John Hayes Prejean

John Hayes Prejean, 78, died January 21, 2020 at Kirkwood Manor in New Braunfels Texas, where he received 3 months of hospice care following a cardiac arrest on October 14, 2019. Born January 14, 1942 in Abbeville, Louisiana, the son of Whitney and Lillian Prejean, John grew up in Lake Charles Louisiana and lived in Houston, Los Angeles, Canyon Lake and New Braunfels. John was a dancer, musician and artist who loved creating beautiful spaces where fun could happen. John leaves his daughters Julie Prejean and Kristie Hart; granddaughter Tainy Spadaccini; grandsons Evan Prejean-Hart and Duncan Hart; great granddaughter Scarlett Rose Spadaccini; brother Glenn Prejean and family; brother­­ James Prejean; and, former wife Bette Luna Prejean. A private memorial service date is to be determined. By Chad Glass: He told it like it was—whether you wanted to hear it or not. A complex man, a sensitive man, he could see things from angles that most didn’t or just couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. It was just his way: How could opposing feelings be so true at the same time? In talking with him on the porch, he could make you mad. But you would eventually get over it, perhaps, realizing a truth in it. A lot of people didn’t agree with him but would heed his words later, in a memory, finding something they could use. His non-linear ways, sometimes nonsensical, could suddenly change to directness, as if he were scolding his children, guiding them to something they wouldn’t face. As the master of nuance, he could take you down, and then lower—but had a talent for landing the right comment that would have you suddenly laughing. His truths were often hard but comedic, his talks requiring you to lighten up. When it came to music, you had to just sit there and take it, jagged pills forced down. He was usually right, though, even when he was wrong. In a way, he never grew up and knew exactly what children saw—through his own eyes, day to day. He could make you see yourself, as the child, the one who never grew up either—the one who needed discipline. And isn’t it funny how, so easily resistant one can become to growing pains, it all could be considered praiseworthy in hindsight, seeing these acts of love for what they were? This is the John I knew. Godspeed, John Prejean; you told it like it was. You will always be in every note I play.