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I met Owen once at a dinner party. Other than his weird winter tan, only one thing about him was memorable: his handshake. His paw was so slippery, my hand popped right back out again.

“He’s either slick, sick or scared,” I thought. As for his wit, intellect, or ability to speak unprompted, I can’t remember a damn thing he said all night.

Isolated incident? Think again. Try finding a significant quote by Mayor Owen on any issue, big or small. Should be easy, right? Ha! Either Owen’s been dodging the press like a rabbit on the highway, or else civic reporters have been completely screwing the pooch.

You be the judge: go to www.excite.com and search for 'Mayor Philip Owen'. The first Web site that pops up is 'The Political Graveyard', a handy reference that lists where dead politicians are buried.

Clearly, our mayor should have a much higher profile. What are his beliefs? Who’s running the cops? Who’s picking up hookers? And what, if anything, has Mayor Owen done for the people of Vancouver?

Thus, as my civic duty, I vow to find Mayor Owen, sit the guy down, and throw the hard questions at him. Questions nobody is asking. Questions like:

• Who the hell are you?
• What do you do all day?
• How did you become our leader?
• What are your secret strategies for winning elections and holding power in your iron-fisted grip?
• How come you're so tanned, when it rains so much here? Are you secretly the mayor of Acapulco, too?

August 1 - Tuesday

I phone City Hall and leave a voice mail for Laurie Rix, the Mayor’s communications assistant. I announce that I’m a Vancouver magazine freelancer, but like an idiot, I leave my unlisted home phone number. Damn. I never give that out. What if the Mayor hates my article, then orders his cops to tap my phone and kick the living crap out of me?

Not that it matters. Laurie doesn’t call me back.

August 3

Still no response from the mayor’s office, so I fire off an email.

From: Ken Hegan

To: Laurie Rix

Subject: Interview with Mayor Owen

Date: Thu, 03 Aug 2000 21:17:28 GMT

Dear Laurie Rix:

I'm requesting an interview with Mayor Owen for a Fall issue of Vancouver magazine. This feature will focus on Mayor Owen's civic achievements and his vision for Vancouver in the new millennium.

My credentials: I've penned 60+ articles for Vancouver magazine, the Globe and Mail, the Vancouver Sun, the Province, MovieMaker, and the Georgia Straight. I've won a gold National Magazine Award and been nominated for two BC Newspaper Awards. True, I haven't won any Pulitzer Prizes, Tony Awards, or Daytime Emmys but hey, whoa now, I haven't tried very hard either.

A proud Vancouverite, I repeatedly use Vancouver's sewers, streets, yards, and waterworks. You will find me tall, freckled, plucky, gung-ho, single, and a frequent listener. My Cub Scout leader once said it was a pleasure to have me in his pack.

I'd like to meet the Mayor in a safe public place but not the zoo or a tractor pull. I have my own pen and will try to find my own ride home. For ease of comprehension, this interview will be conducted in English.

Can I meet the Mayor today? Can I? Best to forget that phone number I gave you.

Yours truly,

Ken Hegan

August 4 - Friday

She doesn’t call, she doesn’t write. I’m like the naive boyfriend who doesn’t realize it’s over.

August 5 - Saturday

It’s a long weekend and gorgeous outside. Me, I’m surfing the Web, trying to find interesting quotes from Philip W. Owen. I fail. I figure Owen’s middle initial stands for “Was not available for comment.” Also, we pay him $95,955 per year.

Wait, here’s something: in ’98, Owen is quoted in The New York Times as saying he’ll make Hemp BC and the Cannabis Café “toast.” That’s nice. I like toast.

In 1999, Owen says he’s against a $100,000 reward for 21 missing prostitutes. But then, after a public backlash, he flip-flops and says the reward should be $2 million. Funny enough, 1999 was an election year. In response, police spokesperson, Anne Drennan, says, “We’re not talking reality here. We’re talking the opinion of the mayor.”

At a City Hall hearing in ’99, Owen and his council debate “good” entertainers versus “bad” entertainers and the need for busker permits. Suddenly, Tagny Duff, a performance artist with big fake ears, protests the permits by jumping up on the Council’s desk and ‘entertaining’ them with a purposely bad vogue dance. The mayor looks unamused. Which is probably redundant.

