The Verdict -- Robert Gardner

Andy Devine was known to a generation of children as the sidekick of

Wild Bill Hickock in the TV series of the ‘50s. Adults remember him as

one of the stalwarts of such westerns as “The Man Who Shot Liberty

Valance” or as Cap’n Andy in productions of “Show Boat.”

I remember him as one of the nicest people to grace this world, and

the nicest thing about him was the nice way he did things. He did them

because he sincerely wanted to, with no fanfare, no search for publicity

or credit.

Andy and I became friends when he and his wife, Doagie, moved to

Newport Beach in the early 1960s. At the time, I was the juvenile court

judge for the county. A routine developed in which, between movie and

theater jobs, Andy would go with me to the juvenile court for a day with

the youngsters.

At first, he attended my hearings, but we had to drop that because my

audience members spent all their time craning their necks to look at Andy

instead of listening to the pearls of wisdom I was dropping on them.

Instead, he would wander through juvenile hall, dropping in on the

kids in the cells where they were being held pending their court

hearings. It was a wonderful shot in the arm when this big guy with the

shaggy eyebrows lumbered into the room and said, “Hi,” in that

distinctive squeaky voice. Here was someone -- someone of prominence --

who cared.

Later, we would drive out to Ray Stripe’s Joplin Boys Ranch, populated

by older boys, 16 to 18, uniformly tough and in for every crime

imaginable. Andy would go to the smoking area with the boys, and there

they would smoke, kick gravel and swap yarns. By the time he left, the

boys were laughing and smiling, something of a rarity in juvenile court

circles.

Then we would swing by the David R. McMillan School for disturbed

youngsters. These sessions were something, especially with the girls,

many of whom had been rejected by their families. I don’t know how he did

it, but Andy would wander into a girl’s room, strike up a conversation

and the next thing you knew the room would be crowded with girls

screaming with laughter. And laughter at that school was even scarcer

than at Joplin or the hall. These girls simply soaked up the friendliness

of this man who cared.

Some of those boys and girls continued their friendship with Andy

through their later lives. I remember one girl I shall call Anita whose

life after she became an adult was just one tragedy after another. Poor

Andy suffered through every one of them. We would be playing cards, the

phone would ring, and a half-hour later Andy would come back to the

table. All he had to say was “Anita,” and we knew that she was in trouble

again.

As I said, this was all done quietly with no desire for recognition or

reward. The rest of the world didn’t even know it was going on. Andy just

wanted to do something nice, and that’s how I remember Andy -- as a

terrific actor, of course, but an even nicer guy.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge. His

column runs Tuesdays.