Alexander Westover
Jeff Westover

The Dead Among Us

/0 Comments/by

The other night I was visiting in my living room with a neighbor, a man I have only come to know in the past year or so.

As we were chatting he suddenly looked slightly to the right towards a window on the south wall of the room and his eyes got suddenly very large.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to be rude but there’s a spirit over there by the window — a very good one.”

I kind of wish I had video of my reaction to this comment. I was surprised not at all. I asked him if the spirit was a man or a woman.

“I don’t know, I can’t tell. I can’t really see features, it is just something I sense. This is someone close to you,” he told me. “Someone you know very well and who knows you. I get such a warm feeling.”

Without much thought I said, “That’s my Mom.”

I pointed to a picture of her on the wall over his left shoulder. He looked up at the picture and gasped.

“That’s who it is!” he said.

And then, as if talking about the weather, he asked, “Does she visit you often?”

I had to think about my answer to that question. My first inclination was to immediately say “no”.

I miss my Mom something fierce. I have been blessed not to have lost a lot of loved ones in my life, so losing my mother has been a new kind of experience for me, one that has surprised me many times with new emotions and feelings. In the more than two years since her passing I cannot say all the feelings associated with her loss have diminished much within me.

I had a long time to prepare for her passing.

I have studied and have learned and been taught all my life about the plan of salvation and I think I understand it.

But that still didn’t prepare me for all I would feel when death actually touched someone so close to me in my life.

Those feelings are very sacred to me and even still very close to the surface, tender at times, I admit.

But while I think of my mother often, especially when I work on things associated with her, I sometimes can sense how close she is.

And by “close” I mean close as in proximity. It is difficult to explain because it is not so much a feeling of physical closeness but more of an awareness of her knowing something important in real time as it happens.

It is a spiritual feeling but not quite like feeling the Spirit.

It is new to me and very hard for me to articulate.

But unlike my friend, who clearly has a special spiritual gift, I have NOT seen spirits and cannot lay claim to such manifestations.

I have known a few others in my life, my mother ironically, who had experiences like that. But it is not my gift.

But I have no problem seeing how real this all is and that was likely why he was so surprised about my reaction to what he witnessed. He was afraid I would think he was crazy or that such candid sharing between us would result in a change in our relationship.

But he’s not crazy, I believed what he said he saw and to me it is as real as anything else seen in this life.

I’ll tell you why.

Somewhere in these pages I’m sure I’ve told you about my experience working on the name of Francis Welty, one of my mother’s family from the 19th century.

As I was working on validating names from a family group for the temple I stumbled upon Francis, who my mother had identified in her records as a daughter of George Welty, her 3rd great grandfather.

But in later records (records I don’t think Mom in her time had access to) I didn’t find Francis, a daughter of George — I found Frank — a son, of George Welty.

It was the first time I had found a mistake in my mother’s research and I felt funny changing something she had done in FamilySearch.

As I sat here at my keyboard thinking about that for a minute I sensed a very warm feeling of confirmation and I felt my mother very, very close — like right behind me. It was as if she was saying, “That’s right. Fix it.”

I did not feel her hand on my shoulder and I did not actually hear her voice. But that is how I felt in that particular moment.

It was real. I was at my desk in a rocking chair and I stopped myself from leaning back, out of fear of hitting her foot — that’s how close she felt and how real that moment was to me.

We have been promised we would have our dead among us as we work on Family History and this is one of my most certain experiences that testifies to that truth. I cannot claim many such moments but I claim that one and I’m grateful for it.

As I have taken Uncle Frank’s work to the temple I reflect on the experience every time and each time I receive validation of what work is being done.

But there are other times, times unexpected I would say, that I feel my mother close by.

Whenever I have time to do things with my grandchildren I often get a feeling that my mother is aware and likewise delighting in a moment with me.

I have also had a sense of my mother’s awareness at key family events, including even when my father remarried earlier this year. Who would have expected that?

Even recently, as I’ve dealt with some difficult but normal teenage-years stuff with my two youngest at home, I have felt my mother’s presence.

All of this was not something I expected.

In fact, I have formed the opinion that if I were to pass away and go to the other side and see my mother I would have no news to share because she already knows it all. Such thoughts give me great comfort.

Losing my mother, I knew at the time, meant going through a physical separation from her. I was with her in her dying moments. I felt that immediately and I felt it keenly. Days later, as I looked upon her physical form for the final time in this life, the cold, stark reality of her absence from her body was shocking and even horrifying to me. I touched her arm and she did not feel it. I’ll never forget that.

