This essay was adapted from a speech delivered by MTC student Charles Crowe at San Quentin’s 2026 Mourning Our Losses Ceremony, held on April 10, 2026. Hosted by the San Quentin chapter of Mourning Our Losses, the annual event honors San Quentin residents, staff, and volunteers who have passed away. Crowe’s speech honored Eva Diez, a volunteer faculty member with Mount Tamalpais College. Illustration of Eva Diez by MTC student Robert Kuikahi.
Eva was a volunteer Spanish teacher for Mount Tamalpais College. She was young, and her tragic death in February was sudden. I want to begin by expressing our condolences to her family, her colleagues, and her friends. As her students, our hearts are broken. I can only imagine the depth of this loss for those who knew her on a deeper level.
I was Eva’s student and served as an aide in some of her classes. The volunteers who come in to teach for Mt. Tam are discreet about their personal lives and we know better than to ask a lot of questions. What we learn about them is based on what we see when they come inside. So we see personalities and we see character. In Eva’s case, what we saw was an endearing personality and impeccable character.
When I remember Eva, I think of contrasts. Here was this small woman with really big hair. She had this thick, rich head of beautiful auburn hair cut in an avant-garde style. The first time I saw her hair I did a double-take. But I soon realized that it was perfect for her, not just for her appearance but also for her personality. For me it came to symbolize how very cool she was.
One contrast to Eva’s petite size was her giant intellect. She was very smart and perceptive. Eva was obviously very well educated and she was a skilled educator. She spoke immaculate Spanish and she taught us to speak her beautiful language properly. She also spoke English very well with a subtle, charming accent.
Eva was both European and Bay Area all at once. She had a certain dignity and poise, a sort of Old World, cosmopolitan depth that made me feel a little like a crude colonial when I was around her. But at the same time, she had a relaxed, easy manner and a quiet humility that made her relatable and comfortable to be around. Her beautiful smile was always present and she was sometimes playful and mischievous.
Although Eva was from Spain, she taught Spanish from a global perspective. She was always bringing in beautiful color printouts of scenes from all over the Spanish-speaking world. One day she would show us images of a marketplace in Lima, Peru, and the next time scenes from a town plaza in Caracas, Venezuela. She taught not just the language, but the people and culture behind it. In this way, she honored and showed her love for her Spanish-speaking brethren all over the world, which highlighted another contrast to her small frame. Eva had a gigantic heart.
In spite of her own stellar qualities, Eva was other-directed, locked in like a laser beam on her students. She looked out for us. I once asked her for a support letter. She answered me with accented dignity, “I would be honored.” This wonderful person, who towered over me in every way except for her height, would be honored, she said, to vouch for my character. I was honored just to be in her classroom. I still have that letter. In it she wrote about the good she saw in me, and from the letter I realized that she had been watching me, searching out the good, just as she looked for the redeeming qualities in all of us.
It was Eva’s outsized heart that brought her into this prison to teach. Yes, she had the requisite knowledge and skills, but it was her heart that brought her through that gate. All of the Mt. Tam staff and volunteers are wonderful, but even among that outstanding group, Eva was extraordinary. Shortly after hearing of her death, I talked to Jody Lewen. I told Jody that I saw Eva as the tip of the spear, and Jody gave me a quizzical look. What I meant by that was that Eva epitomized the kindness and generosity of the volunteers that come into this prison.
I remember once leaning against the big wall before they tore it down to build the Learning Center. A hundred yards away, across the yard, I spotted Eva’s profile, the big hair, the perfectly erect posture, as she walked along the cyclone fence heading toward the Education B-Building. She was probably on her way to a meeting of Students Teaching Teachers, one of her routine missions of mercy. I remember having a sense of well-being at that moment, just to see her presence, even from that distance. It seemed to me that the darkness of this place rolled away before her small, steady steps.
Eva was a powerful force for what is good and just. Her death was a catastrophic loss and she is sorely missed. But in the few years that she was with us, she had a tremendous impact. She lifted us up with her kindness and compassion. Her enduring legacy in this place is that she enriched all of our lives with her knowledge and her gentle spirit. I am a better person for her influence and I know that there are others here today who can say the same. Good looking out Eva. We are forever grateful.
Gracias, Eva, por todo. Siempre te vamos a recordar. Adiós, maestra. Adiós, amiga.
