Few people would have the nerve to straddle a steel beam hanging near the top of the CN Tower, or to shout, “Hey, Queen!” in the presence of royalty.

But nothing could stop Boris Spremo from getting his million-dollar photo.

The longtime Star photographer made it his business to document history, whether he was shooting a war or capturing a Canadian prime minister during a lighter moment.

Spremo has died at the age of 81. He had been diagnosed with cancer in February. He took a turn for the worse last week, according to his family.

“He was the light of everyone’s life,” said his granddaughter Jessica Spremo. “He was constantly cracking jokes. He never took anything too seriously. (He was) always looking for an adventure.”

Spremo was born in Yugoslavia and came to Canada in 1957 after a stop in Paris. Following four years at the Globe and Mail, in 1966 he joined the Star, where he spent 34 years as a photojournalist before retiring in 2000.











Photos: Boris Spremo, legendary Toronto Star photojournalist passes away

Editorial: Boris Spremo personified photojournalism in Canada

A member of the Order of Canada who was inducted into the Canadian News Hall of Fame, Spremo received 285 national and international photojournalism awards in his long career.

His work took him to conflict zones including Vietnam, Grenada, Northern Ireland, Israel, Gaza and Iraq. He documented famine and drought in central Africa in 1983 and the plight of Kurdish refugees in 1991.

“He never lost sight of where he came from,” Jessica said. “Having that perspective, he could relate to people … and have them be comfortable, if only for a few minutes, in the situations that they were in.

“He treated everyone the same.”

Photos he took in Canada stood out. Known for his dogged pursuit of the perfect shot, Spremo developed a rapport with politicians, including prime ministers Pierre Trudeau and John Diefenbaker.

In 1976, he captured Diefenbaker in silhouette working on his post-retirement memoirs while at a summer cottage in Barbados. The photo of Canada’s former leader, resting in a lounge chair as the sun peeked out from the clouds following a rainfall, secured Spremo one of his many National Newspaper Awards.

Spremo was lauded for his photo of Trudeau the day after he won the 1980 federal election. It became one of the most recognizable photos of the prime minister.

Camped outside Trudeau’s office until his staff finally let Spremo in, the photographer urged him, “Do something for me! Give me a picture!”

Trudeau decided to fire off a paper clip from an elastic band.

“That to me is the quintessential Boris picture, right there, because it sums up his personality, his style,” said Star photographer Richard Lautens.

“Who else is going to get a sitting prime minister to sit there behind the desk on Parliament Hill firing elastics?

“He was willing to talk anybody into anything.”

Having known Spremo for 40 years, Lautens considered him a mentor. He was a “mythic figure, this larger-than-life character” with a personality “you could barely fit in a room,” he said.

“He had this personality, this drive. He would get in anywhere. He would never take ‘no’ for an answer,” Lautens said. “He would step on his own mom for a picture, especially an exclusive. I always figured he’d be around as long as Mt. Rushmore.

“His face should be up there somewhere.”

Said former Star photographer and senior editor Fred Ross: “He worked his ass off” to get the right shot.

It was important to Spremo to get his photo on the Star’s front page the following day.

Ross recalled how the photographer would keep track of all his front-page pictures and how he’d grow restless, nudging Ross for better assignments when he went a while without one.

“He never took any pictures. He made pictures. Big difference,” Ross said. “First class is probably not a definitive enough term for him. He lived and loved to make pictures. That was his whole being.”

Lautens said Spremo “would just kind of own the paper whenever he was working.

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“He would see me or anybody else in this place as much (as) competition as anybody else,” he said. “Then he’d give you that big smile and everyone would go, ‘Well, that’s Boris.’”

Torstar chair and former Star publisher John Honderich referred to Spremo as a “giant” — although “I’m not sure that even ‘giant’ does justice to his career,” Honderich said.

“Boris definitely knew what he wanted in life and the chain of command was not something he felt was particularly relevant. He would just come and knock on my door all the time and say this is what he wanted to do. He was full of stories, full of life, vivacious.

“This man lived every inch of his life and every inch of his career.”

Spremo’s photographic style differed from many of the techniques used by his competitors, according to Lautens.

To him, it was about capturing a moment from the perfect spot at the perfect time.

“Most of the stuff you see of his has got a humorous little twist to it, but extremely personal,” he said. “The style he shot in is very much kind of the way your eye might see things, whereas most photographers would always try and do something visually different, use certain lenses or certain lighting. He was willing to put himself in the line of fire. He was willing to risk pretty much everything to get himself in that position to make that image.

“It was that kind of intimate approach that sold the deal.”

Spremo was not afraid to take readers to the highest of heights. On one occasion, he shot a CN Tower ironworker 440 metres above the ground.

“He was very famous for climbing up on skyscrapers and doing crazy stunts to get the best angle,” said Ken Faught, a former Star photographer and photo editor. “He was just a bulldog. It was his way or the highway.”

His sense of humour also had an edge.

Tasked with covering a papal visit in 1984, Spremo was on Pope John Paul II’s train, which ran from Sherbrooke to Trois-Rivières, Que.

As the pope sat in the fourth car of the train by a window, with a light on him so that people at the stations could see him as the train passed by, media set up camp in the first car.

But they grew bored during the long trip, prompting Spremo, partially as a result of some egging on from fellow media, to fold up one of the blow-up cushions into a shape similar to the pope’s mitre, throw on a tablecloth and hold a monopod as a staff. The impression was complete with a papal wave.

“People started taking photos of him instead of the actual pope,” said Jessica Spremo. “When the pope actually went by, all these people were walking away.”

The stunt landed him in hot water and some media picked up the story.

In another instance, legend has it that Spremo, in an attempt to get the attention of the Queen during a visit to Canada, shouted, “Hey Queen! Look over here!”

“All the protocol guys were, like, ‘You can’t talk to the Queen like that,’” Lautens laughed.

When Spremo retired from the Star, it was obvious to everyone that he wasn’t ready to stop shooting.

“It’s inspiring, not just for journalists everywhere, but for anybody in any occupation, to see a guy who has that fire in his belly his entire life,” said Lautens. “Even to this day, I’m still in awe of the guy.

“For the longest time, he was photojournalism in Canada.”

Spremo remained active in retirement, playing tennis five times a week and spending time at his Lake Simcoe cottage, where he loved to be on a boat.

He also got tremendous joy out of his 1959 Cadillac — “my baby,” as he liked to call it, according to his granddaughter.

He also kept shooting photos.

“He never went anywhere without a camera, whether to the store or on a trip,” Jessica said. “He always said, ‘You never know where you’re going to get that million-dollar photo.’”

Spremo is survived by his wife, Ika, their four daughters and seven grandchildren.