It was a glorious day, so we were guided to a spot in the sunshine, and before long he offered us a beer.
It also wasn't long before I got the famous Needle stare, when he had a crack at me about the length of my hair.
But as the afternoon moved on, and we talked about all manner of things - mostly rugby - he became increasingly comfortable with the company. "I like the cut of your jib," I remember him saying.
By the end of that day I had learned much about Fred - not a man to suffer fools gladly, he was also intensely loyal to friends, strong-minded but fair-minded, interested in others opinions, excellent company, a passionate rugby man who at times wore his heart on his sleeve.
That afternoon he told us of his deepest regret, and the emotion was palpable. It had nothing to do with rugby.
I was to see other examples of that emotion in the coming years - a clip on television when his magnificent 1967 All Blacks had a reunion and Fred was choked to tears by the sight of them running around in rugby jerseys again.
He was a man's man, but he was the genuine article - no false idol.
That long and brilliant afternoon ended with a few more drinks on his boat moored in a harbour. It was one of the most memorable days I have had in the media.
A few months later the series was launched with a swanky party, and I found myself in conversation with Fred and legendary fullback Bob Scott. Never one to mince words, Fred at one point let go a colourful expletive. Bob chastised him because there were "ladies present". Quick as a flash Fred said, "Nobody would have heard, except Grant and he doesn't care." He was right. I was pleased to have his trust.
A few days after the episode detailing Fred's life went to air I got a phone call from him.
He said: "I don't know how you fellas do it. It was marvellous." That was the mark of the man. He was the star, but he knew how to say thanks for a job well done.
Fred had other abilities - like never forgetting a face or a name - which made him an outstanding traveller wanted on all sorts of missions.
I met him many more times before I left Auckland in 2004 - mostly at Eden Park and mostly briefly, but we also caught up in South Africa in 1996. He was always keen to chat about an aspect of the game in progress, and his comments were always astute.
In 1999 when I made a few appearances on Television New Zealand's rugby analysis programme, Tight Five, he told me I should be "proud" of my work on the show. Coming from him it meant a lot, although I suspect he was pleased I had stood up for one of his favourites, Carlos Spencer.
Whenever there was anything on television about Fred, I watched it, including an emotional Anzac reading at Carisbrook. I regarded him as taonga.
I will leave the finer details as a footnote, because his exemplary record was just a part of the legend. He was our "Mr Rugby".
I simply regarded myself as fortunate to make his acquaintance. Since his death last Saturday I have realised he had that kind of impact on many people.
Lucky to survive in the service of his country in World War II ("from the discipline you get self-discipline"), a successful businessman, a rugby legend, a good bugger.
I salute you, Sir Frederick Richard Allen. RIP Needle.
During World War II, Sir Fred served as a lieutenant in 27 and 30 Battalions, and at the end of hostilities was a brilliant five-eighth for the services team known as the "Kiwis" who thrilled British, French and New Zealand audiences with 15-man rugby. He was All Blacks captain from 1946 to 1949, appearing in 21 games, including six tests. Following an outstanding tenure as Auckland coach, he graduated to the All Blacks in 1964, and as coach between 1966 and 1968 led them to victory in all 14 tests played before quitting because he didn't feel supported by some factions in the NZRU. He was inducted into the International Rugby Hall of Fame in 2005. Sir Fred Allen will be farewelled with an Eden Park funeral today.