During the ’97 APEC, The Vancouver Sun runs a front-page picture of Chinese President Jiang Zemin pretending to laugh. The cutline read, "Zemin laughs at a comment by (Vancouver) Mayor Philip Owen." On www.canoe.ca <http://www.canoe.ca>, Brian Kieran writes, “This was the first major lie of APEC. Owen has never gotten a laugh in public in his life.”

Hours go by. Hours I’ll never get back. I find a few rivetting proclamations:

• The Mayor proclaims March 5 to 23 to be Hockey Week
• The Mayor declares April 15 - 22 as Architecture Week
• The Mayor proclaims June to be Pedestrian Safety Month
• The Mayor declar

qwe

asdf

zxc

Oops. Nodded off there.

August 8

3 pm

It’s been over a week now with no reply. Why isn’t he calling me back? It’s not like I’m some hack from the Employment Paper. Or Common Ground. Or the Buzzer. Or some zit-faced intern at Luck Magazine.

No, I write for Vancouver, the biggest, glossiest, most award-winning magazine west of Toronto. We’re the official style and restaurant guide for Vancouver’s crème de la crème. $3.50 for plebeians; free to good homes. Vancouver is the Shaughnessy tribe’s survival manual. One in-depth interview with me, and Owen could be preaching to the converted.

4 pm

Come on! Where’s the mayor?! I search newspaper headlines, editorials, the obituaries. Nothing.

Desperate, I place this classified ad in The Georgia Straight:

I Saw You

THE MAYOR

You: the Mayor. Tanned. Big teeth.

Me: 6’2” writer. Freckled. Big hands, big feet.

We met at a Pt. Grey dinner in ’95. Too shy to ask

for interview. Wish I asked for your #. Coffee?

Beach? Quotes? Let’s talk man-2-man.

treason77@hotmail.com

5:11 pm

Finally, I get an email from City Hall… and suspiciously late in the day.

From: Laurie Rix

To: Ken Hegan

Subject: RE: Interview with Mayor Owen

Date: Tue, 8 Aug 2000 17:10:54

Hi Ken,

Sorry for the delay in responding to your request.

As you may be aware, City Council does not meet in August. The Mayor will be leaving for his annual vacation tomorrow afternoon and won't be available for interviews until September. What issue are you planning to submit the article for?? If it's later in the Fall then we can look at accommodating your request.

Let me know what your time frame is.

Thanks,

Laurie Rix

Communications Assistant to Mayor Owen

5:13 pm

She took a whole week to tell me he won’t call or see me? I phone Laurie right back. Too late. She’s gone home or is screening her calls. Damn! If the mayor’s skipping town, I have to speak to him FAST.

From: Ken Hegan

To: Laurie Rix

Subject: Interview with Mayor Owen today

Date: Wed, 09 Aug 2000 04:21:28 GMT

Hi Laurie:

Thanks for saying hi. Vancouver mag wants this interview for October and my deadline is next week.

Where is the Mayor going on holidays? Maybe I could interview him on his way out of town, like at the bus depot or whatnot. Sadly, as a professional journalist, I'm not allowed to accept gifts, bribes, or free travel in exchange for interviews-- so I can't holiday with the Mayor unless I pay my own way. Drat!

Laurie, can I meet the Mayor today before he goes? Can I?

Really looking forward to it,

Ken Hegan

August 9

I check my messages every 15 minutes. No calls from City Hall. By 4 pm, I give up the ghost. If Laurie’s telling the truth, the mayor’s now on vacation for the rest of the month. He’s on the lam, and I have no story. My editor’s going to choke me.

August 11

From: Laurie Rix

To: Ken Hegan

Subject: RE: Interview with Mayor Owen today

Date: Fri, 11 Aug 2000 11:49:29

Hi Ken,

Unfortunately it was impossible for the Mayor to contact you before he left on his annual vacation as he had to deal with some pressing issues in the Downtown Eastside, (you may have seen the media reports.)

As his holiday is reserved for private family time, I cannot offer you an interview by phone.

