Jeff Z. Klein of the New York Times was in Vancouver to cover the Canucks-Bruins Stanley Cup final. At the end of 2011, he and his Times colleagues remember the things that left an imprint. His memory: June 15.
Set amid ocean and mountains, Vancouver is not the kind of place you associate with paroxysms of anarchic violence. But through the years there has been a weird local penchant for rioting over canceled rock concerts, visits from the prime minister, economic summits — and, of course, whenever the Canucks lose Game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals.
So there we were on June 15, a colleague and I venturing warily out of Rogers Arena through streets strewn with broken glass, burned-out cars and roving bands of hopped-up youths in Canucks sweaters. Not long before, we had been interviewing the celebrating Bruins, who were happily passing the Cup among themselves and their families. Now we were moving through the tail end of a riot that started among the 100,000 fans watching the game on giant screens outside the rink and spread throughout downtown, causing some 170 injuries and an estimated $5 million in damage.
We saw a half-conscious man sprawled on the street being tended by paramedics after being sucker-punched; hundreds of police officers standing in riot gear; and smashed store windows and the scattered limbs of mannequins and discarded trinkets.
The head of emergency at St. Paul’s Hospital stood in the courtyard, where scores of people were decontaminated from pepper spray and tear gas exposure before being admitted. The doctor, Eric Grafstein, had seen it all — the 1994 riot after the Canucks lost Game 7 to the Rangers, but also the idyllic 16 days of the 2010 Winter Olympics, which ended in joyous street celebrations when Canada beat the United States in the men’s hockey final.
“I wandered around after the gold medal game, and there was such a happy feeling,” he said. “The kind of people who were coming down here tonight, they were just looking for a different kind of fun.”
Yet, the next morning we saw a different Vancouver. Hundreds of volunteers were boarding up windows and sweeping away debris; by lunchtime you could barely tell there had been rioting just 12 hours before.
A continent away, the Bruins were preparing to ride through their city’s streets in duck boats, cheered by a million Bostonians. Meanwhile, at the downtown Hudson’s Bay department store, Vancouverites were filling the plywood window coverings with handwritten messages.
“On behalf of my team and my city, I’m sorry,” read one message. Another said: “Last night was not Vancouver. This is Vancouver.”
It is all Vancouver, in all its contradictions: the caring, civil community; the thrill-seeking violence; the outsize passion for hockey.
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