Leon Sanchez

Leon Evelio Sanchez

1949 – 2025

Biography

Born in 1949 in Allende, Coahuila, Mexico, Leon Evelio Sanchez passed away peacefully on May 14, 2025, surrounded by his loved ones. He was 75 years old and had faced the challenges of a stroke with resilience and grace for over a year.

Leon was five years old when he came to the United States. He grew up in Boyle Heights, with his parents and his 5 siblings where he developed incredible mechanical skills—he could fix or build just about anything. If something had an engine, Leon could bring it back to life, especially cars. He joined “The Imperials,” a car club that remained close to his heart and inspired his lifelong love of classic cars and classic oldies but goodies.

After high school, Leon enlisted in the United States Marine Corps. At the time, his older brother Pete was serving in Vietnam, so Leon was stationed in Okinawa, Japan. Upon returning from service, he began working at Ladish Pacific Division to save enough money to buy a car and rejoin The Imperials. He purchased a 1958 Chevy Impala and transformed it into his dream car: pearly white with pink undertones, black leather seats, black carpet, Riviera bucket seats in the back, a working cocktail bar, and even a record player—though it skipped every time they hit a bump. None of that mattered. He was in his glory, cruising down Whittier Blvd.

Leon married Helen Kraft, and though they eventually went their separate ways, they shared an important chapter of his life. He later met Gloria Gonzales, with whom he built a blended family, helping raise her children—Johnny, James, and Carol—before welcoming two sons of their own, Leon Jr. (JR) and Levi. After two years of living together, Leon and Gloria were married in Las Vegas on Valentine’s Day. They divorced, but remained close for the rest of his life. In his later years, he shared his life with his longtime partner, Robin Casteel, whose companionship brought him laughter, comfort, and care.

Leon lived in Alhambra and Covina for many years before moving to Helendale in San Bernardino County in late 2018 to be closer to his sons. He was predeceased by his parents, Evelio and Eva Sanchez, and his oldest brother, Omar E. Sanchez.

He is survived by his sons, JR (Heidi) and Levi Sanchez; his grandchildren, Kara, Kylie, Kortni, Robbie and Presley Sanchez; and his siblings Marta (Neal) Gallegos-Dudovitz, Pete (Syndie) Sanchez, John (Kristen) Sanchez, and Elodia (Arturo) Chavez—as well as 15 nieces and nephews.

Leon was someone you could always count on. No matter when you called, he was there. His friends and family knew the comfort of his steady presence and kind heart. He had a contagious, unmistakable laugh and a deep love for old movies. His spirit will live on in the lives he touched.

The family is grateful for all who loved Leon and invite you to remember him by living with the same loyalty, humor, and generosity he shared so freely.

The family also wishes to thank Leon’s wonderful caregivers, Paula, Marcy, Alma and especially Janet who supported and cared for him over the last years of his life, so he could remain in his home.

In lieu of flowers, the family appreciates donations in Leon’s memory to a veterans-serving organization, the Armando Gallegos Memorial Foundation, or a charity of your choice.

***

Good morning , My name is Adrienne, I am Tio Leon's niece. I am the second of 15 nieces and

nephews.

Today, we gather not just to mourn the loss of our beloved Tio Leon, but to celebrate the vibrant, joyful life he lived. He had a deep lasting impact on Monica, April, and myself. Tio was 18 years old when I was born so I’ve had the privilege of knowing him for nearly 40 years. We lived in the apartment below my grandparents and saw our uncles and aunt daily. They were part of our daily lives. That closeness created a bond between us that is still in place today.

Tio Leon was one of our uncles that took three little girls on countless adventures. Whether it was in the camper, the little green Pinto, the yellow Canary, or Big Red, we were always going somewhere. I even remember standing on his lap as we cruised down Bonnie Beach, holding onto the little chainlink steering wheel. He’d take us on a variety of trips including Yosemite, Three Rivers, and the desert. He taught us how to camp, how to hunt, and how to be part of a crew—setting up, cleaning up, doing our part, and to always be respectful to everyone we interacted with. Except for the little boy I had to punch at the campsite…he loved to tell that story.

