JEFF ‘PACO’ DOYLE (MARCH 16, 1959 – JANUARY 7, 2015)

Paco, the founder of and guiding light behind PACOVILLA Corrections blog, suddenly passed away of a heart attack yesterday

The news that Jeff passed away came as a terrible shock to me. He gave me the opportunity to vent with my rants on PACOVILLA. His dad has been a friend for ages. We served together in the Riverside Sheriff’s Department.

Jeff’s brother Greg, the Gadfly, wrote a moving eulogy on PACOVILLA. Here it is:

PACO’S LAST RIDE (FAREWELL TO THE SILVER FOX)
By Greg 'Gadfly’ Doyle

PACOVILLA Corrections blog
January 7, 2015

Please forgive me. I have borrowed the title of author C.S. Lewis’ book on the death of his wife in order to announce the passing of my brother, Jeff Doyle (aka: Paco), from an apparent heart attack in his home on Wednesday evening. He leaves behind his lovely wife, Loni, two adult daughters, Lynnette Boughton and Jessica Ruley, and three grandchildren, Jesse Boughton, Paul Ruley, Elise Ruley, and an unborn grandson due in a few months. He is also survived by his parents, Gerald and Theresa Doyle of Perris, California, and me, his older brother, Greg.

Jeff was a uniquely gifted man who loved satire and helping the underdog. Suffice it to say, as we grew up most of Jeff’s friends were underdogs—people who were not popular, who needed help, who needed a good friend. And Jeff was a good friend to many. He spoke to me often of his role as a parole agent before his retirement. He helped many underdogs in the CDCR prison system on both sides of the bars. Members of the Sacramento Police Department, especially those who worked in Sacramento South, appreciated Jeff’s keen abilities as a parole agent. They dubbed him the Silver Fox because of his prematurely gray hair and his uncanny ability for finding absconders in the gang-infested areas of that part of town.

Jeff was my roommate until I left for the Army in 1975. Though we fought like cats and dogs as kids, we loved each other as brothers often do. Through thick and thin, Jeff was my companion as well as my beloved antagonist. And we were common allies against the bully who lived next door. Aside from having a father who was in law enforcement, perhaps Jeff and I entered law enforcement, in part, because that bully taught us to stand up for ourselves and others who were being picked on. I was never more surprised and proud of Jeff than the day he joined corrections.

In 1974, we shared a creative writing class in high school when I was a senior and Jeff a freshman. He once wrote a brilliant satirical story about a man who wrote a thank you letter to then President Nixon. In the story, due to government bureaucracy and blunder, the poor man was eventually accused of plotting to kill the president, arrested, and sent to federal prison. It was simply a brilliant piece! That our teacher hated it elevated Jeff’s stature as a satirist to new and dizzying heights.

Jeff loved his profession but hated the hypocrisy and the politics that came with working in the law enforcement profession, particularly asinine administrators and blathering bureaucrats within the corrections system. His involvement in the CCPOA union was in keeping with his love for the underdog. And this blog, Pacovilla, began as his satirical brainchild to expose the hypocrisy of the political powers that made working in corrections in California frustratingly and increasingly difficult. He turned leaders into lovable potatoes and lampooned governors, political hacks, and administrators with barbs of their own making. It was pure genius!

The shock of his death is more than I can express in these few words. Late in life, Jeff found God through faith in Jesus. I take comfort in that in spite of my insurmountable sorrow at his passing. He was preceded by my cousin Paul Waddell, whom Jeff beautifully eulogized in March of 2014, and wrote about concerning miracles in this blog. Now they are in the presence of God together and learning what the meaning of life is truly about in eternity. He was one of the most generous people I ever knew. And I love and miss him.