JETNET remembers John Hopkinson, founder of Hopkinson Aircraft Sales and one of JETNET’s earliest customers, who passed away on September 6, 2026. The Hopkinson family has kindly shared his obituary, which we are honored to publish in full below.
Keith John Hopkinson
August 7, 1942 – September 6, 2026
John Hopkinson died on September 6, 2026, at the age of 84, following a remarkable life shaped by family, friendship, aviation, hard work, and an enduring belief that almost anything was possible if you were willing to make it happen.
Born in Goderich, Ontario, on August 7, 1942, John was the son of Ethel M. Bettger and Keith S. “Hoppy” Hopkinson. He lost his mother when he was just six years old. A few years later, Hoppy married Isabel, who became an important part of John’s life and helped raise him. Hoppy and Isabel later welcomed John’s sisters, Anne and Jane.
Aviation was part of John’s life almost from the beginning. He grew up at Sky Harbour Airport, where his father was an important figure in the early development of amateur-built aviation in Canada. John spent his childhood around airplanes, pilots and mechanics, and as a teenager worked at the airport and learned to fly. He soloed before he was old enough to drive a car.
The sudden death of his father in an aircraft accident in 1964 changed the course of John’s life. Still a young man, he found himself carrying responsibilities much earlier than expected. Aviation, however, remained the constant thread. In the late 1970s, John headed west to Calgary, where his instincts, determination and deep knowledge of airplanes eventually led him to establish Hopkinson Aircraft Sales.
John built the business the way he built most things: through relationships. He knew airplanes exceptionally well, but he understood people even better. A handshake mattered. So did a person’s word. Clients became friends, friends became family, and a business transaction was often the beginning of a relationship that lasted for decades.
He also had an instinct for recognizing possibilities others didn’t yet see. He backed people he believed in, made introductions, gave opportunities and took chances on people who sometimes needed someone else to see their potential first. Many careers, businesses and lifelong friendships began because John opened a door and said, in one way or another, “Give it a try.”
Hopkinson Aircraft Sales became a respected name in business aviation across North America, but for John the company was always more personal than simply a business. It was part of a family aviation tradition stretching back to his childhood in Goderich. That tradition continues today through his sons, Andrew and Keith, who carry on the business and the Hopkinson name in aviation.
At the centre of nearly everything John built was his wife, Christina. For 42 years they were partners in every sense of the word. Christina worked beside John as they built the business, the farm and their family. She travelled with him for work and for pleasure, helped foster the relationships that became so important to them, and welcomed an extraordinary number of people into their home.
John could arrive with dinner guests on very little notice and somehow Christina would produce a meal worthy of her reputation as a gourmet cook. Their dinner table became a gathering place for clients, colleagues, old friends, new friends and people who, before long, simply became part of the family.
Christina was John’s right hand throughout their life together. In his later years, as his health required more and more care, she remained exactly where she had always been — beside him. She devoted herself to caring for him at home for as long as possible, with a degree of patience, loyalty and love that those closest to them witnessed every day. And, as anyone who knew them will attest, she spoiled him rotten.
John was a proud father to Andrew and his wife Nicole, Keith, Sandra, and Ruth, and a loving grandfather to Jack, William, Henry, Duncan, Hannah, Avery, and Zachary. He is also survived by his sisters, Anne Tafiet and Jane Sager.
His grandchildren brought him enormous pleasure. Jack, William and Henry knew him as “Gogo,” a name he initially resisted and eventually wore with pride. He loved watching them grow, teaching them things, and seeing the next generation make itself at home in the world he and Christina had created.
That world included the farm.
John bought a quarter section — 160 acres — and, as he so often did, saw something in it that wasn’t there yet. Over the years he and Christina transformed part of it into the place he had imagined. About ten acres became John’s meticulously maintained paradise of lawn, trees and fences, with a tennis court and a trout pond where his boys could fish. The remainder stayed true to its roots as farmland and pasture.
John was rarely happier than when he had a project underway there. He cut grass, painted fences, planted, improved, planned and then planned some more. There was always something that could be made better. What others saw as an empty piece of land, John had seen years earlier as the place it would eventually become. That ability — to see possibilities before they were obvious and then put in the work required to make them real — was one of the defining characteristics of his life.
He approached fatherhood in much the same way. John taught his sons plenty, but he also gave them room to figure things out themselves. When he decided they should learn to drive a standard transmission, for example, he acquired vintage Second World War Willys Jeeps from Canadian military surplus and turned them loose to learn. It was quintessential John: provide the opportunity, give enough direction to get started, and let experience take care of the rest.
He remained endlessly curious throughout his life. John was an avid reader and assembled an impressive library. He was a lifelong student of aviation history and collected aviation books, artifacts and memorabilia with an enthusiasm that never diminished. He enjoyed escaping Calgary winters for Arizona, but the farm remained home and there was usually another project waiting for him when he returned.
Perhaps John’s greatest collection, however, was people.
He had friends from every chapter of his life — childhood friends from Goderich, aviators, customers, competitors, neighbours and people he happened to meet along the way. Geography and passing years rarely seemed to matter. He stayed connected. He remembered people. He made introductions. He brought people together. And once someone became John’s friend, they tended to remain one.
That loyalty was returned. In the final weeks and months of his life, messages and calls arrived from people whose friendships with John stretched back decades. They remembered airplanes and business deals, certainly, but more often they remembered adventures, meals, chances John had given them, things he had taught them and the simple fact that he had made room for them in his life.
John leaves behind much that can be seen: a company, a farm, an aviation collection and a family business that continues into another generation. But much of what he built cannot be inventoried. It exists in the opportunities he gave people, the friendships he maintained, the confidence he placed in others, the lessons he passed to his children and grandchildren, and the family he and Christina created together.
The family extends its sincere gratitude to Roma, whose care, companionship and friendship brought John great comfort and support over the past several years; to Dr. Lui and Dr. Dezfuli for their exceptional care and guidance; and to the staff of Dulcina Hospice for the compassion and dignity they provided John and his family during his final days.
A Celebration of John’s Life was held at 2:00 p.m. on Saturday, September 19, 2026, at 240 Aviation Place N.E., Calgary, Alberta, where family, friends, colleagues and all those whose lives crossed paths with John’s gathered for stories, memories, a few drinks and, most importantly, the company of the people he brought together.
John spent a lifetime around airplanes, and aviation remained part of who he was until the end. So we wish him blue skies and tailwinds, somewhere west of the sunset.
Perhaps we’ll see him there someday.