But it is almost because of that moment that all the other times now when I sense her presence the feeling is so real and so important to me.

So in answer to my friend’s question about Mom visiting me often I said “yes”. But I did explain that I had never seen her, only felt her presence.

On the same wall as the window where my friend had this experience is the pioneer trail map I gave my Dad a couple of years ago, and on it appear several pictures of pioneer family members who, of course, I have never met.

“What about those people?” he asked me. “Have you felt them here as well?”

“No,” I said.

We didn’t have the time for me to explain what I knew about each of them and how I have come to know them these past five years. I wish I could have explained.

But my friend only nodded. Then he said something that again surprised me not at all. He has been in my home many times now and that pioneer map has not always been here. In fact, I only recently hung it on that living room wall.

“They know YOU,” he said. “They come here too. Your home is filled with people some times, I have seen it. It is always a good feeling and that is not always the case when these things happen to me.”

Now that blows me away.

Jeff Westover

Our Trek

/0 Comments/by

I noticed on Facebook that members of the Stake we used to live in are once again headed to Wyoming for Trek.

Trek is a re-enactment of the Mormon Pioneer trail. For a period of three to five days large groups of mostly youth and the adult leaders head to Martin’s Cove, Wyoming to camp and walk the trail.

The place is sacred to Latter-day Saints. It was at Martin’s Cove where the Martin Handcart Company spent their critical hours.

I have to admit that I felt a bit envious of those I see this week dressed in pioneer clothing heading out for the trail.
And that is an astonishing statement only because I really had a miserable time.

Our first day of Trek began long before sunlight as we dressed and packed our allotted 17 pounds of gear. We met at the Church for a devotional, where prayers were said and blessings were given. I recall how serious our good Stake President was as he stood there – the only one in the chapel in a suit – and promised that we would have a spiritual experience.

For me that was a foregone conclusion.

In my calling for Trek I had spent months in preparation for my role. I was to be a storyteller and a witness and I was encouraged to tell the stories of my family if I had them.

For me those months in early 2013 were filled with spirit and revelation.

Understand that these people I was studying were not ancestors in need of my efforts in their behalf in the Temple.

These were people who had gained their own testimonies and had performed ordinance work for themselves.

I hardly knew anything about them or their trek before this experience began.

But I was determined to tell their stories on Trek – no matter what it would take. And it would take a lot — at least for me.

It began with a long bus ride – a long HOT bus ride as the vehicle we were in had no air conditioning. It was so hot that I’m convinced many on the bus were dehydrated before we set foot in Wyoming.

As we got off the bus, they handed us a bottle of water and told us to drink. We held a meeting where we were warned of the dangers of the area – snakes and critters and such.

But worst of all were the elements and unlike the pioneers, who were nowhere near Wyoming in late June, we were prone to sun burn, heat stroke and dehydration. Yes, we were told, people like us who came on Trek actually died because they simply were not hydrated enough.

With those cheery warnings in our ears we began putting our things into the handcarts and we pushed off onto the trail.

It was only a few miles but for this overweight, middle-aged, sedentary man it was a struggle.

My head pounded, I was short on breath, red in the head and everyone kept looking back on me as I fell further and further behind.

We stopped midway to our destination to rehydrate and use the restrooms and more than one concerned individual pulled me aside to ask how I was doing and whether or not I was physically up to the task at hand.

The answer was clearly no. I was not up to it.

But for as awful as I felt and for as worried as I was about what the next few days would be like for me I could not escape the thoughts of my ancestors who had done this for real.

In my studies I learned that we in our generation make far more of the ordeal across the plains than they did.
For many, it was four to six months out of their lives – a mere moment in time for lives that were spent facing so many grueling challenges.

Well, I’m not going to lie.

The next couple of days were completely beyond my physical abilities and I struggled through every step of it.

So why do I look with envy upon those headed out for that experience this week?

It is because Trek was so much more than those three days in the hot sun.

It was months of study and discovery. It was just a few important moments of storytelling and testifying. And it was a sobering period of pondering and reflection as I walked where they walked.

On the final day of our journey we went to Rocky Ridge, a place where the Willie Handcart Company spent a critical night.

For us, in June, there was beauty about the place. There was some green to it, even among all the rocks and boulders.

But for them it had to be awful. When they arrived at this place it was dark and freezing. The snow was ten inches deep.

It is simply a hard, miserable place.

As we walked to the gathering point – a small meadow with logs for benches – we passed a memorial put up by the First Presidency where the simple word REMEMBER stands out.

For me, it was already a special place because I knew the story of Grandma Sophie.

