People who knew Brian West say the same thing: he made you want to be better. Plant City lost him June 22, and the tributes haven’t stopped since.
Brian S. West spent 58 years on this earth doing something remarkably rare: he gave wholeheartedly to the people around him, asking for nothing in return and never keeping score.
West, a lifelong resident of Plant City and the face of Publix’s community relations across Central and Southwest Florida, passed away Monday, June 22. He was 58.
In the days since, it has become clear that this community, the one he poured himself into through board meeting after board meeting, festival after festival and store opening after store opening, is nowhere near ready to let him go.
His final act of generosity was being an organ donor, giving others a chance at life even as his own was coming to an end. For anyone who knew Brian West, that came as no surprise.
To understand why his passing has left such a void, it helps to listen to the people who knew him best.
Cindy Griffin, owner of several businesses including Mavric’s Chocolate Barn and Berry Amaz’n LLC, worked alongside him for more than 25 years on Publix in-store promotions, store openings and community events. She said Brian had a presence that filled a room the moment he walked through the door.
“He was like a brother from a different mother,” Griffin said. “He was a verbal bouquet every day to people. He always had something kind to say, something encouraging, something that made you feel seen, whether it was a compliment or a joke.”
Just last week, West and Griffin stood side by side at the opening of a new Publix store, a milestone they had shared more than a hundred times over the years. But this one was different. Brian brought two of his children along, wanting them to see firsthand the work he loved and the relationships he had spent his career building.
After the ribbon cutting, the group gathered at First Watch for breakfast, talking and laughing like they always did. “Little did I know that was the last store opening we’d do,” Griffin said with emotion. “But what a blessing that his children were there to experience it with him and see the impact he made.”
Florida Strawberry Festival President Kyle Robinson has known Brian since they were teenagers, and he said the man the community knew at 58 was the same one he knew at 15: steady, principled and always looking out for others.
“Even as a teenager, he held himself to such high standards,” Robinson said. “When some of us were doing foolish stuff, he was the voice of reason.”
Robinson recalled swimming in golf course ponds, collecting golf balls so they didn’t have to buy them. “Brian tried to discourage us from doing it because it probably crossed his mind that what we were doing was dangerous, but we just wanted the golf balls,” he said, laughing at the memory.
“That sense of responsibility never left him,” he said. “He carried it into every part of his adult life.”
That same quiet steadiness defined everything Brian touched in this community, which was, by most accounts, nearly all of it.
The entire list of charitable organizations he was involved with could not fit on the pages of this paper, but to name just a few, he served as an associate director at the Florida Strawberry Festival and was on the boards of South Florida Baptist Hospital Foundation, the Plant City Chamber of Commerce, the East Hillsborough Law Enforcement Appreciation Association, Special Olympics Florida, Unity in the Community and the United Food Bank of Plant City, where he eventually stepped back from formal board duties but never from the mission itself.
Marsha Passmore served alongside him on many of those boards, and she said the thing people need to understand is that he never simply occupied a seat. He made every organization stronger. “He was just good at bringing groups together,” she said. “Any time a situation came up, and there was a special need, he wanted to jump on it right away.”
She reflected on his years with the United Food Bank as an example. Even after professional demands forced him to step back from active board service, his commitment to fighting hunger never faded. In recognition of his impact, the organization created an emeritus board status for him.
“The only thing that changed when Brian left the board was that he didn’t have to attend meetings,” Passmore said. “His heart was still there. He was still looking for ways to make sure no one in our community suffered from food insecurity. That was just who he was.”
At the Florida Strawberry Festival, he served as associate director, where he took on leadership roles the way he did everything else: with vigor and without any interest in the credit. This past year, as co-chair of the Strawberry Ball fundraiser, the event raised $50,000 for Everyday Blessings, a local children’s home. He toured the facility, asked the right questions, made sure the donation would reach the children in the most meaningful way…and then stepped back, satisfied. “He never wanted recognition,” Robinson said. “He just wanted to do what was best for the children at that home.”
The Florida Strawberry Festival captured it well in their tribute on Facebook: “Some people leave footprints. Others leave a legacy. Brian West’s impact cannot be measured by positions he held or the accomplishments he achieved, but by the people he encouraged, the friendships he cultivated and the difference he made simply by showing up and caring deeply for others.”
Faith ran through all of it. Brian was a Sunday school teacher at First Baptist Church Plant City, and Griffin said his classes had a way of making Scripture feel like something you could carry with you into the week. “We’d read the Bible and study the Word, but we also talked about how it related to our everyday lives,” she recalled. “That was Brian; he always connected things back to how you treat people.”
Shane Hasting, a longtime friend who knew Brian since junior high, said his laugh was contagious and his friendships enduring. “I’d run into him at Publix on Manatee Ave. near the beach, he’d be talking to the store manager, would point his finger at me and holler ‘Shane’ and then come and talk to me,” Hasting said.
Gary Pike, another longtime friend, said that while many people will remember Brian for his devotion to family, his leadership, and his countless contributions to the community, he will always remember Brian’s sense of humor.
During a Plant City Chamber of Commerce annual meeting, Pike and Paul Davis were judging a video skit competition when Brian took the stage and fully embraced an unexpected role. “Brian performed a Gangnam Style dance and completely committed to it,” Pike recalled. “He absolutely nailed it, and it became something we laughed about for years afterward.”
For Pike, the memory captured something essential about Brian’s character. Despite his many accomplishments and leadership roles, he never took himself too seriously. He had a gift for bringing joy to the people around him and wasn’t afraid to laugh at himself if it meant making others smile.
Passmore said she has spent the days cycling between grief and gratitude, trying to hold onto the laughter more than the loss. “I told someone today that Brian always made me smile, but he typically made me laugh out loud,” she said. “I’m still smiling, even though I’ve cried since Saturday.” She thought for a moment about how to explain what it was like to be in his orbit, why people sought him out, why rooms felt different when he was in them. “Some people you walk away from,” she finally said. “With Brian, you just wanted to walk toward him.”
Robinson said what Brian gave this community wasn’t something that can be tallied in committees served or causes supported. It was something quieter than that, and more lasting. “He was a phone call away if you ever needed help, but he never sought the credit,” he said. “He’s also raised tremendous children who will continue to live in a way that makes him proud and uphold the same values their dad did.”
Brian S. West is survived by his wife of 28 years, Jennifer, their children Elizabeth Ann, Elijah James, and Emory Christian, his mother Sue Brown (Nick), his brother David West (Erin), and a community that is only now beginning to understand what it means to carry forward without him.
