Jeffrey Dwight Preston

On June 4, 2025, we lost the hilarious, quirky brother we loved so much. We’d bid him goodnight the evening before, fully expecting to see him the next day, posting new pictures of his beloved cat Tabitha, tossing out some enigmatic but funny non sequiturs, talking about guitars and guitar equipment, showing off the particular hoppy IPA he was drinking that evening—except when he was broke and had to drink the cheapo brand, and generally making everyone feel a little better about their situation, whatever it happened to be. It didn’t matter to Jeff. He was born kind, and he stayed that way. He’d be passionate about several things at once. We learned an awful lot about the TV show ‘The Expanse’ from him, and ‘Mrs. Maisel’ was giving him a mental health break from the awfulness of the world around us in this time. Music was central to whom he was and we got to hear all about it, relishing the joy he took in it. He was an Olympic level slob, and he probably thought about cleaning his room—eventually. But there was a nice scooter ride planned, and who wants to clean house when you can feel the wind on your face on a nice, sunny day?

But that didn’t happen. Now we have to mourn the loss of our friend which, quite honestly, is a very bad idea and making a lot of us angry. Jeff’s death takes a big chunk of joy from those who loved him, and there were a lot of us, maybe none more than his beloved roommate Conni and his beautiful, chonky cat Tabitha. Jeff was always kind to animals. He loved them, and did they ever love him. He loved people, too. He did not qualify for the Misanthrope Club in any way, shape or form. His humor was unique, but he knew that you punch up, not down, for something to be funny, and he had a lot of chances for this. He took all of them.

He also never missed a chance to be good to someone. Whether it was a customer at the store he called Bananastan, a friend trying to fix a guitar pickup, someone sorting through a technical problem, or just needing a friend to say a good work, it was always Jeff, and he was an astute anthropologist, knowing what was the right thing to say and do. He struggled in his life, but it never made him bitter. He was a solid man, a good hearted and kind one, and he will forever be arguing with those who do not appreciate hops and egg burritos with onions cooked in Worcestershire sauce. But even that would be a friendly dispute that would end in gales of laughter.