In all the books I read about the Willie Handcart Company I was always able to find the names of Sophie and her children. But never could I find her story. Luckily, I learned it from published accounts on Family Search.

Sophie’s story only grew more compelling after her trek was over but I was certain that within the pages of the journal of Albert Smith I might find some detail of what she endured.

But all he said was that she was a member of the Willie Handcart Company and had “passed through many hardships”.

So while I knew that Grandma Sophie was there and I knew how the rest of her story turned out I really hadn’t learned what a miracle her trek experience really was – until I pondered her situation while at Rocky Ridge.

As we sat in that devotional and sang some of the songs of Zion I never felt the wind there stop or diminish. The sun was beating down on us and it was hot – uncomfortably so.

But in my mind’s eye I could see how cold and harsh of a place Rocky Ridge is – and it has to be a hundred times more miserable in a winter’s storm. If there is an end to earth it is at Rocky Ridge.

There are no flat surfaces in that place – no place to pitch a tent. Obviously there is no food, no water, and none of comforts of natural things like trees or brush. There are no natural shelters and there is no protection from the wind.

As I sat there in this stark place – and tried to remember – I felt a rush of revelation fill my head.

I FELT the presence of Grandma Sophie, even though I had never met her.

It was a burning witness like none I have ever had in my life. And it told me that yes, she had indeed been there and that yes, I was her grandson.

As simple as that sounds it was a powerful, sobering moment for me.

It was a witness not that she was special because she was a pioneer who had survived but rather she was special because she acted on faith. She was there bearing witness to me that her faith was well founded – that for all she had endured it was the right choice, even though she ended up in that harsh place with her life on the line.

Sophie had endured so much. In 1853 she lost her husband, Peder, who was only 37 or so. Together they had brought 8 children into the world and within three years only 4 of them had survived to be with her in the terrible place of Rocky Ridge.

My thoughts there began by wondering what did Sophie think on the night she was in this place?

Did she wonder if she would live through the night? Did she wonder where life in Denmark had gone? Did she think Zion would ever happen for her?

As I thought all these terribly sad thoughts the rush of warmth came over me and I felt her there. And what came to my mind wasn’t the detail of how harsh this place is or how terrible the trial was that Sophie endured or how miserable my weak efforts had been for just a couple of days on Trek.

No, what came to me was that all of that was secondary to just one thing. And that thing was faith.

When they say that we cannot be saved without our dead I believe it is moments like these that make that true.

I believe I was given a witness that night from this beloved ancestor.

And that’s what makes me envious of those folks out on the trail tonight as I write this.

Of course, you don’t have to go on Trek to have these experiences.

But for me Trek introduced these experiences to me on many levels. And I have had other such experiences over the past four years.

It has been life changing for me.

Where I am now is not where I thought I would be four years ago. And where I am going in the years ahead was not even on my radar then.

We have over the course of four years created a lot of family history on our own. One child has married, two grandchildren have come, and now only two of my children remain at home. So very much has changed.

But what has not changed is truth. What has not changed is the nature of faith. What has not changed is our sacred relationship with our family past and with God himself.

I’m on a new Trek now. And in a little bit like Sophie, I’m not sure how this all ends up.

Well — in the long term.

But it makes me wonder if in some distant day I will be someone’s ancestor and I will have the chance to give a witness to a grandchild.

Something tells me yes, I will. It is part of our trek.

Jeff Westover

A Tale of the Old West and Bad Family History

/0 Comments/by

Tonight I went fishin’ for a while. I don’t get nearly enough opportunity to do that –“fishin’” as it relates to family history.

Here’s how it works: I go to FamilySearch or Ancestry and enter very broad search terms – say, a surname like “Smith”.

Then I sort out all the results to drill down to just what I want to see. Sometimes it is birth certificates, sometimes it is census records, sometimes it is just something else.

Tonight it was photos.

I went to Ancestry and trolled for all photos I could find associated with “Westover”. I got that beauty of an image above from this little fishing expedition.

Those boys are brothers by the name of Canfield.

I had seen that name somewhere before so I had to click on it and figure out the connection.

I got the connection alright – but the side story was a much better find – a true tale of the old West.

What made it even better was the alleged mystery of a 120-year old event spilled over on the pages Ancestry as descendants of the men involved continued to debate the tale of cattle rustling, old west gangs, suicide and murder.

Interested? Read on.

First, the family connection: the man in the bottom left of that picture is Moroni Canfield.

This picture of Moroni and his brothers was taken in about 1890 – about three years before Moroni died – or was murdered or committed suicide, depending on whose history you believe.

