They're late.

They're still hammering out their own positions in a room off the auditorium before they can face the chief.

Fifteen minutes go by, half an hour ... Isn't this rather rude?

But Fantino, ramrod straight in his chair, appears not to notice. He stares at his briefing papers, patting them into place.

He's used to this.

 As he recently observed, somewhat wearily, in a radio interview, police must be ``patient'' with civilian overseers.

``We're there long-term,'' he told CBC Radio's Andy Barrie. ``We see governments come and governments go. We see mayors come and mayors go. We see police services boards come and police services boards go. But we just maintain our focus (and) do the best we can with the politics that prevail. People, be it the politicians or be it policy-makers - we have to give them some time to get up to speed.''

 "So we're basically very charitable in that way.''

And so he waits, charitably.

2:15 p.m.

The meeting begins.

Relations between Fantino and board members are polite, excruciatingly so.

 ``I'd be very pleased to do that for the board ... ''

``Most helpful, chief. ... Thank you, chief. We're so grateful.''

Who would guess that below the surface roil such treacherous waters?

Toronto's police chief, always controversial, never shy, often embroiled in controversy, appears embarked on the most dangerous period of his tenure.

He's tangling with the board - his employer - over his very future.

He wants a new contract, maybe he'll get one.

 He's done ``excellent work in some areas,'' says Mayor David Miller.

 Not a good sign.

These are messy politics.

It doesn't get much grittier than to see this kind of warfare, a powerful, seasoned, big-city police chief versus politicians.

The outcome is uncertain.

But reporters do not get leaks about the police chief's contract, hiring at HQ or the inner workings of last year's Fantino-friendlier board, without smelling trouble.

``There's no doubt he's feeling under fire,'' says Councillor Gloria Lindsay Luby, a Fantino fan and former acting board chair. ``He's used to swimming in political waters but, he's going to have to swim pretty hard.''

How times change.

Two quick elections, provincial and municipal, and it's a different world.

Last year, Fantino was everybody's favourite.

He was a front-row guest at an auto-parts plant when former Tory premier Ernie Eves delivered the ``Magna budget,'' with its million dollars for a Toronto police helicopter.

Mel Lastman, former mayor and police board member, personally urged the board to renew his contract until 2007, two years past its March, 2005 expiration, and he entered into quiet negotiations to do just that.

Now, he faces a new Liberal premier (whose government promptly cancelled the chopper), a new mayor, rookie police board members and an actual job performance review.

Add to that, among other controversies, a formal complaint to the board by the Law Union of Ontario about his alleged political activities (not on behalf of any winners) and a push to open up the police budget to meaningful public scrutiny.

Or, as one insider put it, a move away from the tradition that ``the top cheese is the top cheese, period.''

This top cheese is one of the more fascinating characters in Toronto public life.

Perhaps it's an odd description of a guy with a flat, nasal delivery and the exuberance of a Buddha.

But Fantino, 61 and chief since 2000, is a complex man, tenacious, thin-skinned, loyal and shrewd, who melts for his twin baby granddaughters and holds a grudge forever.

He's ``Julie'' to his pals; the ``General'' over at HQ.

Above all, he is a man in love with the police.

Like a little boy.

Friends say he's ``consumed'' by his job.

At a town hall meeting this week, he talked about 14 Division, where he started out on the force, as ``the love of my life.''

He says he's not a player.

``I have purposely stayed out of political commentary,'' Fantino told CFRB last year, around the time he was calling for a federal inquiry into the entire criminal justice system. ``Some of our judges and policy-makers should get a reality check on life,'' he once told a provincial Tory convention..

He won the 2002 chief-executive-of-the-year award from the nation's biggest PR association.

``What we saw was a man who never, ever, shied away from communicating, even when the times got really hard,'' said Gordon McIvor, from the Canadian Public Relations Society, at the gala award dinner at the Royal York.

Perhaps it takes a good communicator to know when it's time to call in a real pro.

At today's police board meeting, a short, graying man in a beautifully tailored blue suit buzzes around Fantino.
He's Mark Pugash, hired from the U.K. as director of corporate communications for the Toronto Police Service.
He reports directly to the chief, in a post which, according to Lindsay Luby, was created by Fantino some time ago and filled last fall.

It's an interesting hire, quietly raising hackles among cops.