If Vancouver Magazine wants to postpone this piece until later then I would be happy to set something up for when he returns in September.

Thanks Ken,

Laurie

Huh. The classic brush-off. Desperately searching for a bright side, I notice she’s dropped her job title and now wants me to call her ‘Laurie’.

August 12 and 13

My editor calls, asking how it’s coming. So I spend the weekend hunting for information on Philip Owen. This much I know: young Philip W. Owen was born to wealth and privilege.

Exhibit A: According to the city’s Web site bio, Owen was “born and raised in Vancouver and his father was the late Lt. Governor Walter Owen.” No mention of his mother, nor any university or college.

Exhibit B: I find his home phone number posted on www.guerrillamedia.org, a site that seems anti-Owen and his NPA party. Taking this number to the public library, I use the Criss-Cross Directory to find Owen’s home address. Location: smack dab in the middle of Shaughnessy. A huge house with bone white pillars.

Exhibit C: My editor informs me that Owen’s childhood nickname was ‘Pip’.

It could thus be argued that Pip owes much of his present status due to old Vancouver money. To truly understand Philip Owen, I must therefore interview people from his own class… the upper class. Which leaves me at a loss. I don’t know anyone from the crusty upper.

August 14

6 pm

Determined to speak with Owen’s peerage, I concoct a cunning plan. Making a list of Vancouver clubs, I plan to tour Vancouver’s finest lounges and chat up our leisure class. I envision delightfully ribald evenings, hoisting crystal tumblers of expensive, single malt scotch. Laughing, smoking cigars, and back-slapping like school chums, we’ll toast Pip, the city, our country, and God.

Unfortunately, the following so-called ‘private clubs’ denied me entrance and refused me service at their bars:

• The Arbutus Club (where the Owens have held membership)
• The Jericho Tennis Club
• The Royal Vancouver Yacht Club
• The Terminal City Club
• The Vancouver Club
• The Vancouver Lawn Tennis and Badminton Club
• The Vancouver Racquets Club
• The Vancouver Rowing Club
• The Vancouver Rotary Club
• The Bryan Adams Fan Club

9 pm

I come up with Plan B: I’ll tour the bars closest to Owen’s estate to see if anyone knows the mayor. I wake up my roommate, Jim, whose lung keeps collapsing. He reluctantly agrees to accompany me, on one condition: I pay for taxis, ambulances, nachos and bail.

10 pm

Dentry’s Irish Grill, 4450 West 10th Avenue

We’re in Point Grey, Owen’s territory, where voters elected him three times since 1993. Flashing our passports, i.e. money, we order double Harvey Wallbangers and scout the bar. Turns out the waitress, Robin, is a friend of mine. I tell her I’m writing for Vancouver then ask if she knows who the mayor is.

“I have no idea. Omigod! “ she blurts. Blushing at her ignorance, she pushes me away and bolts for the kitchen. After a few minutes, a middle-aged guy sidles over.

“Owen Philip,” he says, “I mean, Philip Owen. And I had to think about it.”

His name’s Ken Coach, co-owner of Dentry’s. A media consultant, he was Pavel Bure’s media coach in ’96.

“And in the ‘80s, Flare magazine voted me one of Canada’s 50 Most Eligible Bachelors,” says Coach. “That was before my failed marriage.” Jim feels sorry for Coach, so he throws him a bone.

“You’re probably still hovering somewhere around 100,” says Jim. I ask Coach how he would raise Owen’s profile.

“He’s the invisible mayor,” says Coach. “He’s gotta kiss more babies. He’s not out there relating to people. He can get elected… but is he going to leave a legacy? One of the big mistakes my clients make is they get too cautious. If faced with a crisis, the worst thing to do is hide. There’s no obvious crisis but he’s hiding.”

Final results:

• 6 out of 8 people don’t know the mayor’s name

11 pm

The Cheshire Cheese Inn, 4585 Dunbar Street

Moving deeper into Owen turf, we cab it to the Cheshire Cheese. The bartender says Owen goes to the same Anglican church as her parents.

“I voted a couple of times for him,” she says then introduces me to 5 tanned yachting-type guys.