Moroni married Sarah Evaline Westover, eldest daughter of our Edwin R. Westover and his wife, Sarah Jane Burwell.

Moroni and Sarah met around 1870, when Edwin was living in Hamblin. Both were about 20 when they married.

Edwin has no real part to play in this story. After Moroni and Sarah were married they left Hamblin for several years and returned in 1877, where Edwin traded his property there to Moroni for a team, harness and wagon for Edwin to use on his mission to Arizona.

Moroni and Sarah would have a family of 8 children and his life until the 1890s mirrors that of so many in Southern Utah from that time. They struggled financially and fought the elements in their attempts to build Zion.

With a name like Moroni you have to know there is a strong Mormon connection, too.

Moroni’s father joined the Church, went to Nauvoo and later to Winter Quarters where they came west when Moroni was just a boy. He was thoroughly invested in the Church.

A story is told of how Moroni once came upon two US Marshals who were in Utah hunting down polygamists.

Moroni asked these two men why they were there and the marshals shared they were on their way to Enterprise to arrest Thomas Sirls Terry, a leading figure in that community and a known polygamist.

Moroni was able to give the marshals the slip and get to the Terry farm to tip off the family, who got “Ol Man Terry”, as the marshals called him, out of town just in time.

That story is told in contrast to the real criminal activity that the ranchers of southern Utah had to deal with in horse and cattle thieves.

The Canfields lived not far from a place called Desert Spring, which happened to be a crossroads of sorts between Beaver, Utah, Pioche, Nevada and Utah settlements to the north and mining camps to the south. Desert Spring was also the base of operations for a man named Ben Tasker, a genuine old west outlaw.

Tasker was known for his gang of outlaws who would first provide aid to travelers passing through Desert Spring and follow them for short distances only to rob them in the middle of nowhere.

Their primary source of income came in the way of cattle and horses – and Tasker’s gang stole them by the hundreds, changing brands or butchering them to be sold in the mining camps.

There are legendary tales – some untrue, I’m sure – of just what a tough customer Tasker was.

One story talks of him shooting a man and then using his body as a table while Tasker played cards.

The Canfield brothers knew too well how lawless the times were and they had a personal connection to Tasker.

Their sister, Lucy Philena, was married to a man named Thomas Emmet.

Lucy Philena’s history talks a bit about the woes in her marriage. Though she and Thomas were married in the Endowment House in Salt Lake City when they returned to Southern Utah and started their family it seemed that Thomas wasn’t around much. The history says he traveled a great deal “on business”.

Thomas Emmet

His business was “his dealings in cattle and horses”.

The Moroni Canfield history on Ancestry is a bit more descriptive of Thomas’ activities.

According to their version of things Thomas rode with Ben Tasker’s Gang and neglected his wife and small children for long periods of time.

The Canfield family did all they could to help Lucy Philena but they grew weary of Thomas’ antics and were constantly rescuing him from the trouble he would get into.

On the night of June 28, 1893, Moroni and a few others were herding about 1500 head of cattle when something happened.

In the morning, Moroni was found dead – shot in the head.

From Moroni’s history on Ancestry we read of why some descendants of Canfield felt Thomas Emmet and Tasker’s gang had something to do with Moroni’s untimely death:

“Emett was a pretty rough character. He and a friend Bob Tait ran and dealt with the Ben Tasker Gang. Ben Tasker was a horse and cattle thief operating all over the territory. He had his headquarters at Desert Springs, at the junction of roads from Beaver, Iron Springs, Mountain Meadows and the Nevada mining camps.

Ben Tasker had been arrested numerous times, but always found some way to get away. He and his men would take what they wanted and kill anyone who stood in their way.

The Canfield brothers because of their sister had been trying to keep Emett out of trouble and talk some sense into the pair. Nothing worked. They grew tried of seeing Philena and her little ones hungry and without proper care. She had lost a number of babies by miscarriages. They were sick to death of pulling him out of a hole and trying to feed and clothe this little family.

So, they decided to catch Emett in the act. Well they caught him and Bob Tait both in the act. Stealing Cattle.

They had come prepared so they pulled their guns on him and Tait and told Emett they were sick and tired of getting him out of his messes. That the law was on to them and was out to get them.

Now, Grandfather said, I told him “I do not want to see your face any more in Utah or close about. You head for Texas as fast as you can. It will be less costly for us to take care of your family than to bother with the likes of you. If we ever see you around in Utah again I personally will shoot you.”

[Insert spookly old west whistling music here]

Thomas Emett evidently didn’t need to hear any more.

