On Wednesday, May 18, 2016, Irving Texas’ James Tews and Elizabeth Adams were found dead in an apartment, allegedly killed by Adams’ ex-boyfriend.
To say the least, I wrote this article with a heavy heart – shocked and grieved that a man I’ve had classes with since third grade, and was an incredible friend to me for more than a decade – died so young.
James described himself on his Facebook bio as “essentially the living version of goofy,” and that couldn’t be truer. Ashlee Pastrana remembers, “He was always so kind, loving, funny, free, and he always made me smile. We were always together for testing and he always would do something to make me laugh.”
Similarly, Samantha Gamez feels “He didn't like to be in opposition with anyone. He wanted people to be happy. Just be happy. It was like his life motto. He never said it, but he lived it. If there's one thing I'll remember most, it was that he lived to be happy.”
Beyond that buoyancy, he was fiercely loyal with a deep heart: “James was a great guy with a caring heart to even the people that gave him their backs. He was one of my KMAC family. A brother,” said Juan Bautista. 2013-2014 KMAC can probably all agree he wasn’t the hardest worker, but when it came to subjects he genuinely cared for, James was incomparable and unstoppable.
He hoped to incorporate his love of music and brightening days by becoming a middle school or high school music teacher. Vaughn Richardson remembers “He learned how to play piano, made sure to do so before his life time was over, and desired to share his passion of music and teach it to those who felt the same” because after years of growth and experience, he wanted to share it with everyone he could.
James would’ve made an incredible teacher with his encouraging disposition. A fellow vocalist and thespian, Reyna Bishop recalls, “He always said to me ‘Sing your song, sing it proud. And for every one person that doesn't like it you'll have one person who loves it. And you'll always have a least one fan with me.’”
Hopefully, you can grasp by now James was one of the most selfless people out there. Too many of us were far from equally good friends to him; I couldn’t even bring myself to attend his vigil because it meant accepting that he was truly gone.
Personally James, I want to thank you for giving me insight on how teenage boys’ minds think when I had boy drama, and I’m sorry I instead judged some of your romantic interests. Thank you for ordering pizza to the little theater at lunch to hang out with me when I was too self-conscious to go to the cafeteria. Thank you for the times you walked me home (and the even more times you offered to), and I’m sorry for all those messages I ignored when you needed a ride but I was running late already. Thank you for making me laugh (even if it involved tickling me), sharing geeky interests, complaining about hard classes and so much more.
So many of us regret the ways we treated you while you were still with us, and we only hope we can apply your lightheartedness and altruism going forward. We’ll miss you.
