R. Louis Irwin

Louis, like so many people about whom I write, was among the first people whom I met when I came to Almonte in 1976. Initially, our stars aligned over a commercial matter, as one might expect, though I have to say that, considering the general complexity of Louis' business affairs, it wouldn't have been considered as "understood" that he would deal with the likes of me, a mere rural conveyancer. Indeed I expect that he was effectively throwing me his legal scraps since I later discovered he dealt with a high-powered Sparks Street law firm in Ottawa headed up by George Perley-Robertson and his cronies from the Village of Rockcliffe Park.

Louis had me do some local conveyancing for him, probably transferring some land to somebody for a pittance (he was always giving things away). He hardly needed any more land himself, as he already owned at least two hundred acres in the immediate area, not to mention the 35,000 acres of timberland which I learned he owned in Vermont, USA. Louis' wife, Peggy Irwin, was a daughter of the tree people (the MacLarens) in Buckingham, PQ., which entailed subsequent root connections with Royal Trust, Inco and any number of other corporate alliances. While Louis drove a Cadillac de Ville, that was about his only indulgence (discounting his private air plane).

On his farm (where he raised long-haired Highland cattle), he lived very modestly. His interest was never in the expenditure of capital, but rather its accumulation and commodities from which other things could be developed. He "dumbed down" economics as only someone who truly understands it can do. For example, he once confided to me that he intended to invest in some high-end beauty products company (perhaps Vidal Sassoon) because he was convinced that a large majority of the Chinese rural population would soon migrate from the country to the cities to seek employment, and of that migrating population there would be immense numbers of women who wanted to look pretty, and that meant buying cosmetics and having fancy hair-dos.

It has been some time since I have seen Louis (though I have spoken with him on the telephone once or twice recently). He used to visit me and Denis at our home, but that pretty much stopped when we discovered that his ability to drive was far more seriously impaired than we had understood, following but one drink.

At about the same time (and quite possibly for that very reason), Louis began living with a woman whom I take to be considerably younger.

Louis' relationship with his own children (I believe there are two) is remote at best. He seldom spoke well of them, and usually insinuated that they already had enough of their own money. Once, when Louis gave me a valuable work of original art by a well-known Canadian artist (Fred Coburn), he dismissed my suggestion that he give it instead to his son, saying only that his son would merely sell it for the money. Cleverly, Louis knew that I (as a materialist) had more interest in keeping the painting than getting the money.