When Tre’von Beasley was little, maybe 5 years old, he and his brothers spent hours outside with their bug catchers, trying to see who could collect the most. One day, Tre’von caught way more bugs than his twin brother, Taje’, who looked down at his nearly empty net, clearly disappointed.
While Taje’ wasn’t looking, Without saying a word, Tre’von opened his own bug catcher, scooped out half his bugs, and slipped them into Taje’s net. Then he grinned, tapped his brother, and said, “Now we got the same.”
That was Tre’von. Always making sure everyone had enough. Always thinking of others.
“He would give you the shirt off his back,” his mother, Chandra Beasley, said. “He just had a heart like that. If you needed something, and he had it, it was yours.”
Tre’von was 25 when he was killed on May 30, 2024, in Mantua, at 38th and Brown streets. He left behind two children: his son, Tre’von Jr., who is almost 8, and his daughter, Milan, just a year and a half old. He also left behind three brothers, a mother who adored him, and countless friends who still call her “Mom.”
Tre’von had grown up in Edgemoor Gardens, and from the time he was young, he was a protector, a jokester, and a prankster. “He was always messing with me,” Chandra laughed. “I’d call him, and he’d pick up and say, ‘No, no Chinese food, 10 minutes!’ I’d be like, ‘Tre’von, stop playing!’”
He was the kind of guy who would sneak up behind her and lift her off the ground just to hear her shriek. “He knew he could get away with it because I couldn’t stay mad at him,” she said. “He was just so full of life.”
He carried that same energy into his work. Tre’von had been a plumber for seven years and was working toward starting his own business with his youngest brother, Cameron. He had just bought a 2020 Dodge Ram truck for the company, and only weeks before his death, he was proud to have learned how to install Tesla chargers.
“He was always learning,” Chandra said. “One night, it was like one in the morning, and he texted me a picture of a water heater he installed all by himself. He was so proud.”
But above all, Tre’von was a devoted father. “His son wasn’t just his kid, that was his best friend,” Chandra said. “He had him every weekend, no matter what. And if he had to work, he took him to work with him.”
Fishing was their thing. “His son would cast out his line and look up like, ‘Did I do it right, Daddy?’” Chandra recalled. “And Tre’von would say, ‘You got it, buddy!’”
Even now, when Chandra takes Tre’von Jr. fishing, he still talks to his dad. “Last time we went, he held up his fish and said, ‘Look, Daddy, I got this for you.’”
It had been years since Tre’von had been with Tre Jr.’s mom, Donna, but the two had become best friends. They were very young when they got together but they managed to raise their son together but living separately. During the week, he would go to her house to help him with his homework and they would go across the street to the park.
As an example of how close she was to the family, Tre’von approached his mom about seven months before his death. Donna had gotten pregnant, and even though Tre’von wasn’t the father, she wanted him and his mom to be in the delivery room to cut the chord.
“Of course you can!” Chandra said. “He would cut the chord. Then the baby was born six days after he passed. I was there and I cut the chord.”
Tre’von also had a soft spot for people who needed a friend. In school, he made sure kids with special needs weren’t left out. “He had a friend who stuttered really bad, and people would try to make fun of him,” Chandra said. “Tre’von wasn’t having that. He made sure that kid had a friend.”
And it wasn’t just a school thing. Those same friends, years later, were still by his side. “Even now, they call me and check on me,” Chandra said.
Tre’von’s kindness, his humor, his ambition—he was all of those things. But more than anything, he was someone who loved fiercely. He loved his family, his kids, his brothers, his friends.
“I just don’t understand why,” Chandra said. “He wasn’t in the streets. He wasn’t in a gang. He was just visiting his girlfriend. And now he’s gone.”
His son is still too young to fully understand. “We told him there was an accident,” Chandra said. “We didn’t tell him about the gun, about the violence. But one day, we’ll have to.”
For now, Chandra makes sure Tre’von’s kids know who their father was. She shows them pictures, tells them stories. She makes sure they remember his laugh, his love.
And when his son catches a fish, she tells him, “Your daddy would be so proud.”
