Birth date: Jan 17, 1951 Death date: Jan 10, 2026
Brian Levantine, 74, of Oakland, CA, passed away peacefully at home on January 10, after a decades-long journey with prostate cancer. Born and raised in Los Angeles to Daniel and Rose (Zimtbaum) LeVantine, Brian grew from a curiou Read Obituary
CARED FOR BY
Chapel of the Chimes Oakland Funeral, Cemetery and Cremation Services
4499 Piedmont Avenue, Oakland CA 94611
This Message is from SARA Dechaume:
Dear Brian,
You don’t seem like someone who would like a dramatic farewell. So this is more of a way to write down my memories and my feelings, not that I would ever forget.
You were the kindest man I’ve ever met. Truly. You set the bar for men so high that the rest of them should probably just stop trying, or at least observe and take notes.
You loved Valerie, Sarah & Carrie absolutely, entirely and with your full heart, you were constant, you were THE husband and Dad people dream of. They’re so lucky to have had you.
You also loved everyone around you, Cleo & Captain Zarcon, as well as your other sisters, Sheree your bonus daughter, your son “in law” Neal, so many more and really everyone. We were all so lucky to know and experience you and be cared for by you.
You had this rare, magical ability to never judge anyone. Ever. You let people be their full, weird, chaotic selves and somehow found joy in all of it.
I met you on my birthday while you were traveling in France, we stayed up and partied, and instead of doing the reasonable thing, like maybe other more boring adults would do, and go to sleep, you stayed up all night with us. Sitting there, watching us get drunker & drunker, dance on tables. Carrie & Sarah were there too, you were the most relaxed Dad on earth, smiling and enjoying the vibes.
And while you may have calmed down later in life, I’m told there was a wild version of Brian before I met you, but even after life “settled”, you had a spark, a silliness, like a giddy little boy, a lust for life (and probably other things too).
You were generous with your time and skills, the ultimate caretaker.
A vacation to France was also an opportunity to help Neal and Carrie install a new bathroom.
When I visited California, you didn’t just loan me a car, you adopted me the way that you do. You made sure it was running perfectly, changed the tires, replaced the battery, and put me on your insurance. I’m still not convinced why you trusted me to drive it (you shouldn’t have), but you made sure the car was ready anyway. It made me feel very loved and cared for.
And then there were the breakfasts.
Staying at your house meant a full egg consultation. Scrambled? Over easy? Poached? No problem. You’d make five different kinds, because apparently you believed everyone deserved to have their egg as they desired, because you always, always took care of people.
I’ll miss watching you grab Valerie’s bo0bs like it was the most natural, joyful thing in the world, because with you two, it was. I’ll miss sitting with you and Valerie watching Survivor, and I know that every time I watch it from now on, I’ll think of you.
You were generous without making it heavy. Kind without conditions. Thoughtful without ever making a show of it. You made people feel safe, welcomed, and quietly taken care of.
You will be deeply missed. But you also left behind something incredible, the gold AAA standard. A blueprint and a forever reminder that you can live a life full of love, humor, loyalty, joy and do it beautifully.
And if I can be even a little more like you, or love life even half as well as you did, I’d be winning.
Thank you for everything.
We’ll keep dancing on tables.
The day I met Brian, I remember feeling an immediate sense of safety and a quiet happiness. I was so small, yet I remember loving him instantly. I’ve always been carried by the warmth and positive energy he gave so effortlessly. That light will stay with me forever. 🩷
Brian uplifted and loved the women in his life
They say memories last a lifetime. And I’ve definitely got one with Uncle Brian that fits the mold.
I was just four years old when I decided I was ready to ride a two-wheeler with the big kids. We were getting ready for a family camping trip to Yosemite, and while I was old enough—and eager enough—to get lost on foot, being on a bike was a completely different story.
The only reason I didn’t get lost that weekend was simple: all I had to do was look for the guy with the ponytail popping wheelies and doing brodies, kicking up dust everywhere. That was Brian.
Brian was the epitome of the “cool uncle”—at least to me. But no matter who he was to anyone else, you could probably put the word cool in front of it and it would still fit. Cool brother. Cool son. Cool friend. Cool human.
He had an incredible ability to bring people together, even when there was tension or discomfort in the air. Things just felt lighter when Brian was around. And as much as I idolized my dad and looked up to him, I wanted to do all the stuff Brian was doing. Every time we’d visit his house, I’d get lost in all the new gadgets and toys he always seemed to have—things meant to entertain, distract, and keep everyone smiling.
Brian was the type of person everyone liked. Truly. Nobody ever had anything negative to say about him. He had a big heart and never shied away from showing it to the people he loved.
My fondest memory of Brian is that he taught me not to be afraid of getting hurt—at least physically.
That day in Yosemite could have had a very different ending. Looking back now, I can’t help but think, what the hell were they thinking, letting a four-year-old—fresh off training wheels—lead the pack down a mountain. But it was the 80’s. Nobody really wore helmets, and the word safety almost sounded like a foreign language back then, rather than something ingrained into our daily lives. What could go wrong?!
It didn’t take more than thirty seconds before I had completely maxed out the speed of those tiny ten-inch wheels. No brakes. No fear. No guardrail between me and a very steep drop.
I hadn’t learned how to slow down yet, because I’d never gone fast enough to need anything other than the soles of my shoes to stop.
All I remember is the voice behind me yelling, “BRODIE! BRODIE!”
The light bulb went on.
Before I could stand up off the seat and shove my right heel through the pedal to kick up some dust—ponytail-man style—I was suddenly learning how to do my first double front flip, complete with a double knee scrape.
If Brian didn’t save my life that day from an Evel Knievel attempt off Half Dome, he at least showed me a foolproof way to get free ice cream and a whole lot of attention.
I still haven’t gone back to that park, but I remember that day like it was yesterday.
There are simply too many memories that we all shared with Brian. We could go on for days and days reminiscing. He had a way of making you feel welcome and truly present, and there was an aura about him that brought warmth and comfort, no matter the situation.
Even back in high school, when my parents thought it would be a good idea to let me and my buddies valet for their Christmas party—which ended with us getting caught red-handed joyriding in Carrie’s Mustang (sorry, Care)—I was a major disappointment and probably the buzzkill of the night. I was scolded, grounded, and given a choice set of words, all of it well deserved.
But there was one person whose reaction was different.
That was Brian.
Rather than saying what any other dad would have said in defense of his daughter and her precious car, Brian waited until no one was around and then quietly praised me for my stupidity, admitting that he would have done the exact same thing himself.
For those who knew Brian, that says everything. That’s just who he was.
If you knew, you knew.
Thank you for the lasting, lifelong memories, unc.
I’ll never forget you.
Love,
Your favorite nephew,
Chris