Here's this civilian hired at $115,000 to work for the chief when first-class constables slog it out in the line of fire for $66,000.

There's grumbling in the ranks over a salary that could almost cover a couple of the new officers Fantino wants to hire.

Councillor Olivia Chow, a former board member, criticizes a police corporate communications budget of $1.3 million in 2003.

That's reasonable, isn't it?

``A million dollars!??'' She rolls her eyes. ``The mayor of Toronto has one (communications) staffer.''

``We don't have anybody at the police services board,'' says board vice-chair Councillor Pam McConnell. ``We put out a press release last week. I had to write it out myself.'' Lindsay Luby defends hiring Pugash.

What about the police media relations officers, including Sergeant Jim Muscat, already on staff?

``As nice a mouthpiece as he is, Jim is a police officer,'' says the Etobicoke Centre councillor. ``I gather Mark, therefore, must be skilled in communications. There's a difference. I think it is as important for (Fantino) as it is for the City of Toronto. We need good corporate communications, and we have that.''

Problem is, there was a bit of stickiness back in England involving Fantino's new communicator.

A communications snafu.

In his last job as chief press officer for the Kent constabulary, Pugash was named in a libel suit by the BBC which ended in an out-of-court settlement in October, 2002, reportedly $1.6 million in legal fees and damages and an unreserved, public apology from the police.

BBC journalist Donal MacIntyre sued Pugash and two officers over comments about a TV special on conditions in a special-care home, including that the report had been ``misleading.''

Kent police waded into the story when they investigated the report's findings at the home for disabled patients.
The suit was controversial in the U.K. because it was believed to be the first time a libel action against police had succeeded.

Nicholas Armstrong, MacIntyre's lawyer, wrote that it was critical because media organizations had, for so long, found themselves ``on the receiving end of energetic libel litigation by police officers.''

As well, he said, people tend to believe what police representatives say because ``they carry a badge of authority and weight.''

`Let's be absolutely clear. This was a settlement,'' says Pugash. ``You're aware of the distinction between a settlement and a court case?''

Yes, yes, quite right.

``But you still had to apologize and damages had to be paid by the police rather than the BBC.'' 

`He was very ambitious ... extremely dedicated, tireless, tenacious, smart.'

Former chief William McCormack 

Pugash, a lawyer, corrects me: ``Damages were paid by the insurers.''

A Montreal-born Canadian, he says he wanted to come back to Canada, noting that there was ``full disclosure'' with his prospective employer.

There's an elephant in the room which, for this profile, must be acknowledged.

Fantino does not give interviews to the Star.

``It wasn't something he wanted to do,'' says Pugash, of my failed quest which began last October.

He has not done so since a Star series in October, 2002, which, using arrest data, suggested that blacks were treated differently than whites in certain circumstances.

``That's got to tell you something,'' says lawyer Susan Eng, former police board chair who fought her own battles with then-chief William McCormack. ``How can any police chief refuse to speak to the largest newspaper in the country?''

She sees it as public accountability issue.

``He is the chief of police. He is not allowed to sulk.''

But there's another layer.

In February, 1989, Fantino, then staff inspector at 31 Division in North York, released race-related statistics for the Jane-Finch area at a public meeting.

Those statistics, sought for a ``comparative analysis'' by a race relations committee, showed an ``inordinate number of serious crimes involve black suspects.''

The issue exploded, leading to the police board banning police from gathering racial data.

``I did what I did because I was asked,'' Fantino told Toronto Life in 2000.

He'd run the request by his chief, Jack Marks.

``Up to the night before, I checked and rechecked and, yes, it was exactly what they wanted, and it was to be a private meeting in committee. I didn't know the press would be there and, when it hit the fan, someone was needed to walk the plank while others ran for the hills, and shame on them!''

He felt betrayed, deeply wounded.

Friends say he believes it cost him the chief's job on his first run in 1995.

At the time, he was police chief in London, where he served seven years, before becoming York Regional Police chief in 1998.

``It was painfully apparently to me, anyway, that he didn't have a ghost of a chance,'' says McCormack. ``I felt very sorry. He shouldn't have given (the statistics), but he meant well. It haunted him ...`'

In 2002, before the Star published its series, reporters Michelle Shephard and Jennifer Quinn met with Fantino.
Shephard tried to bring up his experience in 1989.

