Phillip "Danny" Hoff

Phillip Daniel (Danny) Hoff, beloved husband of Alice Hoff of Lethbridge, passed away at St. Michael’s Health Centre on April 13, 2025, at the age of 87 years.

He is the loving father of Gerry and Dave, Connie and Jack, Verna Lee and Norm, and Bobby and Wendy; loving grandfather to Amanda (Sean), Alicia (Robert), Vanessa (Marc), David (Danielle), Stephen, Jay, Clayton (Candice), Shaylah, Justin, Genevieve (Jake), Patrice, Connor, Hailey, Kate, Gabby, Rosalee, Araya, and Russell; and great-grandfather to Hudson, George, Caleb, Sadie,  Nova, Claira, Akira, Reese, Max, Ava, and Ryobi.

He is survived by brother-in-law Charles (Marlys) Anderson and numerous nieces and nephews.

He was predeceased by his parents, Henry and Margorie, and parents-in-law, Vernal and Anne Anderson; his son Vernal; and his grandson Matthew. He was also predeceased by siblings Dorothy (Orville), Harry (Suzie), Bernie (Irvin), Marguerite (Tommy), Bob (Pauline), and Dave (Margaret); brother-in-law Gerald Anderson; and sister-in-law Elaine (Ed) Nielson.

Danny will be forever cherished for his kindness, playful sense of humour, and constant loving presence in our lives.

To most he’s Danny, but to us lucky few he’s Dad. Dad wasn’t a loud man. He didn’t go out of his way to seek the limelight. Nor did he boast or speak harshly of others. But if he could make us kids believe the preposterous, he would. Like the time he had us believing he snuck out to the garden in the middle of the night to give the watermelons a drink of milk through a straw. Or when he convinced us it was dangerous for the babysitter to make popcorn, saying if she put too much in the pot, it would fill the room and we’d suffocate. And let’s not forget how he relieved us of our desserts with the same old ruse: “Look — there’s a bird.” None of us could resist the temptation, and when we turned back, our desserts had mysteriously disappeared. Dad must have secretly worried about his naive brood; after all, how many birds can magically appear at the supper hour?

It wasn’t just his lightheartedness that made Dad unique among his compatriots. Sure, he loved to garden, fish, and curl, but it was his compassion that set him apart. One spring when plowing a field, Dad noticed hawks picking off fledgling jackrabbits in the upturned soil. He climbed down from the tractor, and after a great deal of effort he pocketed two of those little rascals. Our mother, whose love for nature matched Dad’s, fed those babies with an eyedropper. She fussed over them with such fervour they couldn’t help but thrive. It wasn’t long before the pair took over the house, eating the drapes, jumping on the beds, and chewing almost every electrical cord. Our house, luckily, didn’t burn down, but there was one particularly scorched outlet.

From rescuing jackrabbits to taking us on weekly excursions to watch the development of hawks, where Mom climbed a maple tree and dangled hotdogs over the nested chicks while simultaneously avoiding the dive-bombing parents, Dad and Mom were determined that their children should not only have an understanding but a love of nature. This love was lifelong, with Dad going trail riding in his seventies. Unbeknownst to us, it was his first and last time on the back of a horse.

Then there was game day, a particular favourite of ours that was also known as hairdresser day. We were allowed to climb all over Dad and comb his hair any way we wanted, as long as we didn’t get between Dad and the television. It was golden. The infamous pancake-eating contest was a crowd favourite, with Dad bowing out when the oldest of his brood consumed 28 and was close to bursting. I think what impressed us most, though, was the greenhouse he built for Mom. Dad wasn’t a natural carpenter — in fact, he wasn’t a carpenter at all — but for Mom he picked up a hammer. He’d do almost anything for her.

It was during the last week of his life that Dad taught us his most valuable lesson: how to leave this world with dignity. Dad was as fallible as any man. He could be impatient and short-tempered. But not in his last week. He rose to a challenge that seemed impossible. We didn’t hear him snap or lash out. He was grateful in spite of his suffering. His main concern was Mom, and he was ever so reluctant to leave her. But leave he did on Sunday, April 13, with Mom by his side and his children and grandchildren singing him home. It was one of the most profound experiences of our lives and the greatest lesson he ever taught us.

Flowers are gratefully declined. In lieu of flowers, please consider making a donation to your favorite wildlife charity.

A memorial for Danny will be held at the Kin Picnic Shelter in Coaldale. June 1st 2025 at 3:00 pm.

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