Daniel Veniez is a Vancouver-based businessman. He served as senior adviser to three cabinet ministers under prime minister Brian Mulroney from 1985 to 1989 and 1991 to 1992.
As a member of ministerial staffs during the premiership of Brian Mulroney, I worked with many public servants of exceptional talent and quality. One such official was Bob Ward. His son, Sean – eight years old at the time – was dying of leukemia in the Ottawa Children’s Hospital. Unbeknownst to his parents, Sean told the Children’s Wish Foundation that he wanted to meet the prime minister. And one evening, Mr. Mulroney and his wife, Mila, visited Sean, spending more than an hour with him in spirited conversation.
A couple of days later, the PMO press office fielded an inquiry from a Canadian Press reporter who sought confirmation of the visit. Mr. Mulroney’s personal popularity was in the teens at the time, and the government’s, at barely 25 per cent. The beleaguered press office couldn’t believe its luck: here was a golden opportunity to make the prime minister look more human, for a change.
But Mr. Mulroney tersely refused: “Tell them there’s no story here.” He didn’t want to exploit this for political advantage. It was never reported.
Sean passed away a few months later. That’s when Mr. Mulroney was informed that Sean’s dad, Bob, indirectly worked for him at the Privy Council Office. He called Bob to talk about Sean and how privileged he and Mila were to have spent time with him. At a time of unspeakable pain and grief, that act of kindness profoundly moved the Ward family.
It is hardly the only quiet act of kindness I’ve witnessed from the late leader. In 1989, Bernard Valcourt, a New Brunswick MP and minister of consumer and corporate affairs, crashed his motorcycle after having one drink too many. It was a stupid, reckless and avoidable accident that almost cost Mr. Valcourt his life, and resulted in the loss of an eye. He resigned from cabinet and apologized publicly and privately to Mr. Mulroney, and politically, he appeared fatally wounded. It would have been easy for the prime minister to move on, but that’s not what he did. Instead, he called Mr. Valcourt’s doctor daily for updates on his condition. Mr. Mulroney invited him to stay at the guest house at Harrington Lake, telling him that the quiet would help him recuperate. Mr. Valcourt took him up on the invitation, and every evening before dinner with his family, Mr. Mulroney would check in on him for an hour. Over the course of a few months, they talked about everything – except Mr. Valcourt’s political future, which never came up. Seven months later, Mr. Valcourt was back in cabinet.
Bernard once described to me how Mr. Mulroney had nurtured the recovery of his mental health and confidence, which had taken a beating. “Brian saved my life,” he said. “I would never have made it without him.”
I got to know Mr. Mulroney myself, after his retirement, and I would pay him the occasional visit. He had returned to Montreal and so had I, and bonded further over the premature deaths of our close mutual friends, Bernard Roy and George S. Petty.
In 1997, George – the founder of Tembec Industries and Repap Enterprises, and my boss at the time there – was going through an excruciating period. Change had gripped the global forest products industry, and we were caught in the middle. I called Mr. Mulroney, told him that George was despondent, and asked if he wouldn’t mind giving him a ring. Thirty minutes later, he called to tell me that he’d invited George to have breakfast with him at his home in Westmount. The next morning, George arrived late for a meeting with his management team and walked in beaming: “I just had breakfast with Brian Mulroney. He told me about being in almost single digits in the polls before winning the second-largest majority in history. Hell, we can do this, too, boys! Let’s get to work!” He was a different man after spending just a couple of hours with Brian.
Mr. Mulroney’s tenure as prime minister was marked by scandal and crisis, transformative policy changes, an unrelenting and ruthlessly cynical opposition, an often-hostile press, and basement-level poll numbers. The issues the government tackled over its two terms were enormous and often wildly unpopular. But miraculously, the Progressive Conservative caucus – at one point the largest in Canadian history – remained united and cohesive. He never failed to calm the nerves of his anxious MPs and ministers who would come back from their Wednesday morning caucus meeting ready to do battle.
If the velocity and significance of national and global events characterized Mr. Mulroney’s time in power, small gestures revealed his unfailing sensitivity and generosity. His gestures, always thoughtful and compassionate, were often subtle – and yet, to those on the receiving end, overwhelming in their grace and sincerity. He deployed his charm, intelligence, and empathy as vital instruments of governance and statecraft. None of this was an act, contrived, cynical or fake. It was real and authentic.
That was who I knew; that was who he was. Canada’s vital national interests at home and abroad greatly benefited from those remarkable gifts, and will for generations to come.
Do you have a favourite memory from meeting Brian Mulroney?
The Globe and Mail wants to hear from readers about their stories and meetings with Mr. Mulroney, who was known as much for his charm as his political savvy. Where and when did you meet him? What do you remember most about that experience? Share your experience below.