‘How can I make this funny for everyone’: Cape Elizabeth dispatcher always shared his joy

Greg Tinsman, a longtime Maine public safety dispatcher, firefighter and reserve police officer who spent more than three decades serving communities along the southern coast, died Wednesday of natural causes. He was 70.

Tinsman began his public safety career in Cape Elizabeth in 1974 and went on to work as a dispatcher, firefighter and reserve officer in Cape Elizabeth, Scarborough, Kennebunk and Sanford over the course of his life. His last post before retiring was with the Scarborough Police Department, where he worked from 2014 until stepping away.

"He just had a very calming, controlled way of dispatching everything," said Kevin Riordan, a co-worker of more than 10 years. "Everybody always felt very safe with Greg."

Cape Elizabeth Police Chief Paul Fenton, who worked alongside Tinsman for decades, remembered him as someone who could find humor in nearly any situation, even the most serious calls. Dispatchers serve as the voice on the other end of the line during fires, car crashes and medical emergencies, guiding both the public and first responders through moments of crisis.

"Bueller … Bueller," Tinsman would say in a deep, trademark baritone if an officer was slow to answer his dispatch, Fenton recalled.

"He always said something weird," Fenton said. "He'd be worried about you, but he'd make light of it."

Tinsman was known throughout the region for his practical jokes. During the winter, he would spray a fine mist of water on co-workers' cars over the course of his smoke breaks, freezing them into solid blocks of ice overnight. When his victims emerged the next morning, unable to scrape their way in, Tinsman would stroll out, cigarette in hand, and offer a diagnosis.

"He'd say, 'It must be that European paint job that oxidized,'" Fenton remembered.

He was also a prolific cartoonist, sketching comic strips about daily life at the department in real time, including during contentious union meetings. Fenton said he still keeps some of the original drawings in his office.

"You knew by watching him, if he was looking up and down, you're like, 'Oh God, what's this going to be?'" Fenton said. "It's like he was always thinking, 'How can I make this funny for everyone.'"

Tinsman was deeply connected to Cape Elizabeth, where he lived and worked for more than 30 years, and where his family had deep roots. Even years after he stopped working for the department, he rarely missed a hiring or promotional ceremony. Fenton said Tinsman was the first person he called when something important happened at the department.

"He was always the first person I called," Fenton said. "I knew he would show up and bring positivity."

Joseph Thornton, who became Tinsman's supervisor in Scarborough, first met Tinsman as a teenager doing ridealongs and sitting in on dispatch. Thornton said Tinsman stood out immediately for his professionalism and his warmth.

"Immediately, I identified Greg as a legend," Thornton said. "He's the gold standard."

The public loved Tinsman too. Thornton said people would call the dispatch line just to chat, and some stopped by with cookies and baked goods. One year, a member of the public donated an extra turkey. By July, Tinsman had decided it was time for Thanksgiving. He organized a meal for the shift, claimed the bird for himself, and boasted about his cooking skills.

"I'm an expert turkey cooker," Thornton remembered him saying.

Tinsman put the turkey in the oven early that morning while they watched reruns of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. By early afternoon, with the timer still unread, the bird was checked. It had been placed upside down and was half-burnt.

"He had the nickname with of us of Turkey," Thornton said.

Kristie McLaughlin, a Scarborough dispatcher roughly half his age, became close friends with Tinsman over their shared shifts. She introduced him to fried pickles, hummus and sweet potato fries, all of which he declared "the best things that ever existed," and he treated her children as though they were his own grandchildren.

The pair bonded over football, joining the same office pool and debating their weekly picks over beers at the Coppersmith Tavern, their favorite spot. Their losing streaks were frequent and lengthy.

"We each had a debt of at least a keg and a half," McLaughlin said.

At home, Tinsman kept a pitcher of iced tea ready for McLaughlin, switching it to decaffeinated without being asked when she became pregnant. The two played Wii bowling regularly, and Tinsman usually won.

Tinsman is survived by his son Nicholas Fogg, daughter Lindsay Crowley, and grandchildren Kiley Moholland and Brooke Moholland.

His friends are now grappling with the question of what will happen to Eric, a wild seagull who became Tinsman's unlikely companion. Eric hung out on the roof of Tinsman's house, waited patiently for him to return from work each day, and rode up the driveway on the hood of his car. Tinsman kept his refrigerator stocked with beer and little else, except for a seemingly endless supply of hot dogs, all of them earmarked for Eric.

"I had never seen him eat a hot dog," McLaughlin said.

She and her children plan to stop by and bring Eric some hot dogs in Tinsman's memory.

"He cared about his town, where he worked for more than 30 years and had deep family ties to," Fenton said. "He's a Cape guy."