He lit out of Utah heading south and that was the last the Canfield’s heard from him – until Moroni ended up with a bullet in his skull.

To quote again from the history on Ancestry, “Moroni and the Canfield herd would have been in the right place and the right time to be easy pickings for Thomas Emett or one of his associates. Revenge is as good a motive for murder as money, and Emett had both.”

The surviving family of Thomas Emmet doesn’t care for that version Canfield family history. They have a very different point of view.

Another family historian on Ancestry – a descendant of Thomas Emett – was able to prove that not only was Thomas hundreds of miles away in Arizona at the time of Moroni’s death but he was also, fortunately, dead, too.

Thomas had died 10 years before – in Phoenix, evidently of smallpox.

Yes, thanks to the modern sleuthing of family historians, they cleared the name of Thomas Emmet from the charge of murder.

That doesn’t mean the controversy had diminished. His memorial on FindAGrave.com, after several contrary comments, now notes:

“There are many unsubstantiated rumors that still persist even after 125 years. I have letters, life stories, and 1st hand accounts of what happened to Thomas. My great grandfather, Don Thomas Emett, his son, told others to ignore what people say, we know what is true. We are told by the authorities to not gossip. It is sad 125 years later people can’t wait to tell me how bad my great-great grandfather was.”

Thomas’ family had long compiled proof of his innocence, most notably the receipt of his spurs and his saddle, which were shipped to them after he died.

Even still, it wasn’t hard to make the connection to Tasker or to Emmet.

Tasker at the time of Moroni’s death was in jail in Beaver, Utah. His reputation as a frequent escaper from jails was legendary because his roaming gang would often overwhelm lone guards or sheriff personnel.

Tasker’s men were in the area – and revenge was not their only motivation in what Moroni was up to.

Moroni, you see, was then under contract to move and sell and very large herd of cattle – right through the heart of west central Utah where Tasker did his most notorious work.

Perhaps that was a reason why Moroni took the job – one that would change fortunes for him and two of his friends.

That transaction was nearly complete, all Moroni needed to do was to finish the move, a task that took him near Beaver and a task that proved to be much more difficult than he anticipated.

Moroni had a pocketful of money but what he had collected to move the cattle was dwindling fast and he would find himself in a negative cash position if he didn’t deliver soon and deliver as many cattle as possible.

A news report of Moroni’s death explained his fate was sealed by the weather, a lack of manpower, sleep and the realization that Moroni had lost big on his deal.

Moroni Canfield, they reported, killed himself after a midnight thunderstorm scattered his herd and he felt all was lost.

For decades the descendants of the Canfields and the Emmets held to their respective stories about the demise of Moroni Canfield.

But the ultimate vindication of Thomas Emmet came from an unusual source – Moroni’s mother, Elizabeth Canfield.

In 2013, a family member posted to FamilySearch a letter that Elizabeth Canfield wrote in July 1893. She told a vivid tale of horror at learning the real story of Moroni’s demise.

She described how Moroni had “been in the saddle” for three days without sleep, trying to keep the cattle together all while wrestling with a fast coming financial disaster. The longer it took him and the more cattle he lost the deeper the hole he was in.

The combination of financial stress and physical exhaustion led Moroni to one very sad conclusion.

Elizabeth writes:

“The night before he did this his reason left him. Pratt [his brother] could do nothing with him. He tried to get him to go to bed, put his arm around him and tried to get him to lie down and that was the night he was to get to water. He would not do it and about 10 o’clock the cattle got the scent of water- 1,511 head of them. As soon as they smelt the water, they went wild. The boys rushed after them but could only find 300 head…”

“F. Rice was the only man with a pistol. He took it off and laid it down by his bed instead of putting it under his head. Of course Roni would not sleep and got up. Told a boy to go round the wagon and get his horse. As soon as his (the boys) back was turned, he picked up the thing, put the muzzle in his mouth and fired…”

“…After he was buried, I was looking over his clothes and found a little scrap of paper in his overalls pocket. He told the boys that all was lost. The cattle gone. But if he had only waited till day light he could have seen the stock or the most of them at a distance.

On the paper he said ”I Moroni Canfield have staked all and lost. I have ruined myself and friends. Their names are E.V. Hardy and L. C. Maneger (Marriager?). I have lost all am not fit for a felons cell. Good bye. May Father in Heaven have Mercy”.

Of course, life went on for everyone else.

Moroni’s mother lived until 1908 and is buried in Hamblin. She is remembered for her faithfulness.

Lucy, Thomas’ widow, remarried a man named John Day in Hamblin and they had three children, including a set of twins.