“You guys know who the mayor is?” I ask.

“We should. We put him there,” says one. I’ll call him ‘Biff’.

“We grew up with his son,” slurs another. I’ll call him ‘Drunk’.

Final results:

• 7 out of 12 know Owen is the mayor
• 6 of these 7 claim to know him personally, but nobody tells me they voted for Owen based on his policies
• Of the 5 who don’t know the mayor’s name, 2 of these 5 are either ESL or pretending to be ESL
• “Cheshire Cheese” is impossible to pronounce when drunk

Midnight

Fraser Arms Hotel, 1450 SW Marine Drive

Expanding my poll, we venture into Marpole to interview nude dancing women with big fake breasts. They’re busy with their own poles, so I canvas the crowd. Nobody wants to talk to me, except for Jenna, a Fraser Arms employee. She offers me a while-U-watch massage. Cool. I lean into her massage chair then Jenna surprises me by peeling off my shirt and rubbing oil into my flesh.

“Niiiiiiiiice. Say. Jenna. Do you? Know who? The mayor is?”

“I have no idea,” she coos.

“Ahhhhhh. Jenna. YOU should. Be the mayor.” Jenna laughs and rubs deeper.

“If I was mayor, people would remember MY name,” she whispers.

Then the bouncer tells me about his close encounter with the mayor.

“Last weekend, we had the Marpole Car Show in our parking lot. A bearded homeless guy comes by, pushing his shopping cart. He says, ‘I’m the Mayor of Vancouver. Normally, I have a sash and a top hat. But I forgot it. Let me in.’”

Final results:

• 5 out of 7 people have no idea who the mayor is
• 1 out of 2 bouncers think the mayor is homeless and entered his shopping cart in the Marpole Car Show

Hurrying to make last call downtown, we dive into a taxi.

“We wanna go to a bar to talk to old men about the mayor.”

“OK. I take you to the Roxy.”

“No man, I wanna talk to old funny drunk guys about the mayor.”

“You should go to the Roxy. Good place. People dress nice.”

“What? No, they don’t. They’re bridge and tunnel hoochees.”

“And we don’t wanna get dosed with a date rape drug,” says Jim

“To the Taxpayer!” I cry.

1 am

The Jolly Taxpayer, 828 W. Hastings Street

We stumble in the open door. The bar’s completely empty.

“How’d you get in here?” says the skinhead bartender, blocking our entrance.

Final results:

• 1 skinhead bartender would not tell me the mayor’s name

August 15

9:30 pm

Exactly one hangover later, we hit the bars again, this time moving east. We tell the cab driver to take us to the Jolly Alderman. He laughs and goes off on a rant:

“That is the stupidest god-damned name for a bar. I’ve never heard nor seen an alderman with a sense of humour. Funny you mention it. Not 5 minutes ago, I saw a guy who looked like George Puil down at English Bay. I turned around so I could call him a fucking asshole but he turned out to be a tourist so I gave him directions on how to get the hell out of town before he’s bored to death.”

10 pm

The Jolly Alderman, 500 West 12th Avenue

The Jolly Alderman is the closest bar to City Hall and the most politically apathetic. We’re about to leave when I start chatting with Bill, a big sweaty anarchist turned Buddhist. I ask him if he knows the Mayor’s name. Suddenly, Bill tees off on a legendary rant, as if he’s sat there for 7 years, waiting for someone to ask:

“Mayor Owen is a fucking dork,” barks Bill. “Thanks to him, Vancouver is dinky and provincial. Why would anyone get interested in starting something in Vancouver when the City just shuts everything down? They’re rich bastards. Do you think Lynne Kennedy and Jennifer Clarke have ever been west of Fraser Street? If they did, they were wearing surgical gloves.”

Final results:

• 8 out of 10 people could not pick the Mayor out of a police lineup

11:00 pm

W.I.SE. Social and Athletic Club, 1882 Adanac Street

Famous for refusing entry to Prime Minister Chretien, the WISE Hall is the boozy bosom of left wing Vancouver. Chess-playing anarchists crowd around the pool table. Monty, the bartender, looks like a long-haired biker. After a 1/2 hour, I muster up the courage to tell him I’m a journalist in search of the mayor.

