Patriot Hearts Read Online Free PDF

manage the headache pain. Most days it’s tolerable; some days it’s terrible. But it is always there, a constant reminder of a heady time in my life when it all started.
    SHORTLY AFTER TRUDEAU’S visit I moved to Nanaimo, on Vancouver Island, to take the job of regional director of parks and recreation. The centrepiece of the region’s recreational properties was a new multiplex in Nanaimo called Beban Park. It had an ice rink, swimming pool, playground and tennis courts, among other amenities. It was losing money by the sackful and had become a bit of an albatross for the city. It was my job to turn that situation around.
    I figured it would take an entrepreneurial spirit to accomplish this goal. I quickly concluded that we needed to be in the marketplace competing for various entertainment acts that were coming to town. And if I could up the ante a bit and somehow convince bigger names to visit our blue-collar town, we could really turn things around. I didn’t know a thing about staging concerts but I would find out, and before long we were attracting the likes of singers Johnny Cash and Glen Campbell.
    My biggest early coup was landing the Beach Boys, whom I booked to play at a local car racing track. We had to build the band a $25,000 stage, a lot of money at the time. Still, the concert made a six-figure profit, and I was learning a lot about the entertainment business.
    I also got the city involved in the fight business, another thing I was clueless about until I started doing a bit of homework. In the late ’70s and early ’80s, cities around Canada were staging amateur boxing events called So You Think You Are Tough. There was a kid from Nanaimo who had built up a bit of a legend and had turned professional. His name was Gord Racette. A real-life Rocky, Racette was a security guard by day and a serious brawler by night. He had had success at the professional level in fights throughout the Pacific Northwest, and his exploits were often written about in the local paper. I’m not sure where the idea came from, but I pitched a crazy notion to Racette’s manager, Tony Dowling: a fight between the reigning Canadian heavyweight champ at the time, Trevor Berbick, and the hometown hero, Racette. We would stage it at Frank Crane Arena, and it would be a smash success. At least in my head it would be.
    But I would need to convince Berbick’s camp it was a good idea and not something that would sully the boxer’s reputation. I thought a hefty paycheque might persuade him. So I jetted off to Halifax to meet Berbick’s people, knowing that I was completely out of my league. We met at a local hotel and I laid out my proposition: Berbick would get $100,000 and Racette, $30,000. Berbick’s camp said no deal and ranted on and on about needing more. I wasn’t prepared to offer a cent more, so I figured I’d flown across the country for no reason. After hours of high drama and banter, I told them I was sorry we couldn’t make a deal and left. It was around 4 AM by this point and I had a flight in five hours. I decided to hop in the shower to wake up. I wasn’t in it five seconds when there was a loud knock on my door. I grabbed a towel and answered it. Standing there was one of the guys who had been in Berbick’s room, a six-foot-five-inch bruiser himself. He said Berbick’s gang wanted to talk again.
    I went downstairs and Berbick’s lawyer started haggling again over the take. I said, “Look, I told you that it was my best offer and I wasn’t kidding.” With that I got up to leave. Berbick walked over to the table, grabbed the contract and signed it. “We’re on,” he said.
    I couldn’t believe it. Nor could most of the people back in Nanaimo when I phoned with the news. The fight sold out within hours, and folks still talk about it today. Berbick won by a TKO in the eleventh round, and after it was over he knew he’d been in a battle.
    BY THE SPRING of 1982, the economy had gone in the tank and mill towns