Sarah Westover Canfield Bowler with her 2nd husband, James Bowler.

Moroni’s widow Sarah remarried nearly a decade later and lived until 1927.

There are many lessons to learn from these tragic events.

For the family of Thomas Emmet, there has to be some joy in his vindication. He may have been a lot of things but he clearly didn’t murder Moroni Canfield.

Not all of our relatives have great things to be said of them. Even still, why would we settle for anything less than the truth?

For those of Moroni Canfield’s family – especially those who laid the blame for his death on Thomas Emmet – what do you have to say for yourselves?

Surely it is hard to be unsympathetic to poor Moroni. He had troubles, clearly.

But as I sat thinking of all this I couldn’t help but wonder about the story of Ben Tasker.

Certainly he has descendants and his history is somewhere, no?

Well…no. At least not that I have found yet.

A Google search seems to return a lot of links back to FamilySearch about this guy. They turn out to be histories of other people – many of them victims of Tasker and his gang.

They were the cattle rustlers of the Old West in Utah, no doubt about it.

I found Ben Tasker living in Beaver in the 1880 census. He’s listed as divorced and living alone. He was 61 years old.

But there’s not much else written about him that I’ve found yet.

For whatever reason I want to know how and when he died. Did he go out in a blaze of bullets? Did he jump off a cliff in Bolivia? Or did he die of old age?

That’s a history hunt for another day.

Jeff Westover

Knowing Brigham

/0 Comments/by

I was 17 when I graduated from high school and I had to wait until I was 19 to serve a mission. That gave me a full year to pursue some college.

I vividly recall a freshman history class where a professor during a lecture about the American Indian gave a passing opinion of Brigham Young, calling him “a monster”.

I was shocked.

I had a Sunday School version of Brigham in my mind. I knew him as a prophet.

To hear him called a monster in the context of history stirred me to find out more. I began my own casual study of Brigham Young that year to figure out how he could be considered by anyone to be a monster.

The lesson I learned is that history can be bent to fit just about anyone’s politics.

And I learned the only history you can trust is the history you process on your own.

The same is true of family history.

Brigham Young was a man both reviled and revered – because he had a position that was prominent among thousands of people and because so many recorded what he said and did.

Those who knew him, those who lived near him and those who interacted with him far outweigh his distant critics.

I remain most fascinated by the Brigham Young of the 1840s.

He led the great missionary work of the Church in Great Britain and then came home to defend Joseph – and then led when Joseph was killed.

Brigham was many things but during this decade of his life his accomplishments were staggering.

Historians give Brigham his due for this time frame but I contend the Brigham Young most of the world dwells on is the Brigham who spent the last 30 years of his life in Utah.

And they judge him on things like polygamy alone. In so doing they miss one of the greatest of American stories.

He was outspoken, opinionated, direct and at times seemingly Teflon-coated when it came to his critics.

Brigham was deliciously flawed, ingeniously productive, forever provocative and endlessly fascinating.

He was complex. He was less than perfect – and he knew it.

He was a man, I think, that had I lived in his time I would have followed and admired – just as did many of my family.

Over the years I have read just about everything I can about Brigham.

But I haven’t studied him much in these past five years – a period when my own family history has been central to all my studies.

What I have discovered recently is the colliding of those two worlds – Brigham’s history and our family history.

I find they enrich each other in wonderfully detailed ways.

Truth be told, I think we tend to glorify – or dismiss — the larger figures in history through hero worship or by whitewashing their flaws through hyperinflation of their accomplishments.

Movies are especially guilty of this.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a film production that portrays Brigham in the way that all the reading about him has developed his character in my mind.

Family history has further tempered that.

Charles Westover, my 4th great uncle and brother to Edwin, once had Brigham stay overnight in his home when he lived with his family in Silver Reef.

Of utmost concern to Charles and his wife Eliza was the validity of their temple sealing.

Charles came west in 1848 with Brigham’s 2nd company, one of 1200 souls who made that trek. On that trek was his mother, Electa, and both brothers Edwin and Oscar. There were other extended family members who also were part of the company.

Charles at that point was unmarried, only 20 years old and he had just joined the Church when he was baptized at Winter Quarters.

Reading Brigham’s history during the years of 1847 and 1848 is fascinating in context of the story of the Westovers at Winter Quarters.

Brigham returned to Winter Quarters with a very clear picture in his mind about the future of the Church. It was there that Brigham re-organized the First Presidency and it was there that Brigham really became the leader – the prophet — of the Church.

So many of our family members were there to witness these proceedings.

