photograph by
getty images
December 2018 toronto life 57
daughters, Krista, Kayla, Kara and Kyla; and their four cats. It
also means, perhaps more importantly, the extended Ford
family. The late patriarch, Doug Sr., of course, was a bootstrap-
ping businessman who made millions with the company he
co-founded, Deco Labels. His wife, Diane, was doting and
demanding. Ford likes to refer to his father, whom he reveres,
as a “straight shooter.” Doug Sr.’s children, to varying degrees,
were not. From the beginning, Doug Jr. was the survivor. Rob
might have built Ford Nation, pothole by pothole, phone call
by phone call, but Doug knew how to exploit it. “Doug somehow
emerged out of that family and became a successful business-
man,” says John Filion, a city councillor and the author of The
Only Average Guy, a biography of the Fords. “I think you can
plunk him down anywhere in the world, and he would figure
out not only how to survive, but how to thrive.”
If you ask Doug, he never wanted to be a politician. It’s a
paradox that lies at the heart of the Ford family—which is an
undeniable political dynasty. Doug Sr., who served as a back-
bencher in Mike Harris’s government between 1995 and 1999,
had to be strong-armed into running for office. (Doug did the
strong-arming after listening to his dad complain about Bob Rae.)
Rob only ever equated politics with waste and mismanagement.
Doug felt the same, and his single term as a councillor only inten-
sified his contempt for the profession. “I can’t stand politicians,”
he once said. “It’s crazy. We’re anti-politician. But that’s just the
way it is. It’s weird. I can’t figure it out.”
To make politics palatable, then, the Fords compulsively
cast the job in the business terms they understand best: cus-
tomer service and competition. Doug Sr. set the tone. He was
During his leadership campaign, Ford borrowed Rob’s former
theme song, “Eye of the Tiger,” to use at rallies. After he won, he
had an original song composed, something more explicitly on-
message: “For the People.” And yet it was clear, even in victory,
even with a strong majority and a party united behind him, that
he still loved the thrill of the fight.
F
ord has always been a big guy, never shy
about physically intimidating people, be they
council colleagues, staffers or journalists. At
54, he is both bigger and softer than he used
to be, his physique more offensive coordina-
tor than offensive linebacker. Like Tony
Soprano, he leads with his belly. His golden
hair, which he wore in a feathered mullet in high school, is now
a couple of shades closer to platinum. His face is lined, and when
he smiles, which he does with great frequency, deep grooves
etch his jowls, making it appear as if he’s wearing a Doug Ford
mask over a Rob Ford mask. During Question Period and pub-
lic announcements, he employs an evangelical oratorical style
that doesn’t so much hide his characteristic verbal fumbling as
turn it into a soporific drone. His favoured form of address
during the campaign—“Folks”—has been replaced by the more
familiar, if equally cloying, “Friends.”
“Family” is another of Ford’s favourite f-words. Family means
Doug and his own family—Karla, his wife of 30 years, an animal
lover, fitness buff and former cheerleader; their four blond
When Doug Ford won the PC leadership, he brought his family up on stage with him, including, from left,
his mother, Diane; his wife, Karla; and his four daughters, Kayla, Krista, Kyla and Kara
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