We are of the opinion that the only time Roy Gentry was ever late for anything was on the day of his birth.
Roy and his twin sister, Ruth, were born on either side of midnight in Manila, Philippines, where their parents were serving as missionaries. Ruth arrived first, on September 29, 1956. Roy followed a few minutes later on September 30. He never let her live down the fact that she was the older one.
And whenever anyone asked Roy if they were identical twins, he had an immediate answer: “No. Her mustache is shorter than mine.”
Born Arthur Roy Gentry to Margaret (Alloway) and Norman Gentry, Roy was known by a lot of names over the course of his life: Roy the Boy. Captain Roy. Raoul the Driver. Brother. Brother-in-law. The fun uncle. Friend. The best Dad we could have asked for.
But we're pretty sure his favorite title was Grampa.
Roy lived freely, loved deeply, and made us all laugh. He gave the biggest hugs. He could name just about every airplane he saw. He told truly terrible dad jokes. He could recite an astonishing number of poems, songs, stories, and random bits of information. He loved Johnny Cash, The Man from Snowy River, black coffee, Dr. Pepper with lots of ice, cars, motorcycles, boats, airplanes, sunrises, lakes and being surrounded by the people he loved.
And he was the undisputed king of the pause button during family movie nights. If something on the screen reminded Roy of a story, everyone was going to hear the story.
Roy spent his childhood moving around with his family, much of it in Quebec. The son of a pastor and missionary, he grew up alongside his siblings Paul, Peter, Ruth, and Grace in a home filled with faith, church, camps, family and love.
He was also, by all accounts, a menace to his siblings.
Roy was mischievous, endlessly curious and always getting into something. He pestered his brothers and sisters relentlessly and developed an early fascination with anything that had an engine: cars, motorcycles, dirt bikes and, especially, airplanes.
As a young man, Roy dreamed of becoming a missionary pilot. There was just one small problem: apparently, he was a little too “brash” to be trusted with the pilot's license. So Roy did the next best thing. He learned how to fix the airplanes.
He attended Moody Bible Institute's aviation program and began a career in aviation that would span the rest of his life. Although Roy never became the missionary pilot he once imagined he would be, airplanes took him just about everywhere anyway.
His career included work with Bombardier in Quebec, Canadian Marconi Company and, finally, Electric Power Systems in Utah. He built a career in aviation technology and safety, working closely with the FAA and helping bring head-up display technology into business jets and commercial aircraft.
Later, at Electric Power Systems, Roy worked with aircraft battery systems and FAA certification, and even batteries for submarines. At 69, retirement still hadn't managed to catch him. He was working right up until the end because he genuinely loved what he did. He loved his team. He loved solving problems. And, perhaps most of all, he loved closing the deal.
Work also gave Roy the world.
He traveled to nearly 40 countries, returning especially often to Israel and France, and proudly became a million-miler on Delta. Years earlier, a missionary trip to Africa with his uncle and cousin had been a formative experience for him and part of a lifelong faith that never left him.
Wherever Roy traveled, he collected little pieces of the places and people he encountered. He seemed to know at least one word in an unbelievable number of languages, because if he could greet someone in their own language and make them smile, he would.
And somehow, long before GPS or smartphones, Roy always knew where everyone was. You could call him from just about anywhere in the world and tell him you were lost, and he'd get you where you needed to go. He'd step out of a meeting to take the call. He'd figure out what road you were on. He'd tell you where to turn.
That was Roy. He always knew how to get you home.
In 1980, Roy married Shirley Thompson, whom he'd met through his cousin Phil while Shirley was attending school in Toronto. Their first date was at a bakery, and from there they built a life together rooted in something wonderfully simple: they genuinely liked each other. They were best friends. They could talk about anything.
Together, they raised their two children, Katie and Benjamin, as what we will always call our “all-together family.”
And we really were.
We piled into cars and drove everywhere. We took road trips to see family. We spent summers at cottages and lakes. Every summer brought the 12-hour drive from Montreal to Shirley's parents' home in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, with a stop at the Carolyn Beach Inn and Restaurant, a place Roy loved enough that we sometimes wondered if he'd rather just buy it.
Saturday mornings meant going out for breakfast. Sundays after church meant Chinese food. And going anywhere with Roy meant meeting people.
He talked to waiters and waitresses. He asked their names. He wanted to know where they were from and hear their stories. He wasn't particularly interested in moving quickly through the world. He was interested in the people he met along the way.
At breakfast, his coffee was always black. His eggs were always over easy. And he ate them in a way that at least one of his children inherited: whites first, then the entire yolk into his mouth so it could burst all at once. Some legacies are more dignified than others.
Roy was the person we called.
If the car made a weird noise, call Dad.
If the plumbing broke, call Dad.
If the car broke down, call Dad.
If you were lost, call Dad.
