Gary Albert Devoe Sr.

He was born in Caribou, Maine on July 24, 1937 the third child of Albert W. Devoe and Dorothy L. Harris Devoe. When he was young, his family moved to Portland because his dad worked in the South Portland shipyards during World War II. Growing up in an apartment located on the corner of Clark and Farnham St, he attended Butler School, and was in the first graduating class at the new King Junior High School, along with his cousin Bobby Devoe, and his future wife Elizabeth (Betty) Newcomb.

When Gary was thirteen, his dad signed him, and his cousin Bobby Devoe up to serve in the National Guard where he specialized in mortars. Shortly after graduating from King, his family bought an old farmhouse in North Yarmouth.

It was during this time, his uncle Eddie was staying with them and would tell him stories about his times in the U.S. Marine Corps. When Gary was 15, he and a friend got an adult to forge their mothers’ signatures, giving them permission to join the military. Carrying a gym bag with 1 pair of socks and a pair of skivvies, they caught a bus headed to Portland, spent the night at the YMCA, and the next day took a train to Boston to be sworn in to the Marines. Shortly after boot camp, Gary was promoted to Corporal, was transferred to Camp Pendelton, California, where they shipped out to Korea aboard the Robert G. Benson. A few months after landing in Korea, the Red Cross finally caught up with him and a few other guys who were underage, and brought them back home to America, where they were honorably discharged.

At the age of 18, he married Elizabeth (Betty) Newcomb at Sacred Heart Church in Portland in Sept. 1955 and immediately went to work starting a family.

Gary joined the Portland Police Department, where he walked a beat by himself on the waterfront and also in the Oxford St. neighborhood.

When a loud gang of juveniles were causing a ruckus in front of Amergians store on Mayo St, Gary came by and informed them he was going to walk around the block and by the time he got back, if any of them were still there, there would be hell to pay. He did as he said, and when he returned, there was nobody there.

During a solar eclipse at the old Monroe St. Jail, all the inmates were outside looking up at the eclipse, and two of the inmates walked away. They put out an APB. Gary said he thought he knew where they went. He drove to a West End bar, and both escapees were at the bar having a beer. He told them they have to come with him. They asked, Gary can’t we finish our beer first? He said OK and went back out to the cruiser. When they were done, they came out, hopped in the cruiser, and he drove them back to the jail.

Engine 11 firehouse on Ocean Ave. had a Captain there who slept in a very peculiar way…in the kneeling position with his butt elevated in the air. One night, Gary parked his cruiser away from the station, crept in, and grabbed the biggest frying pan in the cupboard, went into the captains room, and really whacked him hard on his butt. He then quickly exited the station. Capt. Winch always thought it was one of his crew members who did it.

The Chief of Police wanted to get more revenue for the department from parking tickets by targeting Sunday church goers at Portland’s various churches. The next week, the Coast Guard found numerous boxes filled with blank parking tickets floating in the bay. Nobody knew how they got there or who did it…until now.

One night, Gary stopped at Central Fire Station to socialize with the crew and to use the facilities. After he came back into a now empty dayroom from using the facilities, his hat was missing so he called out and said he wanted his hat returned. After no answer, he made another ‘request’ that he wanted his hat back. After no reply to that, he did what he said he was going to do, and his hat came quickly flying back into the room. He later said you could still see the hole in the skylight.

Almost nothing ever seemed to bother Gary. He handled life with a devil-may-care attitude, like water off a duck's back. One of the very few incidences that did affect him emotionally though was when three little kids tragically perished in an apartment fire at 82 Clark St and he, along with another police officer and two firefighters carried their bodies out on a stretcher.

When he worked as a dispatcher for the Portland Fire Department, his professional and calm, reassuring voice affected everyone at all major incidents. He once successfully guided a panic stricken mother on how to dislodge an item from her infant’s airway who was choking to death. He did all this as he was dispatching rescuers to that incident.

During a major conflagration in one of the military barracks on Great Diamond Island, the responding engine company being transported by the fireboat to battle the fire, asked for the location of the involved structure. Gary could see the raging inferno from his third floor window at 109 Middle St and informed them it was on the water side of the island.

Gary’s son was training for aircraft firefighting and while attending classes at the station, noticed a car parked on the lawn directly in front of the main door to the station. Almost a month later, with the grass now almost hiding the car, Gary’s son asked the captain, “who’s the idiot who parked the car there?” The capt. said ‘your father’. He asked why did he park it there? The Capt, said you’ll have to ask him. After the car was gone, Gary’s son called him up and asked him why he parked his car directly on the lawn. He said “I called Eddie (Fletcher), and asked him if I could park my car out there while I went on vacation, and he said yes. I then asked him where he wanted me to park it? He told me to park it anywhere. So I did.”

He used to get Hannaford gift cards for Christmas, and after there was nothing left on the card, he’d put it in a birthday card and give it to his brother Garth. Garth would gleefully fill up a shopping cart full of groceries, get to the checkout only to find no money on the gift card.

Gary was the Andrews Post slow pitch baseball manager, whose team won the American Legion championship several years in a row. He was also a gifted athlete. He was a fast pitch softball catcher, was a fantastic bowler, and in his late 30’s, played semi pro football for the Portland Griffin Club. He was a lifetime member of the VFW and a proud member of the Harold T. Andrews Post.

Gary was predeceased by his parents Albert and Dorothy, brother Garth, sister Caroline, wife Betty, his son Matthew, daughter Stephanie, and grandson Christopher. He is survived by his three sons Gary Jr. (Heidi) of Gorham, William (Janet) of Cumberland, and Albert of Heilbronn, Germany, daughter Stacey Hagerman, sisters Joyce Larby of Puyallup Washington, and Gloria (Richard) Pettingill of Cumberland, and five grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

The family wishes to thank the staff of Fallbrook Commons (formerly St Joseph Residence and Rehab (who had to put up with him and his antics), ) for their kind and professional care. Also, thanks to Kathy Wakefield whose kindness in lending him a hand in the latter chapter of his life are deeply appreciated and noted.

Per Gary's request, there will be no service, but if you think of it, just raise a parting glass in his remembrance.