He once built us a swing on the side of a steep mountain, which was basically a rope hanging on a tree branch that swung over our tent below. I remember how wide my eyes got as I looked over the edge, and he told me, “Don’t worry, it’s safe. I wouldn’t let anything happen to yous guys.” If my mom had seen it, she would’ve had a heart attack! But we got on it—because one, tio leon made it; two he always looked out for our safety; three we believed him when he said we’d be okay and four, it swung over his tent and in his way he said, “don’t fall on my tent”.

Tio Leon loved to tell the story of the time he asked my mom if he could take me to an Imperials car club meeting. When he came to pick me up, he started to walk away and my mom stopped and said “Hey Leon, don’t forget the diaper bag”. “The what?!” he said, “Does she really need that? She’ll be fine!” According to him, I was a hit that day and drew all kinds of attention from the ladies. That was a

genius move on his part. When they saw my dimples, they thought I was his daughter. He would laugh telling that story, always making it clear he was proud to be our uncle—but he definitely enjoyed the attention.

To us, Tio Leon was larger than life. He was the kind of person who made every room warmer, louder, and more alive. When you saw his dimples you knew he was happy to see you and it was gonna be a good day. And when he hugged you, it wasn’t just a greeting—it was a bear hug filled with love, strength, and comfort. It felt like home.

He was music and laughter. He was the soundtrack to some of our best memories—singing in the car, making up lyrics. Music was an emotional connection we all shared with him. Just last year, Monica and I sat with him for hours and created a playlist of songs that reminded us of him. We sang together, laughed together—it was a beautiful day. One of his favorite memories was “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.” On a long road trip, when we ran out of the real verses, we made up our own. He laughed so hard he cried: “She’ll be wearing Mami Eva’s pajamas when she comes— scratch scratch!” or “She’ll be chewing tobacco when she comes—hawk tua!”.Great times

Tio Leon had a gift for fixing cars. I’d call and say, “My car’s making this sound—prrr-prr or clik-clik clik,” and he’d immediately knew what it was. He taught me how to change the oil, replace spark plugs, and even fix a bent piston rod in my Subaru. He had me in overalls, working beside him in a minute. And of course, he kept secrets too—like the time April took her little red car out to Alhambra, way farther than she was allowed to go, no surprise. When the car stalled, she called Tio Leon in a panic, convinced our parents were going to kill her. He didn’t hesitate—he helped her, and he never told. Now, that legacy of car knowledge lives on through JR, Levi, and Robbie.

He always watched over us. He was protective of Monica when we would pick on her he’d say “Hey, leave my baby alone”. When he worked security at Brandis, he kept a close eye on us —sometimes too close. He’d tell the boys to back off and remind April to button up her shirt—again, no surprise. And once, I got to return the favor—he was arrested in place of Tio John for a noise complaint at Brandis. I waited outside the police station until he was released, then took him back to get his car. So happy to be there for him just like he was always there for us.

Even though he was quiet and private in many ways, he loved to share his memories. He’d tell the same beloved stories again and again—about the Imperials, the marines, about movies he’d just seen, or moments from our childhoods. He told them with such joy, as if he were reliving the best parts of his life just for us.

Tio Leon loved to laugh—especially with his brothers, our uncles. The sound of them cracking up

together over jokes or childhood stories was like magic. Summers at his home in Gragmont were full of laughter, pool nights that lasted till morning, and the kind of family joy that sticks with you forever. Even my own children remember sleepovers and swimming at his house—another generation touched by his warmth. Another reminder of how strong the bond of family can be, and how joy can be a legacy too.

The three of us are grateful for every single trip, every laugh, every song, every story, and every hug.

Tio Leon showed us how to find joy in life’s little moments, how to be generous with your love even if you aren’t always open with words. His presence was a gift. Though he may be gone from this world, the music, the laughter, and the love he gave us will echo in our lives forever. We are so lucky and thankful that you were our Tio Leon.

Every time it was time to say goodbye, we’d kiss him and say, “I love you, Tio,” and he’d say, “I love you more.”

Now, as you journey home to be with our dad, Tio Omar, Mami Eva and Papi Velio, we get to say it

back: “Tio, we love YOU more.”

