Tony Chambers

Tony Chambers, 66, of Marietta Ga passed away unexpectedly on August 9th 2026, following complications from leukemia and heart disease.

He is survived by his son, Josh Chambers, his four grandchildren, his loving mother, Velma Worley, and his sister, Helen Boyd, along with extended family and many friends who loved him dearly.

He is preceded in death by his father, Irvin Chambers, and brother Brian Chambers.

Tony was a hardworking man who spent most of his adult life as an electrician. Before becoming an electrician, he worked as a grocery store meat market manager, but no matter what job he held, he was someone who believed in working hard and taking care of the people who depended on him.

Those who knew him best would probably describe him as stubborn. He had opinions—and he was rarely shy about sharing them, whether you asked for them or not. He could be hot-headed and, at times, unreasonable. But underneath that toughness was a man with an enormous heart.

He would drop whatever he was doing the moment someone he loved needed him. He might complain about having to do it, but he was still going to do it. That was Tony. His love was often expressed through showing up, helping, protecting, fixing, providing, and making sure the people he cared about were okay.

Tony often reminded his son how proud he was of him and how fortunate he was to have such a wonderful wife, whom Tony adored, and such a beautiful family. Those words will remain some of the greatest gifts he ever gave his son.

Tony loved Jesus. He was saved at eight years old, and his faith remained an important part of his life. It was part of the foundation of who he was and the hope he carried with him. While his family is left with an emptiness that cannot be filled, they find comfort in knowing that the faith Tony held onto throughout his life is now fulfilled in the presence of the Savior he loved.

Tony found happiness in many of the simple things in life. He loved to fish and ski, even though adulthood didn’t always give him as much time for either as he would have liked. He loved playing guitar, and as a boy he was a talented artist.

He also loved cars. In 1999, he bought his Z28 Camaro brand new, and he was incredibly proud of it. Some of his son’s favorite memories are of riding in that Camaro with the T-tops out on trips to the beach, sometimes with Matt Ward somehow crammed into the backseat.

There are memories of Tony teaching his son how to fish and taking him whenever he could. There is the memory of becoming a grandfather for the first time and seeing the pride and wonder on Tony’s face. More memories still of endless lake-days with Tony's good friend Keith, and annual holiday celebrations with his second family the Warnocks.

He was a dedicated coupon shopper and could spot a deal like it was a professional sport. A trip to Sam’s Club could double as lunch, thanks to his willingness to make a meal out of the samples, but somehow he almost never left without finding a new outfit for each of his grandchildren.

He was perpetually concerned about his family. If there was a crime or an accident anywhere in Atlanta or the surrounding area—even an hour away near the airport—Tony would call to make sure it wasn’t somehow them. It could drive his family crazy, but underneath every one of those calls was the same thing: he loved them, and he needed to know they were okay.

Some of his son’s friends gave him the nickname “Bambedang,” a playful reference to Boomhauer from King of the Hill, because sometimes his Southern accent got so thick and he talked so fast that nobody could understand a word he was saying. In later years, his family discovered another reliable way to get a reaction out of him: calling him Anthony.

“My name is just Tony, not Anthony.”

They knew that.

That was exactly why they did it.

Tony never quite made peace with modern technology and frequently needed help with things that seemed like they should have been obvious. Begrudgingly, his family provided frequent “IT support.”

Tony wasn’t perfect, and he never pretended to be. He could be stubborn, emotional, hot-headed, and difficult. But he felt things deeply, and that same heart that could make him angry could also make his love enormous. When Tony loved you, there was never any question about it.

He loved his family fiercely.

And his family loved him fiercely right back.

Tony will be remembered as a hardworking man, a devoted father and grandfather, a loving son and brother, and a man who would do almost anything for the people he loved.

Tony—the man who showed up.

The man who worried.

The man who gave his opinion.

The man who would complain while doing you a favor and then make sure it was done right anyway.

The man who loved Jesus.

The man who loved his family.

The man who gave the best hugs and gave his family a lifetime of reasons to laugh.

We will miss his voice. We will miss his stories. We will miss the phone calls that sometimes drove us crazy. We will miss his hugs. We will miss laughing with him—and, sometimes, laughing at him.

Most of all, we will miss simply having him here.

But we do not say goodbye without hope. Tony trusted in Jesus from the time he was a young boy, and his family takes comfort in the promise that death is not the end for those who belong to Him.

Until we see him again, he will live on in the people he loved, the lessons he taught, and the memories he left behind—including the four grandchildren who brought him so much pride and joy.

He was our Tony.

He was deeply loved.

And he will be deeply missed.