``This is trash ... I'm just disgusted. This is an ambush. Have a nice day, people ... So what are you inferring, that I'm a racist?''

``Give yourselves a shake, people. I tell you, it'll be a long time before you dignify my office.''

Fantino often seems to have a short fuse.

For a couple of hours one night this week, he participates in a town hall meeting at Bishop Marrocco/Thomas Merton Catholic Secondary School in the west end.

People line up for questions and reaction to the chief is mixed, with one man commenting, ``You are the guy!''
Then, Kim Fry, a slim young woman with dark hair, steps to the mike.

She complains about lack of public accountability for the police budget.

``HOLD IT, HOLD IT, HOLD IT,'' yells Fantino. ``You're way off base. WAY OFF BASE. You don't know about the procedure. So you can't make those broad statements. Make us look like we are a bunch of thieves here.''

``I'm, ah, not implying, uh, uh ... `' stammers Fry.

``JUST HOLD ON, HOLD ON,'' barks the chief. ``Our budget is, in fact, examined line-by-line by my boss, which happens to be the police services board. And, by the way, it's their budget, I'm only the manager ... I'm not going to sit here and pretend that we are going to take this kind of criticism.''

What Fry was trying to convey - maybe awkwardly, but it was an intimidating scenario - was that she, a local resident (and member of the Ontario Coalition for Social Justice) feels the public has no input into police budget priorities.

That's the view, too, of one of those bosses of Fantino's. Police board vice-chair McConnell (Toronto Centre-Rosedale) is fighting for more public scrutiny of police budget priorities.

People want more foot patrols, better community policing, she says.

``What's the point?''

Fantino recently asked the board, about opening up the 2004 budget to public review now.

Last Nov. 13, the outgoing police services board rubberstamped a $688 million budget, based on what McConnell calls ``an eight-page, glossy handout.''

That budget is still embroiled in negotiations at City Hall.

But McConnell has a bad taste in her mouth.

``Don't you think it kind of strange that we come in as councillors, who are going to have to decide as members of the police services board, and we have not been briefed on what's in our own budget?'' asks McConnell.

``That will change.''

Fantino inspires loyalty. Conservative Sen. Consiglio DiNino says simply: ``If tomorrow I have to lean on somebody to help me, he'd be one of the first I would call.''

``Julie was in the guard of honour at my wife's funeral. S

heila died three years ago,'' he says.

``He was wonderfully there for me, both he and his wife, Liviana.''

They've been friends for more than 25 years, meeting at volunteer events in Toronto's Italian community.

Fantino arrived here as a boy from Vendoglio, his dad a labourer with no English.

``That's pretty brave stuff, which is why I don't like whining,'' he once told Toronto Life.

He went from a security job at Miracle Mart to the auxiliary police and, finally, in 1968, 14 Division.

``He was very ambitious,'' says former chief McCormack.

As a young plainclothes officer, he was ``extremely dedicated, tireless, tenacious, smart ... If I had a homicide in the division and (Fantino and partner Michael Burke) were on, I knew I had good help. They would turn over every rock.'' 

`This man's a cop. He hates criminals, whether they wear a cop's uniform or a jacket of some other kind.'

Sen. Consiglio DiNino Fantino friend 

Just look at how he spends his holidays, New Year's Eve, for example.

After dinner at Fantino's Woodbridge home, DiNino and Fantino tour the city, swinging by First Night family celebrations at SkyDome.

``All the kids want his autograph. He was a celebrity like I couldn't believe. ''

Then, until 2:30 in the morning, they check out police R.I.D.E. (Reduce Impaired Driving Everywhere) posts.

At a checkpoint on Mt. Pleasant, DiNino recalls a young couple.

 `` `My God, is that the chief?' the guy asks. `I gotta take a picture with the chief,' and the cop tells him, `Get outta here!' But they make a U-turn and come back, and the guy says, `I'm not leaving until we get a picture with the chief.'`'

 ``You know,'' adds DiNino, ``this man's a cop. He hates criminals, whether they wear a cop's uniform or a jacket of some other kind. That's what impresses me most about him.''

``He never stops selling (for the police). Sometimes I have to say, `Julie, just have a glass of wine, and leave it alone.'

