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COREY HARRISON DEVLIN

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COREY HARRISON DEVLIN Obituary
DEVLIN, Corey, Harrison Of Evanston, Illinois, formerly of Swampscott, passed away May 9, 2016, following a 21 month battle with colon cancer. Corey did not deal in subtlety. He knew what he loved, embraced it, and scrapped the rest. Well, maybe not scrapped. Corey kept everything, from decade-old birthday cards to the date on which he first saw Raiders of the Lost Ark. He knew more about that movie than you ever did about any movie. Corey was a one-man film institute, complete with a horror archive deserving of a festival weekend at the Brattle (burgers and Cokes at Charlie's after the show). Look for the guy in black. Red bandana around one boot. Tall when he straightened himself. Best not to tread on John Carpenter. Corey's tough, and he would gladly demonstrate. Boylston's late night stumbling punks found out the hard way. The rest of us admired his grit without staring down the sole of his Dr. Martens. When Corey took an interest, he took it all the way. As an elementary school student/crime fighter, he donned the Batman's cape and cowl, the closest thing to a suit and tie Corey ever owned. He was the Dark Knight. Not for Halloween. For real. In high school, at a time when New England's youth gripped grass-stained laces and dreamed of rising from sixth round obscurity, Corey held something else: his signature Flying V. Corey and his guitar bled heavy metal. Ozzy and Randy Rhoads. Axl and Slash. Lemmy. Morrissey? Yes, Morrissey. If The Record Exchange carried it, Corey knew it. And he could play it, note for note. By the time he blew through Berklee, Corey was THAT guy. Encyclopedic. When we last left our hero, ripping it in Chicago with Dead on TV, Corey was where he belonged. One must imagine him happy. Corey was beloved. Not because he knew Han shot first. His passions - and the depths to which he followed them - revealed Corey's most admirable qualities. Authenticity. Genuineness. Utterly incapable of being anyone other than himself. Honest to the point of discomfort. Despite unrelenting waves of bad news, Corey never lost hope. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, even when his present meant more treatment. Good luck finding anyone who ever heard him complain. Tomorrow would come, and with it hope for one day better. He neither burned out nor faded away. Ultimately, Corey was cheated. He would never have said so. In his opinion, he made the most of his 11,397 days. And his opinion is all that matters. Corey is survived by: his parents, Michael and Susan, older brother Matthew, younger sister Tracey, a supportive family of aunts, uncles and cousins, as well as his Chicago posse of friends. A private burial service was held in Swampscott Cemetery on the birthday of his late paternal grandmother, Joan Morrison. Donations in Corey's memory may be made to the general scholarship fund of Berklee College of Music.
Published in The Boston Globe on June 10, 2016
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