Obituaries

(Edward) Hart Armstrong, ladies’ man, teacher, fashion icon and transcendental DJ, died on Thursday, June 19, 2025.

Hart had a thing for smart women, and often said that the smartest thing he ever did was marrying the smartest woman he’d met, his wife, Terri. He proposed 10 days after they met and they got married not long after on a weekend when they “didn’t have anything better to do.” It was a partnership that lasted more than 54 years, spanned the province, and gave them two brilliant daughters, each of whom managed to be the favourite. From serving as a nail polish model to wearing barrettes in his beard, Hart was a girl dad before hashtags had even been invented.

He worked on a survey crew, as a junior ranger, and eventually as a teacher and principal. Thousands of children learned from Hart, mostly in the classroom, occasionally in the principal’s office. He taught in Kashabowie, Atikokan, Webequie, Emo, Allanwater Bridge, Mine Centre, Kirkfield, Bowmanville, Courtice, and Lindsay before retiring in 2000.

Outside of work, Hart excelled at many things, including gardening, fishing, and hunting. He was also exceptionally skilled at identifying constellations and birds, keeping his opinion to himself (except where a certain American president was concerned), collecting the quarters he won playing tysiąc, wondering out loud what was going to be for dinner, and watching Bob Izumi’s Real Fishing at maximum volume. His artistic talents found expression in competitive bird carving — the kind where you make birds out of wood, not the kind where you ask Aunt Bethany to give “the blesssssing” — and needlecraft.

His life-long affair with ice cream was unrelenting, if unrequited.

Those who had the pleasure of knowing Hart will agree that his fashion sense was also unrivaled. No pocketed t-shirt too stained, no sneakers too Velcro’d, no elasticized track pants hiked up too high. “If they have it in pink, get me that one,” was a common request. Rumour has it that Tilley once approached asking to use his head as a model for a new line of one-size-fits-few hats.

One late-in-life skill took his family by surprise, though it really shouldn’t have. The day before he died, his daughter Jeni found herself in a local coffee shop listening to a playlist that seemed hand-picked by Hart: “Don’t You Forget About Me” was followed by “I Will Survive” which was followed by “Should I Stay Or Should I Go.” In the hour it took her to write this obituary, another song — one she swears she’s never heard before — started to randomly play on her laptop, offering up this bit of paternal wisdom: “There are maybe ten or twelve things I could teach you / After that, well, I think you're on your own.”

In addition to his newfound talents for serving up Music From The Beyond, Hart had a very specific request for his memorial service, which the family will not be honouring. That’s because he asked to be buried with his *ss sticking out of the ground so that all his friends could kiss him goodbye. Instead, a celebration of life will be held on July 24 at Celebrations, 35 Lindsay St. North, Lindsay, from 1:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. While we’ll all miss Hart’s trademark laugh — often mistaken for the sound of air leaking forcefully from a degraded tire — dad jokes will be in full abundance. A sample: What’s brown and sounds like a bell? Dung.

In lieu of whatever you were planning, the family asks that when the geese start to head south again, that you go to Costco and buy a child-sized snowsuit, and donate it to whatever place near you can make good use of it. Hart, who loved buying batteries by the gross and spent pretty much his entire life looking like a slightly more youthful version of Santa Claus, never forgot the one time he worked as a mall Santa in Thunder Bay, Ontario, and a small child perched on his lap with a singular ask, for a new winter jacket. You’d be making his day if you helped a child in need. Or you could make a donation to Ducks Unlimited, if you like swamps more than you like kids.

Hart’s family would like to thank many of the staff at Ross Memorial Hospital who took great care of him, especially Kelly and Rebecca, Madi, and Laurie, who made him laugh and let him swear as much as he wanted.

He will be remembered by his wife Terri, his daughters Jeni and Megan, his sons-by-default Pelayo and Mark, his grandchildren Seve and Juno (“hands down the best gift ever received”), and the thousands of used-to-be-children across the province who he taught to read and lead and fish and wish. Meowy (the cat) will miss him most of all.