`' We're back where we came in, at the board meeting at HQ. It chugs on for more than two hours. The board itself is fractured and wounded. There should be seven members; there are five, chair Alan Heisey, a city appointee, Dr. Benson Lau, named by the province, and three city councillors, McConnell, John Filion (Willowdale) and Case Ootes (Toronto-Danforth).

The province is expected to fill a provincial vacancy soon.

As well, a provincial slot remains open for former chair Norm Gardner, sidelined pending the ruling of an investigation into his acceptance of a .45-calibre handgun from a private dealer, plus 5,700 rounds of ammunition from police stores.

Maybe he'll be back, maybe not.

Moreover, Heisey could be off the board.

He awaits the outcome of a review by retired Judge Sydney Robins over allegations he made improper inquiries about a child pornography case to a sex-crimes unit officer.

Stakes are high.

Who sits on the board in coming months determines Fantino's fate.

Stay tuned ...

There's another wrinkle to contract machinations.

If the board doesn't extend Fantino's contract, he'll have to step down as vice-president of the International Association of Chiefs of Police.

He was elected to the position, which hinges on his chief's job, at the organization's annual meeting in Philadelphia last year.

The conference kicked off on Monday, Oct. 20. That day, horrible news broke in Toronto of the abduction of 10-year-old Cecilia Zhang.

``I wish I was there,'' Fantino said in that Tuesday's Globe and Mail, from Philadelphia, where he was slated to run for the vice-president's position later in the week.

It is a three-year post.

Fantino took it with little more than half that time left on his Toronto contract.

He didn't ask for board approval, according to former member Councillor Frances Nunziata, who argues, ``It has nothing to do with the board.''

Others disagree.

Here's where critics say Fantino is unclear on the concept of civilian authority by his employer.

``It is putting the cart before the horse,'' says lawyer Eng. ```You are entitled to hold that position because you are chief. You don't get to be chief because you hold that position.

``It represents very fundamentally his view of civilian governance, even to the point of his own job, never mind the police budget stuff I care about.''

Fantino won't comment, according to Pugash.

The IACP post is ``an honour, a privilege and an accomplishment,'' says Nunziata (York South-Weston).

``It's not the only reason he should remain as chief, but it's an important reason in itself.''

Gardner, a Fantino friend, says Fantino ``took on the obligation to the IACP,'' and it would be ``much more helpful'' if the police board would co-operate.

``It's quite a distinction for Toronto, `' says Gardner. ``He made quite an impression on the American chiefs of police. They set up the position just for him.''

Well, no, says IACP executive director Dan Rosenblatt, from Falls Church, Va., headquarters, near Washington, D.C.

He says Fantino ran unopposed.

The IACP has close to 20,000 members - roughly 85 per cent American - and a hefty legislative lobby on police issues on Capitol Hill.

``I'm one of his biggest fans,'' says Rosenblatt. ``He is a man of great principle, and an honourable man who works very hard. Julian brings to the table an international perspective on law enforcement issues.''

Fantino often comments on international perceptions of Canada.

``South of the border, Canada is seen as a sort of strainer, leaking from a thousand holes,'' he told a Mike Harris Tory convention, two weeks before taking over as chief. ``In more colloquial terms, I call it Swiss cheese, a place where crime really does pay.''

He has described his country as an ``object of international scorn and ridicule ... a laughingstock among nations'' for not being tougher on organized crime and child pornographers.

``I can tell you, with a lot of shame, that even Third World countries are more civilized and conscientious than Canada in protecting children.''

But now, with cold political winds blowing, perhaps Fantino will abandon his fight for a new contract.

He's a proud man.

Why take the risk he might not prevail?

``I think he'll still go for it,'' says McCormack. ``I think he's crazy. The pressure is extremely high, I know what it's like ... but he's determined.''

What else would he do?

``That's the question of the century,'' says DiNino. ``Because I've posed that to him. There's no damn way he can sit back and do nothing. He's got to be one of the most active people I know, physically and mentally. ``I said during Christmas, `So, okay, what's your next career?' He says, `Well, offer me a job.'

He was joking.

Then, he says, `I don't know. We'll worry about that when we get there.'

``You want my opinion, I certainly think he'd make a great politician.''

LINDA DIEBEL
Toronto Star
Feb. 7, 2004
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