The Stories Behind the Songs
“Cheers to You, Devin”
Devin spent seventeen years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.
His only real mistake was crossing paths with Mary. And maybe — in her own way — she did love him. But by the time she realized what she had done, it was too late. She was too deep in the lie to undo what she had set into motion.
In 2011, new evidence surfaced. Enough to exonerate him.
Devin was released.
He was 43 years old.
I went to visit him that summer at his sister’s house in Rochester. I remember it being unbearably hot, one of those heavy, airless days where even the breeze feels tired.
Devin had aged. Hard. Prison will do that to a person — steal the softness from their face, slow the light behind their eyes. He didn’t talk much about what happened inside. I didn’t ask. I didn’t need to.
I asked him if he was thinking about getting back into music.
He just shook his head and said,
“That life’s behind me. Music’s a young man’s game.”
He said he was just going to try to find a job — something simple — and make the most of what life he had left.
He’d found sobriety in prison. He was clean. Intent on staying that way.
But his past had taken its toll — physically, mentally, spiritually.
He was still Devin. But he was a different Devin.
He looked for work, but there wasn’t much for a man like him.
Ex-con. Middle-aged. Too much past. Not enough future.
When I returned home, we stayed in touch for a while.
Then one day, he told me he was going to get his own place.
He said he needed somewhere “a little more secluded.”
He never told me where he went.
And then he was gone.
No call. No letter. No forwarding address.
Just gone.
I’ve asked around. Nora. Eddie. Even his brother.
No one’s heard from him.
I want to believe he’s still alive.
That he’s just laying low, like he always said he would.
⸻
In our last few conversations, I told him I thought he should write a book. Tell his story.
He laughed. Said the last thing he wanted was to relive any of it.
Said he didn’t want the shame to find his mother again.
“If you ever do it,” he said,
“Wait till she’s gone.”
So I promised him I would.
Devin’s mom passed away quietly in her sleep in September of 2019. She was 72.
After her funeral, I spoke to Nora. To Eddie. To Andrew. To Devin’s brother.
I told them what I wanted to do — and every one of them gave me their blessing.
I still check in on the rest of his family on Facebook.
Part of me is always hoping for a sign.
A post. A photo.
Something to prove that the ghost still walks.
⸻
I don’t know what I think will come of sharing this story.
Maybe nothing.
Maybe something.
But Devin was a major part of my life.
I want to remember him. I want to honor him.
And knowing what became of Mary and Isabel.
The ending was tragic.
But before it all went wrong, there were moments —
great moments.
Moments that deserved to be remembered.
If athletes and actors can use their platforms to push politics and beliefs,
Then maybe I can use mine…
to tell my friend’s story.
Cheers to you, Devin —
Wherever you are.
