James Thomas Phoenix

Layton, Utah — passed away suddenly in the early afternoon hours of November 9th of 2025, around 1 p.m., with the same restless spark that defined him from the very beginning. Born in California and raised in Torrance, James lived a life built on motion, curiosity, stubbornness, and laughter loud enough to fill a garage.

He was a man of many trades, but the open road was always where he felt comfortable. A professional truck driver who could handle a big rig like it was an old friend, James loved the rhythm of the highway and the quiet company of his own thoughts at about 80 miles an hour. At home, though, he was an unstoppable tinkerer. Give him a piece of machinery, and within minutes, he’d be turning it over in his hands, convinced he could make it better.

That relentless curiosity came with its share of battle scars — and his family could almost chart time by them. Every couple of years, without fail, he’d end up in the ER for stitches, a burn, or a tetanus shot. It never slowed him down. He’d laugh, complain, patch up, and go right back to work.

When the work fought back — a nut that refused to budge, a hose that wouldn’t unclog, or an electrical system that simply would not cooperate — the whole house would hear his trademark yell: “AAAAAAHHHHHHH! Ya bitch!” (accompanied by a few choice words best left unprinted). The tantrums were loud, brief, and always directed at the tools, never the people.

One unforgettable afternoon, James burst into the kitchen mid-project, hair wild and eyes wide, shouting, “FIIIIIRRREEEEEE!” He tore through the cabinets, grabbing pots and pans to fill with water while announcing that his Toyota pickup engine had caught fire in the garage. As chaos swirled, his eldest (Mykie) calmly handed him the fire extinguisher from the pantry. He stopped, looked, said “Thank you,” and dashed back out to save the day. The truck survived — a little charred, a little wiser — and “FIIIIIRRREEEE!” became an enduring family punchline.

James was funny without trying, stubborn in the best way, and driven like a man who always had something to prove — to himself, mostly. Whether hauling freight across states or fixing a carburetor at midnight, he worked harder than anyone you’ve ever met. And he filled every space he entered with humor, noise, and that unmistakable sense of forward motion.

He is survived by his wife of nearly fifty years, Vickie Phoenix, his eldest child, Michael James Phoenix-Freestone, his daughter, Emerald Summer Phoenix, and his nephew/adopted son Justin Robert Sharkey, who all inherited his humor, grit, and knack for making life a little more interesting.

In honor of James, take THAT drive, tell A STORY that makes you laugh until you can’t breathe, FIX something that probably wasn’t broken in the first place, and THROW that tool because yeah!, it was the problem. He’ll be there… and He’d like that.

Services entrusted to Lindquist’s Mortuary and will be kept private and immediate family only.