led him to a leadership style that is a key element of Vanoc's success. Unlike many past Olympic organizations, Vancouver's organizing committee has never been centred around one personality. Furlong constructed a decentralized organization, hiring people such as Dan Doyle, a real estate expert, and Dave Cobb, an executive at Orca Bay who knew cutting-edge techniques to sell and market tickets and run key elements of the operation. Inside Vanoc he's allowed fierce debate and given all executives wide autonomy with one, unyielding stipulation: "At the end of the day, we have to speak with one voice, for the Olympics and for Canada."
But if I had to choose the one, over-riding quality that kept John Furlong from succumbing to the Olympic curse, it's this: He's a hopeless, you might even say sentimental, idealist.
I learned about that one night in Beijing, when we were having dinner during the 2008 Summer Games. He was eating an after-dinner ice cream -- he doesn't drink -- and the conversation turned to music.
"I've just gotten the most incredible Chinese CD set," he gushed.
"Oh, what's that?" I asked.
"It's a boxed collection of all the Chinese Olympic songs," he said. "I've got a great collection of the Olympic songs from the open and closing ceremonies. I've almost got them all."
I started to laugh, thinking he was pulling my leg. Who would do such a thing?
"They are really magnificent, truly inspiring. You should hear them."
A few days ago, just hours after writing the eulogy for his friend, the developer Jack Poole, who pushed him to run the 2010 Olympic bid and backed him in the tough periods, I pressed Furlong again on the Olympic music. Was he having me on?
Furlong blushed. Then he said he'd been feeling down after the death of Poole, who became almost a father figure. So he'd dipped into his collection and picked out a number from the 2000 Sydney Games, Heroes Live Forever. "I've listened to it about 25 times," he said, his eyes starting to mist up. "I find it inspiring."
That moment I realized why Furlong has survived the ups and downs of getting an Olympics to Vancouver. Like all great business leaders, he not only believes in his product, he loves it.
What Furlong will do after the Olympics Games are over is anyone's guess. A seat on the IOC is possible. He'd be a shoe-in for a federal cabinet post for any party if he ran for office. He's already been head-hunted by corporations, but turned down the offers. A few have suggested he might take a crack at running for mayor of Vancouver.
But Furlong says it's time to get out of the spotlight. "It's hard for me to live under that glow. If I could do it more quietly, I'd prefer it. So when the Games are over, I'm planning to live a much quieter life. I think I'm going to write a bit."
The subject?
Inspirational leadership. He figures he's learned enough to fill a volume or two. Hard to argue with that.
mcernetig@vancouversun.com
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