Remembering Fred Hyndman

Fred Hyndman died a few days ago, news I was sad to receive, as I had great admiration for him as a businessman, philanthropist, and raconteur.

Back in the summer of 2019 I was invited to join John Robinson, Fred Hyndman, Alan Holman and Keith Piggott one week for coffee at Casa Mia, a special guest star, of sorts, at the weekly meeting of group of esteemed men that I had no business among. I wrote to a friend at the time:

It certainly did result in a kind of cross-cultural dialog (inasmuch as me, a neo-capitalist white man, having coffee with a bunch of solidly-capitalist white men, could be considered to be cross-cultural).

Regardless of it being a club meeting for the connected and powerful, or perhaps because of that, it was thrilling: the collective wisdom, kindness, and connections of those four was a rare thing to be invited to sit among. I’m happy for the memory.

Through Hyndman & Company, the company founded in 1872 that he inherited and expanded, Fred was my insurance broker for almost 30 years, but I saw him most often at parties at Catherine Hennessey’s, where he and his wife Shirley were frequent guests. (We also shared a habit of grocery shopping at Sobeys on Saturday nights.)

My enduring memory of Fred, though, came during my time as Executive Director of the L.M. Montgomery Land Trust. The Trust was fundraising in support of the preservation of a significant piece of land on New London Bay; Fred contributed $50,000 to the cause. I was so bowled over by his donation that I sent him a personal letter of thanks, revealing that I’d been shopping the market for a better deal on car insurance, but that I had decided, due his generosity, to stick with Hyndman’s. 

“For the rest of my life,” is how I believe I worded my commitment.

Fred replied with good humour, suggesting my duty would only extend to the end of his life.

I’m happy to have fulfilled the terms; saddened by the circumstances that brought us there.