October 29, 2006 — The cycling community honoured Joe DeMaeyer last weekend at the Forest City Velodrome. Joe passed away on October 8 and at the FCV ceremony Joe’s son Leon rode his Dad’s track bike around the track during a moment of silence. Joe’s bike will remain at the track for new riders who want to try the sport. Leon sent us these fond memories as a tribute to his Dad, Smokey-Joe.

Smokey-Joe: The name conjures up a multitude of memories to a multitude of people. Larger than life in stature and influence, to me, he was Dad.

Born in Chatham, Ontario on March 2, 1923, Joe’s genetics definitely spelled out athlete. Joe’s father Leon was a cyclist in Belgium riding in the Tour de Flanders and his half-brother Alphonse “Tuffy” Leemans, played for the New York Giants during the 1930’s, eventually ending up in the Football Hall of Fame, in Canton Ohio.

Combined with a strong work ethic and steely determination Joe’s athleticism produced a cyclist known for strength and endurance who thrived on adverse conditions. I remember, on one occasion, traveling to watch a race in Buffalo and the weather was particularly nasty. He turned to me with a big smile and said that this was perfect weather for a good race; the kind of weather that he always hoped for when he raced. He explained that on a day like this he would attack, attack and attack again to burn off the sprinters. He was always known for giving it everything he had and providing an entertaining race for the spectators.

Joe’s trademark was a flashy silk scarf. In later years I asked him why he wore so many different coloured scarves. He looked at me with that sly twinkle in his eye that everyone knew, and proclaimed that each scarf was a present from a female admirer wishing him good luck. During his racing career he suffered many injuries and hardships. He told me that the worst injuries he sustained occurred when he was flying down the Hamilton mountain and hit a milk truck at the bottom, landing him in hospital for an extended period of time. As for the toughest race of his career, he said that without a doubt is was the “Hell of the North” across Northern Ontario from Kenora to Kapuskaping (if I remember correctly) and back.

In the late 1950’s, he hung up his bike ending a stellar career that spanned well over 20 years except for the war years during which he was a member of the RCAF.

However, this certainly didn’t spell the end of his involvement with cycling. In the 1960’s, he grew tobacco and helped with local races, which were prevalent at the time. During these times, out kiln-yard resembled a gypsy encampment with cyclist tents pitched everywhere. My Mom opened her doors to everyone cooking meals at all hours and my brother and I often gave up our beds so that a tired cyclist could get a good night sleep before a race. Generosity was the order of the day and the smell of linament still lingers in my memory. My Dad was always giving someone’s sore legs a good rubdown.

It was during this period that Joe acquired a third “son” by the name of Jocelyn Lovell. From the outset, he told me that Jocelyn was going to be someone special and he certainly lived up to those expectations. Jocelyn seemed to renew Joe’s enthusiasm for racing and I truly believe that it was because he wanted to nurture Jocelyn’s talent that Joe became the Ontario track coach being instrumental in their success at the Canadian Games in Vancouver. Jocelyn’s tragic accident and my brother’s untimely death were definitely the two major tragedies in Joe’s life.

I suppose the next natural progression for Joe was to become an official; even though filling out the paperwork was an odious chore that he tried to delegate as often as he could. Joe was an “in the trenches” kind of guy who knew every trick in the sport consequently commanding the respect of all who knew him. He was a tough though fair official whose heart was as big as his belly and his booming voice certainly didn’t need the amplification of any microphone.

Joe was a fixture at the races even after he retired from officiating and I’m sure that he will be sorely missed by all involved in the sport of cycling as well as by his many friends and family.

I always said that my Dad had two families both his own and the cycling community as evidenced by our selection of pallbearers. I gratefully thank cyclists and friends Sam Watson and Chris Hooker for helping me carry my Dad to his final resting place.