If Fort Pierce seems a little quieter these days, it's because James "Jim" Boudreau finally left town. Jim passed away on June 12, 2026, at the age of 70. 

Known as "Jimbo," "Jimmy Jam," "Fort Pierce Jim," "Paint House Jim," and occasionally a few less flattering names, Jim was one of those rare people who became woven into the fabric of a community. For more than 45 years, Jim was a fixture at The Paint House, a familiar face around town, and one of those people whose presence became so constant that it was easy to assume he'd always be here. He wasn't famous, and he never sought attention, but if you spent enough time in Fort Pierce, chances are you knew Jim, knew someone who knew him, or had at least heard a story about him. 

Jim was born on April 1, 1956 in White Plains, New York to parents Paul "Joe" Boudreau Jr. and Florence Boudreau. Jim was one of four brothers alongside Bob, Eddie, and Bill. 

In 1998, Jim married Laurel Elms Boudreau. He became the proud stepfather to Phillip Elms. One of the best things that ever happened to Jim was meeting Laurel. They met at Roy's, across the street from The Paint House, where Jim's father had once worked. Laurel was one of the few people capable of matching Jim's stubbornness point for point. When Jim started complaining, Laurel could give it right back. They were best friends, drinking buddies, partners, and teammates. Jim carried the loss of Laurel with him after her passing in 2004. Those who knew him best knew a piece of him left with her. 

Jim not only left behind family by blood, but the family he had found during his life. People who met Jim tended to stick around. He had accumulated several friends from the last 60 years who considered him family. 

Mike Matthews met Jim in first-grade Saturday detention. Two troublemakers, both sentenced to washing windows, became best friends before the day was over. Jim was adopted into the Matthews family and became a fixture at all their gatherings. Sixty-four years later, they were still fond of spending time together and arguing about things neither one was willing to admit the other might be right about. 

Joe Faitella first met Jim in 1977 after hearing repeatedly, "You've got to meet Jim Boudreau," from a mutual friend. Jim was home from the University of Florida on break and climbed out of a truck wearing a leg cast. His first words were a colorful complaint about having to climb a flight of stairs to meet Joe. That was the moment Joe knew they'd get along just fine, and their friendship lasted nearly fifty years.

His other family included Sande and Dave Dineley, Lisa and Tom Darcy, Diane ????, Christine Philblad, Andrew Rohr, Brynn Cerri, and many more. 

If you ever asked Jim how he was doing, you got the same response: "Living the dream. How ‘bout you?" Friends, customers, and coworkers alike can probably still hear him saying it. 

Jim had an incredible memory and an eye for detail that bordered on supernatural. Give him a paint chip the size of a dime and he could create a color formula to match it. He took pride in getting a better match on his first formula than the computers at competing paint stores. Jim noticed things. In fact, one of his greatest frustrations was that so many other people didn't; he believed people had become too busy and distracted to pay attention to what was right in front of them. 

The same eye that could spot the difference between two nearly identical paint colors could also spot any mistake, flaw, or error everyone else had missed. He questioned everything, double-checked everything, and trusted very little. Mostly because experience had taught him that somebody else usually got it wrong. 

Jim had a reputation for being grumpy, and to be fair, he worked hard to earn it. He complained about traffic, politics, prices, weather, and pretty much anything else. Everybody was an idiot at some point or another. 

The problem with that reputation is that it only told half the story. 

His lifelong friend Mike Matthews often called him "The Porcupine." It was the perfect description. Jim was prickly on the outside, but underneath all those spikes was the softest underbelly you could imagine. 

Outside of work, Jim's passions were simple. He loved his wife and stepson. He loved baseball and most sports—the Florida Gators, the Marlins, the Rays, the Dolphins. He loved art and rock and roll. He loved good food. He loved Fort Pierce. He loved closing up The Paint House and grabbing a beer with friends. He loved history and could talk about it for hours. He loved animals—and while we're being honest, he generally preferred dogs to people. 

Retirement wasn't exactly what Jim had planned. After a lifetime of hard work, careful saving, and doing everything the right way, health challenges slowed him down much sooner than anyone would have liked. But even then, he remained stubbornly himself—watching crime dramas, keeping tabs on everybody's business, and continuing to hold strong opinions about how the world ought to work. 

In one of his final conversations, Jim was told that an old customer had recently asked about him. 

"It's nice to be remembered," he said. 

The truth is, Jim never needed to worry about that. Loads of people remember him. 

They remember the man leaning on a stool behind the counter at The Paint House. 

They remember the voice answering the phone. 

They remember the baseball fan, the history buff, the dog lover, and the friend. 

They remember the complaints, the opinions, the laughter, and the stories. 

Most of all, they remember the man hidden underneath the spikes. 

Jim worried sometimes that he would be forgotten. 

He was wrong. 

He will be remembered. 

In keeping with Jim's wishes (and personality), only a small, private service will be held. 

Later this summer, friends, family, former coworkers, customers, drinking buddies, fellow baseball fans, and anyone whose life was made a little better by knowing Jim will have a chance to gather for a public celebration of his life. Anyone who would like to attend is encouraged to contact Brynn Cerri at brynn.cerri@gmail.com for additional details.