If something needed to be built, repaired, figured out, moved, diagnosed or MacGyvered into working again, call Dad. He could fix almost anything, but more importantly, he would drop almost anything to try.
And then came the role Roy was born to play: Grampa.
Ciaran, Scarlett, Thea, and Juniper were, without question, four of the greatest joys of his life.
Roy had a routine with them.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“Grampa loves you.”
Again and again and again.
He told them constantly because he wanted them to know it beyond any possible doubt.
From the time Ciaran was born, the grandchildren grew up with Grampa at the lake. He took them on boat rides and let Ciaran and Scarlett “drive.” He took them through the woods, gave them rides on the John Deere and the snowmobile, built snowmen, watched movies, told ridiculous Grampa jokes and spoiled them exactly as much as a grandfather is supposed to.
Behind Roy and Shirley's house was a sledding hill, which Roy meticulously maintained every winter for the kids. Of course he did. If his grandchildren were going to sled, they were going to have a properly groomed hill.
He showed up for their events whenever he could. He talked about them to practically everyone he met. And there was never, ever any question how much their Grampa adored them.
Long before he officially became Captain Roy, lakes had been part of his life.
Roy grew up spending time at family cottages in Ontario's Muskoka region, and those memories stayed with him. As an adult, Lake Winnipesaukee became one of his favorite places on earth. He didn't need a cottage there. He had a boat.
For more than fifteen years, Fourth of July meant gathering family and friends at Winnipesaukee and watching the fireworks from the water. Roy loved filling the boat with his children, grandchildren, friends and everybody else's children, too. He'd drive anyone anywhere.
And if you were willing to wake up ridiculously early, you might get something even better: a sunrise boat ride with Captain Roy.
Those mornings usually involved blueberry coffee (black, obviously) and the lake waking up around him.
For someone who traveled to nearly 40 countries, some of Roy's happiest places were remarkably simple ones: behind the wheel, behind the helm, around a breakfast table, beside a lake, in the woods behind his house, or anywhere his family happened to be.
He was also the fun uncle; the young uncle who drove the nieces and nephews wherever they wanted to go, gave them things he probably wasn't supposed to, and always had another joke ready. He had lifelong friends from work, church, neighborhoods and family, and he had his early-morning coffee guys because, for reasons the rest of us may never understand, Roy considered sunrise an entirely reasonable time to begin socializing.
He loved people. That may be the simplest explanation for the life Roy lived.
His Christian faith was deep and foundational, but it wasn't something that existed separately from the rest of him. You could see it in the way he treated people. In his curiosity about them. In his generosity. In his willingness to help. In the way he loved his family. In his conviction that there was always room for another person in the car, at the table or on the boat.
Roy was preceded in death by his parents, Margaret and Norman Gentry, and his brother Paul, who died in 1982.
He leaves behind his wife and best friend, Shirley (Thompson) Gentry; his daughter Katie Fawkes and her husband, Dane, and their children, Ciaran and Scarlett; his son Benjamin Gentry and his wife, Alyssa, and their daughters, Thea and Juniper; his brother Peter and his wife, Barbara; his twin sister Ruth and her husband, Don; his sister Grace and her husband, Abraham; and more nieces, nephews, extended family members, coworkers and friends than we could possibly name here.
A private family graveside service will be held at Bayside Cemetery, Laconia, NH.
A Celebration of Life will be held on Wednesday, September 16, 2026 at 3:00 pm at Puritan Conference Center, 245 Hooksett Rd, Manchester, NH.
There are so many things we'll remember.
Johnny Cash playing in the car. The Man from Snowy River. A perfectly delivered terrible joke. A line from A.A. Milne's “When I Was Six.” Dr. Pepper over lots of ice. Blueberry coffee before everyone else was awake. Fireworks reflected on Lake Winnipesaukee. A meticulously groomed sledding hill. The sound of a boat starting. A sunrise over the water.
We'll remember calling him because something was broken and knowing he'd know what to do. We'll remember that no matter where we were, he could always give us directions. We'll remember the stories and the poems and the jokes and the hugs.
And four grandchildren will forever hear:
“Guess what?”
“Grampa loves you.”
Roy spent his life going places, across Canada, across the country, across oceans and through nearly 40 countries around the world. But wherever he went, the thing he loved most was coming home to us.
A Celebration of Life will be held on Wednesday, September 16, 2026 from 3:00-6:00pm at the Puritan Conference Center, 245 Hooksett Road, Manchester, NH. A brief memorial program will begin at 3:30pm with family visiting time before and after.
Wilkinson-Beane-Simoneau-Paquette Funeral Home & Cremation Services / 603Cremations.com, 164 Pleasant St., Laconia, NH, 03246, is assisting the family with arrangements. For more information and to view an online memorial, please visit wilkinsonbeane.com.