Unfortunately, they left no records of their take on those events. They were caught up, as most were, in preparing to leave the next spring for Salt Lake City.

Charles was pressed into service as a teamster by Erastus Snow. This relationship that began at Winter Quarters would last a lifetime. For many years the paths of the Westover family would cross often with Apostle Erastus Snow.

Also part of that massive company was young Eliza Ann Haven, young daughter of John Haven, himself a minor figure in Church history.

The Havens lived for a time in Nauvoo. Eliza was a child during these years.

She recalled in later years the time she spent in Nauvoo. She had vivid memories of Joseph Smith, having had meals with him and seeing him preach.

When she was 12 Eliza Ann was baptized by Brigham Young in the Mississippi river.

Eliza Ann was later among one of the last to receive her temple endowments in the Nauvoo temple.

Eliza, along with her sister, was present at the great Church meeting held in August 1844 when the body of the Church was forced to choose between Sidney Rigdon and Brigham Young to lead the Church.

Eliza left a stirring testimony that she witnessed the image, voice and likeness of Joseph Smith during that meeting in the person of Brigham Young.

I get a bit perturbed when I read critics who dismiss this event.

They note that not one journal of the event from the time that it occurred has ever been found. Not even the exacting detail of Wilford Woodruff’s journals mentions the miracle at the time it happened. All known recorded versions of the event were made years, and in the case of Eliza, decades after it happened.

But Eliza’s version of events was written in her own hand. She conveyed her memory of the event to her son in a letter in 1916 in her own words.

“When he spoke it was the Brother Joseph’s voice. I gave a jump off my seat and said, “Our Prophet Joseph has come to life. We have our President back”. I looked up and there stood Brother Joseph just as plain as I ever saw him when alive. For a minute, I heard Brother Joseph’s voice and saw his features; then a mist seemed to pass from Brother Brigham’s face and go up. Then there stood Brother Brigham talking to us. Hundreds saw the same thing that I did, but not all that were present.”

Did this really happen?

In my mind it matters little. What matters is that Eliza said it happened. She made a record of it and we have her words reliably.

There are those out there who try to take the personal history of ancestors like Eliza and turn them into people they were not.

In my online travels researching Eliza Haven Westover I came across a blog post by a woman claiming to be a great, great, great, great granddaughter.

She used images of Eliza Ann and Charles in her post as well as quotes from some well-known history of the couple.

But woven into the narrative was a story about Eliza Ann I had never heard before.

According to this blog post – and nothing else I have ever read elsewhere before about her – Eliza Ann was allegedly approached by Brigham Young to become one of his plural wives.

This allegedly happened before she met Charles Westover and gleefully the writer of the post claimed “Grandma Westover told this story”, stating that Eliza Ann evidently rebuffed Brigham, saying she wanted her own man.

The writer than claimed to possess the same “in-your-face” characteristics of her Grandma Westover and it was these characteristics that allowed her to defy current prophets who exclude gays from Mormonism.

I believe this story to be false – and a distortion to the memory of Eliza Ann Westover.

There’s no way Brigham could have or would have proposed marriage to Eliza Ann Haven prior to 1848, if ever.

First of all, plural marriage previous to 1848 didn’t happen in this fashion. Older men in the church practicing plural marriage didn’t just willy-nilly hit up young girls.

The Church was not even public with the practice until 1852 and few members of the Church even knew about it.

It was a pretty confidential act at that time and it surely would have involved other key individuals, both in the leadership of the Church and in the families of all parties involved.

But more importantly is the fact the Eliza Ann and Charles Westover were strong members of the Church who kept clear records. I doubt there was an encounter with any Church leader that they didn’t record or share.

Of the many, many known remaining records they left behind there is not one mention of this kind of exchange between Eliza Ann and Brigham Young.

In other words the writer of the blog post, one who claimed to be one of Eliza’s direct descendants – lied.

Whether you’re a college professor or a direct descendant decades later making claims you better be able to back them up.

But that’s not how the dishonest world works and it is exactly this kind of information that makes monsters of people when they are not.

Eliza Ann and Charles first met on the trail – and later they became known as the first couple to be married in Utah in 1849. (I doubt that’s true too. The media of the day reported it that way).

Like many others they were married in Salt Lake but long before there was a temple there. They were sealed, at the hand of Brigham Young, in the home of Erastus Snow.

Years later, as Brigham was planning to spend a night in their home while he was on his way to St. George, Charles and Eliza debated whether to ask him about the need to go to one of the newly constructed temples to have their sealing renewed.