***

Hello everyone.

Thank you all for being here today to honor the life of my beloved brother, Leon. Your presence is a comfort to the family and a testament to the impact he has had on our lives. I want to say a special thank you to Leon’s Caregiver’s, Janet whom we can’t thank enough, her mother Marcy and of course Paula. I want to also give a heartfelt thanks to all of the family who contributed to making the services memorable for my brother. I know he appreciates it.

It’s difficult to find the words to describe what my brother meant to me — and to all of us. He wasn’t just my older brother; my role model, my occasional tormentor when we were kids, but most of all, my friend.

From the very beginning, Leon had a light about him — a spark that drew people in. He had a fantastic laugh that filled a room and a heart big enough to carry the burdens of others, even when he was quietly carrying some of his own.

Growing up, I remember having a lot of mischievous fun with Leon and I know he likes to tell those untrue stories about me jumping out of the window when my parents wouldn’t let me go out with him anymore and with good reason. Starting at 15 years old Leon took me to all of his Imperial Car Club events, whether it was a House Party, camping, cruising down Whittier Boulevard or just their weekly meeting. I’m sure I was a pain in the booty but taking his little brother along when he didn’t have to, meant the world to me. I don’t know if he knew it or not, but he sure helped instill a lot of confidence in myself. I was thrilled when his friends would call me Little Leon, they all accepted me into their club, but it was mainly because of him.

I’d loveto tell you some of those wild and crazy stories, but. I carry so many memories of my brother that a lot of them blur together: but the way he’d laugh when he found something truly funny or told one of his hilarious stories, that full-body kind of laugh that made you laugh right along with him. I’m gonna miss that.

When Leon left to join the Marines, he gave me my first car a ’56 Chevy, Metal Flake Blue with Supremes all around! I loved that car! He also instilled in me my love for music, he loved playing his Oldie’s but Goodies! When he came back from serving overseas, I couldn’t wait to catch him up with all the latest hits including a new Latin artist, the sounds of Santana! As was his usual custom, he’d play the songs over and over and over again! I was able to repay him back a little bit for his generosity when I asked him to be my Head of Security at Brandi’s. He loved that job and really took it seriously, even wearing my old Sheriff’s Badge on his belt. He looked like a Bad Ass!

As we got older, our bond deepened. Life took us down different paths, but no amount of time or

distance could weaken the connection we had. Whenever we spoke, it was like no time had passed. He had this rare gift of truly listening, of making you feel heard and valued. That’s who he was — someone who made space for others, even when his own life was full. Leon was a strong and steady presence in my life — someone who might have bent easily but stood firm in love and loyalty and he had deep convictions. He also showed great generosity.

Whether it was helping a neighbor without being asked, helping to fix our cars and never asking for a penny, or simply being present for his family, he gave of himself fully and without hesitation.

He was also wonderfully human — with his own quirks and flaws that somehow made us love him even more. He could be stubborn, oh yeah, but he was also fiercely loyal. And we he loved you, you felt it – even if he didn’t always say it. He showed up, he stood by you, and he didn’t back down. That kind of love doesn’t disappear. He had strong opinions, but he always made room for laughter and love.

Losing him feels like losing a part of myself. The world feels a little quieter now, a little less bright. But I take comfort in knowing that his spirit lives on — in the love he gave us, whenever we hear his favorite songs and in the memories, we’ll carry forward. So today, we don’t just mourn.

We remember.

We celebrate.

We give thanks for the gift of his life, even though we wish we had more time.

Leon, thank you. Thank you for being our brother, our parents favorito, father, grandfather, a Tio, but most of all, our friend. Thank you for your love, your laughter, your kindness, and your strength. We will miss you every day. But we will carry you with us — in our hearts, in our actions, in every stubborn grin with those huge dimples and in the stories we will tell about you for the rest of our lives. You are deeply loved, and you will never be forgotten.

I’d like to leave my brother with the Marine e expression of Enthusiasm and Unity, when I say Sanchez, I want everyone to yell Hurrah!!

Until we meet again, rest easy, my brother. We’ve got it from here.