Toronto Sun 2 - The Day the Music Died

Thursday, November 5, 1992, was, for many veteran Sun employees, the day the music died. It was the day we were told J. Douglas Creighton, founding publisher of the Sun and chief executive officer, had been ousted. No explanation then, or now.

Employees working that afternoon were summoned to the second-floor foyer, where Paul Godfrey, an ex-politician sounding much like Al Haig in his "I am in control" speech after Ronald Reagan was shot, announced that Doug was out and he was in.

At Godfrey's side for the announcement was Ron Osborne, president and CEO of McLean Hunter Limited, a Canadian magazine empire and majority shareholder of the Sun.

We listened, but our hearts and minds were with Creighton.

My first impulse was to shout "shame on you all," but stood there speechless, stunned by the news. I soon turned my back on Godfrey and his speech and returned to my desk.

After the assembly cleared, newsroom staff talked about Creighton. Corporate takeovers happen all the time on Bay Street, but this was a much-loved newsman who had worked his way up the media ladder, from Telegram police reporter to Sun founder, with heart and kind words.

Walked over to Christie Blatchford's desk. Blatchford, never one to mince words, said "f... this" and said the best way to support Creighton was to publish a full-page ad in the Sun asking "Why?" Why was Creighton ousted a year before his 65th birthday and his self-declared resignation, with Godfrey named as his replacement?

Blatchford wrote copy for the "Why?" ad, which read, in part: "Doug Creighton was more than a chief executive officer to the people who worked for him. He gave us loyalty, compassion and humanity."

Sun employees lined up to help pay for the ad, which included the names of all who contributed. We showed our support, the ad was published, but the "Why?" was never answered.

On the day of the announcement, Les Pyette, Bob MacDonald and I were talking about what we could do for Creighton to lift his spirits. We didn't know where he was, but we knew he must have been devastated.

Pyette and MacDonald knew that Creighton's 64th birthday was on November 27.

Okay, how about a birthday party?

But where?

How about the old Eclipse building, where the Sun began, I suggested.

Great idea, said Pyette.

After work that night, I drove to the Eclipse building and parked beside it on John Street. Looking up, I saw a sign at the second floor reading "office space for rent." The floor where it all began in 1971 was vacant, as was an upper floor.

Perfect.

Left the "for rent" telephone number with Pyette the next day and calls were made to secure the floors for Creighton's party. We had three weeks to make it happen, so a committee, including Lorrie Goldstein, Tom MacMillan and Blatchford, was set up.


Sun cartoonist Andy Donato, a longtime friend of Creighton's, designed a button with his favourite caricature of Doug below the word "Why" and a large question mark. The button was purchased and worn by employees throughout the building, with proceeds going to a charity.

Donato also demonstrated his loyalty to Creighton by announcing he would include his image in every one of his Sun cartoons until Doug's 65th birthday. And he did just that, very effectively, for 12 months, capping the tribute with a classic cottage scene.

It was quite remarkable to watch media giants like Donato and Blatchford support Creighton with their tools of the trade, and back-stabbing Sun board members be damned. (Creighton considered some board members who voted to oust him as close friends.)

Creighton's party turned into a love-fest, with 900 Sun employees, family and friends, the Toronto police chief, veteran cops and others cramming into the creaky old Eclipse building. We all wanted to be there to say "thanks, Doug" and said it loud and clear.

Some angry, anti-Sun board feelings were expressed by employees and if the gathering had been held in the 1800's, we might have been tempted to light torches, storm down King Street as an unruly mob and level the Sun.

But Creighton, always the gentleman, urged us all to carry on at his beloved Sun, which had been his home away from home for 21 years. Reluctantly, we did. But it wasn't the same without Creighton. The writing was on the wall. If it could happen to Creighton, it could happen to anyone.

(Creighton later set up an office downtown to keep occupied and wrote a book - Sunburned - Memoirs of a Newspaperman. He also attended the Sun's 25th Anniversary party at a noisy nightclub, much to the delight of employees, but a sad follow-up to the SkyDome party five years earlier. Severe foot gout kept me from attending Doug's funeral in January 2004, but Big Red is always in my thoughts. I treasure copies of videos deskman Phil Johnston took at the party and at Creighton's office launch party.)

In the summer of 1993, I was about to call it quits. The newsroom was no longer the fun place it used to be. When rumours began circulating that the Sun would soon be offering buyouts in a cost-cutting move, it was perfect timing. Waited for the buyout package and said adios on December 31, 1993, just weeks shy of 19 years.

I boycotted the Sun until Godfrey resigned and then became a faithful reader again. My daily routine in semi-retirement is a sub, a Sun and a spot to watch trains go by.

In December of 2002, Les Pyette was counting down the days to his retirement when I e-mailed him about my negatives from 30 years of rock and roll concerts and other music events, including the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin. Many had never been published.

Les said "come on down."

Entered the Sun for the first time in years and thanks to veteran Sun photo magician Len Fortune, my eight-page photo story was published on December 28, 2002. Early that morning, I drove to downtown Toronto to buy a dozen copies in a corner store.

While reading the pages at home, at least two morning radio talk show hosts had praise for the Saturday rock and roll feature. It felt like old times.

Miss Pyette and the Sun as it was from 1975 to that incredulous day in 1992. It was a once-in-a-lifetime newspaper experience.

As I said at a farewell party in January, 1994, I felt blessed, for sharing in the Sun glory days, and for the decades of media memories.

And for the guidance of these men along the way: Dwayne Howe - Toronto Daily Star; Robert Turnbull - Toronto Globe and Mail; William Doole - Brampton Daily Times; Mickey Carlton - Richmond Review, Les Pyette - Toronto Sun.

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