Harper's Great Quebec Hope: 'Parties and people can make errors'

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The proposition that Stephen Harper's elusive quest for a majority government might depend on a political neophyte who has never held elective office seems, at first blush, preposterous.

At second blush too, since the novice in question, newly minted Quebec Senator Larry Smith, will be seeking to win a riding that, with rare exceptions, has voted Liberal since 1935. In the 2008 election, incumbent Francis Scarpaleggia won Lac-Saint-Louis - situated on the southwest corner of the island of Montreal - by 11,000 votes.

Enter Mr. Smith. Fluently bilingual, a popular figure in Quebec, the 59-year-old former Montreal Alouettes running back turned businessman is, at least on paper, almost a dream candidate.

Indeed, as the countdown to the next campaign begins, the Smith factor is becoming a key part of the Tory calculus. Clearly, they need a star candidate to boost the party's fortunes; its current standing in Quebec is, frankly, pathetic - 11 seats and not a single one in Montreal.

For the moment, Mr. Smith himself is doing his best to diminish great expectations. A "massive" political learning curve lies ahead, he admits.

That's the main reason he agreed to accept the Prime Minister's appointment to the Senate last month - even though he will step down from the $132,300 position the day the election writ is dropped. "For me, it's an opportunity to learn about how both sides of the House really operate on a daily basis," he explains. "I need time to get up to speed on the legislation in the pipeline and all the complex issues facing Quebec. And, even though I lived in the riding for 23 years, I need to get to know the people there again."

It's why he declined, in two or three extensive meetings with Mr. Harper, to entertain the notion of joining the cabinet before winning a seat, insisting, "You have to earn your spot on the team before you get to the table."

It's why, although many pundits think the Harper government is prepping for a spring election, Mr. Smith is hoping that it doesn't happen until 2012.

And it's why, for now, he's not anxious to delve into substantive public-policy questions. Still, it's not hard to understand why Harperites hope that his considerable coattails can restore the tarnished lustre of Conservatism in Quebec.

Consider the sparkling Smith résumé: nine years in the Canadian Football League, during which he helped his team to five Grey Cups (winning twice) while earning a law degree from McGill University. Eight years managing part of John Labatt's $5-billion food and beer empire. Named commissioner of the CFL in 1992, he oversaw its expansion to the United States - an ill-fated experiment that, because of the $13-million to $15-million in franchise fees it generated, nonethe-

less helped save the league from outright collapse.

Afterward, Mr. Smith helped to resurrect the moribund Alouettes franchise. During his two terms as president and chief executive officer - interrupted by a 25-month stint as publisher of the Montreal Gazette - annual season-ticket sales soared from roughly 1,900 (in a 55,000-seat facility) to 18,000 plus. More than 100 consecutive home games were sold out.

Add to this profile Mr. Smith's chiselled, grey-haired good looks, his six-days-a-week workout regimen with P90X (he's a lean 200 pounds, 12 fewer than he carried on the gridiron), his part-time career as a motivational speaker, the eight charitable and sports foundations with which he is involved, the youth he mentors and his durable, 38-year marriage to the former Leesa MacDonald, and it's clear why various parties at every level of government have tried to recruit him.

It has been a tough day for Mr. Smith. He has come directly from the funeral for Tony Proudfoot, his former Alouettes teammate who died of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (Lou Gehrig's disease) at the age of 61. "Astute, tough as nails, hated to lose," he recalls. "He was resolute about dying. He never whined or complained. His theme was 'suck it up.' " Last Saturday, he sent Mr. Smith and a few other friends an e-mail. "Time is up," it said. "I'm checking into palliative care. I'll be dead in three days. I love ya." Mr. Smith's eyes well up with tears at the memory.

Mr. Smith says his discussions with the Prime Minister did not focus on what some observers have seen as the government's missteps - its decision to cut arts funding in Quebec during the last election campaign, which incensed a powerful voting constituency; its attempt to kill Statistics Canada's long-form census and, earlier, its decision to prorogue Parliament to avoid facing House scrutiny on the Afghan-detainee issue.

Instead, they talked about "where the party is going, what has been accomplished fiscally, and what's important to Canadians. Obviously, parties and people can make errors - cultural expenditures in this province may or may not have been one - but part of that is not having enough knowledge. And I'd like to be a bridge-builder helping people understand what Quebec culture is all about."

Mr. Smith had one previous, serious flirtation with federal politics - an aborted leadership bid for the merged Alliance/Conservative party in 2003-04. He held 33 fundraisers, raised substantial capital and gave speeches across the country. "But it wasn't the right time for me. I didn't have the political background. You need more than management and business experience. And the kids were still in college."

(He and his wife have three children: Wesley, Brad - a slotback for the Edmonton Eskimos - and Ashley, who is married to Alouettes kicker Damon Duval.)

Mr. Smith learned that his name was on the long list of possible Senate nominees in September, the short list in October and, just before this year's Grey Cup (won by the Alouettes), that he had been chosen.

The younger son of a railway-supply company executive, and the grandson on his mother's side of an Anglican minister, Mr. Smith grew up in the riding he hopes to represent and in Hudson, Que., on the Ottawa River, where he now resides. Then, as now, he was a regular churchgoer. "We've had a real shift in spirituality in Quebec, and I think there needs to be a retrenchment, especially for the young people."

Among his high-school pals was Jack Layton, now NDP Leader, whose father, Robert, was the last Conservative to win election in Lac-Saint-Louis.

Earning an economics and law degree at Bishop's University in Lennoxville, Que., Mr. Smith graduated first in his class, was a star athlete and turned down a Rhodes Scholarship nomination to turn pro, becoming the first Canadian drafted by the CFL in 1972. Starting at $10,000 a year ($42,000 in his final year), he played halfback and slotback, incurring 15 to 20 concussions, while holding down part-time sales jobs in the oil and gas industry.

After retiring, Mr. Smith joined a high-tech company - one of two anglophones among 600 francophones - a milieu, he says, that forced him to learn French. He was lured away to Ogilvie Mills, then a division of Labatt, became a vice-president and might well have risen to CEO but for the decision to sell the company to Archer Daniels Midland. When the new American owners turfed the entire management team - giving them 15 minutes to exit the building - Mr. Smith became an 11th-hour candidate for CFL commissioner.

"'We're near the end of the process,'" the head hunter initially told him. Mr. Smith managed to read him his résumé - a bilingual lawyer/businessman who had played the game and been a union rep. "How soon can we see you?"

Twenty-four hours after meeting the owners, he had the job.

His CFL years were "a wild, exhilarating ride. The would-be U.S. franchises were underfinanced and poorly managed. But my mandate from the board of governors was to expand the league. And it needed to be done. The CFL had no sponsors. Ownership in some Canadian franchises was in dire straits. Our TV contract with the CBC was a mere $3-million. It was TSN that actually saved us. I went to them and said, 'We need more money for the content.' And they came through."

Now, Mr. Smith is poised for what he hopes will be another chapter of a distinguished career. He's off to spend an hour discussing social issues with the mayor of Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue, then home to Hudson for an hour or more of vigorous calisthenics. "I want to be at the top of my game all the way through, so that I'm able to compete mentally with people younger than myself. If you're not physically fit, you can't do that. I always said if I did politics, I would do it at the right time of my life. This is the right time. I'm young enough and I have the energy."

Michael Posner is a senior feature writer for The Globe