“Surprising enough, coming from a commie like myself, Owen’s done a few good things, advocating low-income housing on the lower East Side,” says Monty. “Friends of mine see him wandering around Main and Hastings by himself. Nobody knows him, nobody pays any attention,” chuckles Monty.

Sandy, a laconic musician in a cowboy lid, has a different opinion:

“I hate the mayor’s policies on entertainment in this city. They have the time and money to send people around to harass people trying to stage live music and save the tattered fabric of the BC economy. But they let 13-year-old girls walk the streets, smoking crack and selling their asses. They have the gall to call this a World Class City while they try to kill any sort of city events. What kind of hypocrisy is this?”

Sandy introduces me to Slim, a pony tailed cowboy who says his name keeps changing with his weight.

“I know who the mayor is, only because I detest him so,” says Slim. “He stands for the rich and privileged. The only good thing he’s done is he makes sure city workers wash the streets the day after it rains. You guys aren’t from CSIS, are you?”

To get rid of me, Slim recommends I talk to “the lefty contingent” playing chess. I thank him then ask a lefty named Craig if he can tell me the mayor’s name.

“Sure. Owen. I despise the man,” says Craig, “Anne Drennan as well, and that Duncan Wilson park board asshole. I can give you a long list of what Owen’s done wrong, including his complete sellout last week of the East Side’s drug facilities. I can’t think of a single good thing he’s done for Vancouver.”

John, an older hippie-type with a fuzzy hippie hat, grabs my arm and starts telling me about the good old days.

“Vancouver in 1970 was a great city,” reminisces John. “A friendly, fun place. Bars were open to 3 am. This was all ruined by masturbatory, ego-tripping developer mayors. What happened to parades in this city? The PNE Parade? Gone. No Grey Cup party. You will be arrested. No New Year’s party. You will be arrested. Yet there were 2 million people in Times Square and hundreds of thousands in downtown Toronto. Owen’s City Hall makes me sick.”

Final results:

• 8 out of 9 people here know EXACTLY who the mayor is

1:30 pm

Bukowski’s, 1447 Commercial Drive

We race to Bukowski’s for last call. I meet a guy named David who says he knows Philip Owen’s daughter and that he voted for Owen.

“I’m from the West Side. I’m slumming tonight,” says David. A mountain of a man, Ryan, joins his table.

“Yeah, I know Philip Owen,” says Ryan. “He’s lucky I didn’t shoot him.” The table’s silent. I’m shocked. He ponders this for a second, then says, “Nah, that would make a martyr out of a fool.”

Final results:

• 6 out of 8 people don’t know who the mayor is
• When we crossed Cambie, people stopped buying us drinks

August 17

The ANZA Club, 3 West 8th Avenue

11 pm

I take my usual seat at the ANZA’s Cold Reading Series. Every summer Thursday night, actors read new scripts in front of an audience. Afterwards, it’s a great scene: the writers flirt with the actresses. The actresses flirt with the actors. And everybody flirts with cirrhosis and lung cancer.

Final results:

• 7 out of 8 taxi drivers know Owen is the mayor
• 21 out of 27 actors & writers do not know who the mayor is
• 23 out of 27 actors & writers think I should be mayor

August 21

I wonder if I can slip into Owen’s office when he’s on holidays. I’ll look in his desk drawers, drink any hooch I find, and read his files. Before sneaking in, I decide to ask for permission.

From: Ken Hegan

To: Laurie Rix

Subject: Chair of the Mayor

Date: Mon, 21 Aug 2000 21:30:00 GMT

Dear Laurie,

Does Vancouver offer a Mayor-For-A-Day program?

While the Mayor is on holidays, can I sit in his chair?

Yours truly,

Ken Hegan

From: Laurie Rix

To: Ken Hegan

Subject: RE: Chair of the Mayor

Date: Tue, 22 Aug 2000 15:22:09

No!! (to both questions) I'm not even allowed to sit in his chair!!

