A two-day visitation in the rotunda of City Hall. A procession led by an honour guard through the streets of downtown. A big funeral at St. James Cathedral.
Is Toronto making too much fuss over the death of Rob Ford? This, let's not forget, was the disgraced mayor who became an international punchline and turned the city council chamber into a circus tent. Those who chanted "best mayor ever" on Wednesday were airbrushing away the hot mess he made of city government.
Love him or hate him, though, Mr. Ford was the mayor of the country's biggest city for four full years. He won election by a convincing margin in 2010 and still had legions of fiercely devoted followers when illness forced him to pull out of the contest for mayor in 2014. Seldom does a mayor die so soon after leaving office, or so young. Mr. Ford was just 46 when he succumbed to cancer on March 22. The occasion called for a public send-off, and the one he got seemed entirely fitting – a mix of Ford Nation rally and formal service.
A lone piper walked out of the front doors of City Hall to begin the day's memorial. Behind him came a casket draped in a City of Toronto flag, accompanied by a police guard. The crowd that had been waiting outside clapped, cheered and chanted slogans, Ford Nation style.
Under a warm early spring sun, the funeral limousines moved off slowly on their trip to St. James. The Ford family followed on foot, a group of city councillors right behind. The general public joined in. One group of women dressed as if for church sang When the Saints Go Marching In. A man with a "Ford Mayor" banner shouted "Mayor Rob Ford forever."
The procession passed the Osgoode Hall courthouses where lawyers once jousted in a conflict-of-interest case against Mr. Ford. It passed the reflecting pool in Nathan Phillips Square where, when it was covered over to form a makeshift football field, Mr. Ford took a much-watched spill. It passed Old City Hall, where one of Mr. Ford's dodgy pals stood trial.
The throng that followed along was much like the ones that turned up for Ford events in the glory days, a mosaic of ages and ethnicities with lots of oddballs mixed in. One guy brought a sentimental poem, written in Mr. Ford's voice, that ended, "Remember me always, with my sweet Rob Ford's grin." One disabled woman came in her scooter with a little dog in the front basket wearing a Maple Leafs jersey. As the procession reached St. James, a woman in a black Sunday hat shouted, "Rob Ford, son of God," as she pressed through the crowd to try to get a seat inside.
Scores of people who couldn't fit into the church watched the proceedings from overflow tents on the lawn. Mr. Ford's young daughter Stephanie, surprisingly poised, gave a touching talk about a her Dad that included the line of the day: "He's the mayor of heaven now." His brother Doug told a priceless story about the time Rob delivered submarine sandwiches for a friend who ran a sub restaurant and didn't have anyone to make a late-night delivery. When Doug told his brother it was silly for the mayor of Toronto to be delivering subs, Rob boasted about the support he won from the surprised people who ordered the sandwiches and found the mayor at their door.
Many who watched will have found the whole business over the top and a little blinkered. It was almost as if the whole crack scandal never happened. Doug even made a sort of political pitch, vowing that Ford Nation would live on.
But Mr. Ford's faithful deserved the chance to say a public goodbye. Mr. Ford's status as mayor, if not his performance in the job, made a formal farewell necessary and proper. It was right to acknowledge the loss suffered by his family and right to give the public a chance to join in remembering him. It was right to acknowledge the bond he managed to forge with many Torontonians on the edges.
Mourners waved their little Rob Ford flags as they watched his hearse move by. A group chanted "Rob Ford for the people." Their champion is gone.
Marcus Gee