The Nine Devines of Chippewa Falls

“And, so it seemed destined that the story of the how the Devine family of Chippewa Falls overcame great hardships and destitution and went on to produce a nurse, a psychologist, a factory superintendent, a beloved deacon, an honored Vietnam war chaplain and priest, and a Hall of Fame football coach would never be told. A narrative lost forever to the generations that would follow. In its place, only a question as to the impact on a family when a part of their history is obscured from the official record book.

It could have gone that way. It was likely it was going to go that way. Then, something remarkable happened. A pebble in the pond began to ripple. Maybe, the divine intervening in the Devine.

One of my grandfather’s middle brothers, Greg, was notified that he had been inducted into his alma mater’s, McDonell High School, Hall of Fame. As part of the ceremony, each recipient was expected to deliver a speech. Greg had a radical idea to which he shared with his brother, Lefty. “I’m going to talk about our childhood.”
In order to pull off his plan, he enlisted the support of his son, Tim Devine. Greg wrote down the bullet points and handed them to his youngest with a simple “here” as if it were the weekly grocery list. Except this piece of scrap paper wasn’t a reminder to pick up bacon and eggs. The statements contained within were emotional landmines.

Tim, Lefty, Darius, & Mary Kay

Thankfully, Tim was a lifelong educator and gifted scribe. He brought to life the themes of adversity, resiliency, and hope from these scribbled down sentiments lying dormant inside his father’s being for decades.

Still, it was up to Greg to deliver the lines. His name was called and he stood up and faced a crowd of friends, family, former classmates, and members of the McDonell Catholic school community. For the first time in nearly eighty years, he pulled back the curtain and began to speak about the harsh truths of his youth. All his life, he questioned whether if he told his story would he be met with ridicule or worse, apathy.

When he finished, he was greeted instead with a standing ovation.

This positive response seemed to build some momentum. Greg started pondering that if it served as inspiration to those in attendance at the banquet, possibly others would find encouragement in the Devine sibling’s rise from obscurity. Once again Greg said to his brother Lefty, “We should write it all down.”

They started meeting more frequently at the A&W in Baldwin, a nice halfway point between St. Paul and Eau Claire. They got to know the waitress and when the first one to arrive would walk in, she’d say unprompted, “Your brother’s not here yet.”
Through their regular visits, they began sketching out a rough outline. They even had a working title for their project in “Bootstraps,” a name that needs no explanation.

After each subsequent trip, however, Lefty observed the initial enthusiasm from Greg begin to fade. Finally, Greg put to words what Lefty knew he was already thinking, “I don’t believe I can do this anymore. I am finding it hard to dig this deep.”
Lefty understood his brother’s sentiments. He, too, was finding it difficult to confront the past.

Meanwhile, my father and I were discussing the framework for our follow-up book to Road Map to Power. We were searching for narratives of individuals who on the surface seemed ordinary, but after further review, demonstrated extraordinary resiliency and service to their community. When we offhandedly heard about Lefty’s stalled project, we immediately arrived at the same conclusion. We wanted to tell the story of the Chippewa Falls Devines.

Our expectations were modest. If anything, this account would have tremendous value to our family members who were left with so many questions and so few answers. With a little luck it could also have the cursory benefit of providing encouragement for those facing similar adversities.

There was something else pulling me closer. An echo that began at the side of my grandfather’s hospital bed, reverberated the moment my great uncle appeared in a St. Paul courtroom, and was now a vociferous roar that I could no longer ignore.

All that remained was to convince a Devine to confess.”