When Ryan Devlin was a young child, she contracted a virus that made her temporarily unable to walk. Her parents were separated at the time, and she recalls her father, James Harry Devlin Jr., coming to visit with gifts she’d treasure for years.
“He brought me a bunch of Michael Jackson posters,” she said. “That just brightened me up. I remember him tickling me and hugging me. Those posters stayed with me for the longest time. I loved Michael Jackson and that was the coolest dad thing he could’ve done.”
Ryan remembers her father as a protector; at about 5”11’ and stocky—one of his nicknames was “Moose”—but he was mostly called Jimmy or Jimbo. He had a gentleness about him, particularly when it came to Ryan, her younger brother Michael, and the rest of the family, including his siblings, Debbie and Kenny.
James was born April 16, 1959 in Philadelphia to James and Diana Devlin and raised in the Feltonville section of the city. He was the class clown type in school and enjoyed playing softball and football as well as cheering on the Phillies, Eagles and Flyers.
He loved to dance and was great at it. While he enjoyed rock, he could also cut a rug to some disco.
After graduating from Cardinal Dougherty High School in 1978, he served as an orderly at Parkview Hospital and worked at Seafood Shanty.
Feltonville was a close-knit community, and that’s where he met Robin, Ryan’s mother. Within about a year of graduation, he became a father when Ryan was born. Family was James’ priority, and he remained an involved father after he and Robin split up.
The little things have stayed with Ryan, like how her father smelled like Old Spice, sometimes a little bit too much. And how he taught her to put toothpaste on a toothbrush, and how he showed her how to spell his name.
“I wanted to know how to spell and write his name because I was learning how to write my own name,” she said. “For some reason I couldn’t do it with pen and paper, so he showed me how to write it on an Etch-A-Sketch, which is much more difficult, but I got it. He just took the time.”
Not only was James generous with his time, he was also generous with his praise. He was all about making sure other people felt good about themselves, and he was a bit of a flirt, too. He had good energy and people enjoyed his presence.
Ryan remembers sitting on the steps at James’ mom’s house and feeling sad about something. He got down on his knees and loaded her up with so many compliments of how beautiful she was, how great she was, and how she could do anything in life.
“It was just that dad pep talk, and it was great,” Ryan said. “I hold onto that.”
As wonderful as James was as a father, Ryan is certain he would have been an even better grandfather, but he never had that opportunity.
On April 16, 1985, James was celebrating his 26th birthday at a bar in Feltonville when he and another person got into an argument, and James was murdered in the 500 block of Wyoming Avenue.
Ryan’s grandmother told her that her dad is in heaven, and Ryan recalls feeling at peace for him. But then she realized he was never coming back, and there was a bad guy out there.
James’ murder has remained unsolved for 35 years.
It angers Ryan to have lived longer than her father, and she grives all of the life he never had the opportunity to live. To fall in love again. To have more children. To argue, to fail, to go through hardship. He wasn’t there to comfort his mother when his father passed away.
He’s not here to look into his grandson’s face and see the resemblance, to hear himself referred to as “Pop,” and feel the joy of seeing the next generation making their way in the world.
“For so long, I felt like we were robbed, and we really were. But as I get older, it’s become a more glaring realization that he was robbed. Because as I got older, I got to experience this, and I got to experience that, and yet he hadn’t,” Ryan said.
“You deserve that as a human—it’s part of human existence and growth. All experiences help to build a person and he was figuring it all out. He was 26. And he wasn’t even 26, really. He was 26 for less than a day.”
Her father’s death has colored her life in so many ways, including her enjoyment of birthdays. For years, she refused to celebrate anyone’s birthday. As Ryan puts it, “murder has a strange hold over you, because you don’t want to ever experience that again. And you think you have control when you don’t.”
“We need to talk about him and not have him just spoken as an utterance. He existed, and he should still exist, and he needs to be remembered. And hopefully justice will come of it. I’m settled if it doesn’t. I just don’t want him to be forgotten.”
James is laid to rest at Magnolia Hills Cemetery with his grandmother.
A reward of up to $20,000 if available to anyone that comes forward with information that leads to the arrest and conviction of the person responsible for James’ murder. Anonymous tips can be submitted by calling the Citizens Crime Commission at 215-546-TIPS.
Ryan wrote this poem about her father:
It’s a wound that burns yes, forever.
A scar that heals no, not ever.
The breath that halts in me whenever,
I remember,
The brief brief time we had together.
It’s a burden of burdens carrying this lumber.
And that I can only recall things few in number.
Still in my mind’s eye I cherish the rarest of treasure.
For it’s the memories that are worth more than any measure.
The time you told me you loved my dress with polka dots.
How we watched Knight Rider with Michael an awful lot.
The number 10, Old Spice, an Etch -a-Sketch,
Rocky, tooth paste, the WWF.
These are some that pop in on a lucky night.
A birthday cake, and the candle glow.
The lyrics to the first hymn I’d know.
My baby brother adorning his cape,
His way to fly away, protect and escape.
My mother’s white blazer that shielded my face,
The incense that enveloped that time and space.
The long aisle, and the people that packed every pew.
A million wet, weary eyes staring back at you.
The sun shining through Rosehill’s front door.
The light streaming in just moments before,
I witnessed my mama being lifted off of the floor.
These are a few that haunt me still.
You know, when time freezes? It leaves an everlasting chill.
In one day we mourn your death and celebrate your life.
A cowards choice caused for many much sadness. For many much strife.
Twenty-six years on the planet just wasn’t enough
Add to that the thirty without you,
We’ll never make – up.
The triumphs the heartaches. The days that’ve gone by,
So many questions without answers. Why?
The tears that filled my children’s eyes,
When they asked where was their grandpa and why he isn’t alive
Forgiveness is a process. God knows I try.
There’s now four without a grandpa
Brewing newer emotions, unfiltered and raw
We’re allowed this anger, in fact we’re owed
The ones who’ll agree have traveled down the same road
While I’m angered and teeter with forgiveness yet,
My heart prefers to travel to times together spent
I’m thankful for the five years we had hand in glove.
One thing a murderer can never abscond is: Love.
It’s an imprint that lasts, forever
A feeling that fades no, not ever
The joy that lifts my soul, whenever
I remember
The precious times we were together.James Harry Devlin, Jr
4/16/59-4/16/85
Love ya, Dad.