From: Ken Hegan

To: Laurie Rix

Subject: RE: Chair of the Mayor

Date: Wed, 23 Aug 2000 22:11:45 GMT

Dear Laurie:

Surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre, you're not, Laurie. So. How's his chair feel?

I'm on to you,

Kenny

P.S. Tell me the truth: are YOU Mayor Philip Owen? If you are, I have

questions for you. Come clean, 'Laurie'.

From: Laurie Rix

To: Ken Hegan

Subject: RE: Chair of the Mayor

Date: Fri, 25 Aug 2000 12:15:22

Will the real Mayor Owen please stand up??

No...I'm not the Mayor, just a lowly staffer sometimes known as C.J. (from The West Wing.)

Are you still planning to do the piece on the Mayor?? If so, I'm curious as to what issues you want to cover with him.

Laurie

August 26 - Saturday

4 p.m.

Maybe Pip’s back from Acapulco. Just in case, I bike over to his house to offer him a deal: if he gives me an interview, I’ll build him a back porch.

At 16th and Granville, I come up with a better idea: I’ll pay some random bum to scrounge through Owen’s garbage. That way, I’ll know what he eats, what he drinks, credit card receipts, all of it. Of course, there are no bums in Shaughnessy… I’ll have to do it myself.

Arriving at Owen’s house, I see his front door is wide open. I creep closer. On closer inspection, I see the house is being renovated… for new owners. Nothing inside the house but sawdust and champagne memories. Owen split before I could darken his doorstep.

August 28

From: Ken Hegan

To: Laurie Rix

Subject: The Big Questions

Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2000 16:34:42 GMT

Hi 'Laurie':

I have questions for the mayor which I'll bet you could answer. My absolute final deadline is tomorrow. Thanks!

1) What have you done for the people of Vancouver?

2) Do you have a university education?

3) What are your secret strategies for winning elections and holding power in your iron-fisted grip?

4) True/false: you are 79 & 1/2 years old.

5) Are you secretly the mayor of Acapulco, too?

6) Can you confirm two quotes? In reference to journalists, I heard you said:

(a) "Never wrestle pigs. You both get dirty but the pig likes it."

(b) "Never pick a fight with someone who buys ink by the barrel."

7) Open your liquor cabinet. What do you see?

8) Do you need a back porch?

Thank you and good day,

I.M. Ken

Laurie never emails me again.

In a final gasp for quotes, I appeal to my media cohorts. I send emails and faxes to 13 local business and news editors at the Sun, Province, Courier, WestEnder, and Georgia Straight. I ask if they can point me to an interesting quote by Philip Owen. No luck. Nobody’s seen the Sasquatch.

On Granville, I approach two Downtown Ambassadors wearing those goofy red bellboy hats. From their brochure, I gather these kids are hired by the Downtown Vancouver Business Improvement Association to give tourists info on city services, “monitor cleanliness”, and fink on jaywalkers.

Today, they’re flirting with homeless chicks. I ask them who the mayor is. They look at each other, sheepishly. Ambassador #1 nervously pats his pocket, as if searching for a cheat sheet. He gives up: 2 out of 2 Downtown Ambassadors have no idea who the mayor is. How very sad.

Suddenly, Ambassador #1 leaps into action. Whipping out his walkie-talkie, he radios to dispatch for emergency backup:

“Echo 9 to Tango 2… who is the mayor?”

POSTSCRIPT: September 5

Unbelievable! Under the heading ‘Canada’s Unsung Mayors,’ today’s National Post has a big snapshot of Owen looking sweaty and nervous. Did my emails scare Pip into nabbing some quick P.R.?

In the article, Owen is spying on pimps and hookers from the front seat of his baby-blue station wagon. I'm not making this up.

“Look at these people getting out of this car. What do you think they’re up to? They’re up to no good - take a look,” says Owen. “Prostitutes? Looks like a couple of pimps to me, there they are - a couple of guys with a couple of girls and they’re going to do some prostitution and some drug dealing. See he’s got a wad of money… “

Jesus. If that’s how he spent his vacation, I can’t wait to see his retirement.

Published: Vancouver magazine, October 2000

Nominated: Best Article, Western Magazine Awards