They anxiously looked to each other until the very moment that Brigham was sitting at their table and finally, discerning their anxiety, Brigham asked them what it was they wanted to ask and Charles blurted it out.

Brigham chuckled, waved his hand and over a bite of pot roast said their marriage was more about the priesthood than a temple.

The answer was yes, their temple sealing was perfectly valid and, no, they didn’t need to renew anything in the temple.

These associations with names known now in history were quite familiar at the time for the Westover family.

When Charles took on a plural wife in 1856, he married Mary Shumway – a close friend of his wife, Eliza Ann – in Brigham Young’s office, with Brigham conducting the ceremony.

Years later, it was Brigham who called Charles and Edwin to go to St. George.

The world just wasn’t so large then.

In fact, if you consider just the 1200 people who crossed in Brigham’s 1848 company you can equate that number of people to about three contemporary LDS wards.

Add to those the several hundred that had come to Utah in 1847 you still have less than 3000 people in Utah those first few years – smaller than most stakes today.

Of course they knew each other.

Of course there was interaction. It was a very, very small world.

While reading of the early conversion story of Brigham Young in 1832 I came across the name of Eleazar Miller – a name I had seen somewhere before.

Miller baptized Brigham and was one of the missionaries who taught him.

After some thought, I finally remembered where I had heard that name before.

Miller was the man Electa Westover was sealed to in 1856 during the period of the Mormon Reformation.

She never lived with him and if you look up Eleazar Miller on Family Search you will see that he had many plural wives – and that Electa is not counted as one of them.

I don’t know why that is.

I don’t know what Electa thought of plural marriage.

I do know she was faithful and obedient.

When called to be sealed to other men, Electa did it. When the Saints were encouraged to be re-baptized to show their commitment to the faith, Electa did it. In all things it appears she was true and faithful.

But she never left her sons. And they never abandoned her.

Upon arriving in Salt Lake, as head of the house, Electa was given a lot in Salt Lake and Edwin and Charles set to build her a home before they built their own.

When after four or five years they moved to Cottonwood to farm on larger lots Electa moved with them.

When Edwin and Charles were in Cottonwood they both took on plural wives. Edwin married Ann Findley and Charles married Mary Shumway.

Of course, the world has made much of the 19th century Mormon practice of plural marriage. Everyone, it seems, has an opinion about it.

For some it remains – along with other Mormon practices – something of a stumbling block.

Some try to rationalize it as just their way of life or they assume it was something that just came easy because they were pressured by Brigham Young or others to live that way.

We know from well documented evidence that plural marriage did not work out for many people.

Brigham, in fact, had several failed marriages. Albert Smith, another relative who lived in Manti, also endured a divorce after one wife just could never be satisfied.

But for the Westovers practicing plural marriage it did work out. There were moments, the record shows, where there were difficulties for Charles between his two wives. But the record is likewise clear that Eliza and Mary Shumway remained close for the rest of their lives.

Edwin and his wives – Sarah Jane and Ann – co-existed for over a decade living in the most desperate of circumstances in Southern Utah. When Ann took her children and moved to Mendon it wasn’t to escape the plural marriage arrangement. It was to help family.

As I’ve contemplated plural marriage over the years I’ve long considered myself blessed for not having to live that way. But my contemplation of such a sacred law is not fair in my time and in my age. We just cannot compare our life now to their situation then.

They didn’t have the Internet. They didn’t have scores of ready resources to read and study and ponder.

The people we call family who lived during these pioneer times left all they had, traveled great distances at considerable risk of their lives, and took upon themselves what they considered sacred acts of obedience on faith.

There are huge lessons in all that and the largest comes in our judgment of them. I wouldn’t be too quick to label anyone a monster or others stupid for doing what they did.

Our time is filled with challenges we have been called to endure. From the distant past our ancestors are watching us live out our mortality and face the challenges that are ours. I wonder if they think they could do what we are doing? I wonder if they stand in harsh judgment of us?

Of course, they live now where faith is not the element it is here. They know there is life after death. They have moved on to their next steps in development.

They know things we know not.

But let us remember as well that while we admire them for what made them so faithful they were, in most respects, just as we are.

Reading the journal of Albert Smith I came across this passage from 1883:

“… As I was meditating on the principle of baptism for the dead it comes as though I was surrounded with the spirit of my forefathers opening the principle to my mind, giving me to understand that they were looking to me and my children to attend to those ordinances for them that they cannot attend themselves.

Not only did they open the principle to my mind, but they showed me the necessity of my teaching my children faithfulness and to live that we might be prepared when the temple is finished to go there as well as their brethren and sisters and attend to those ordinances for which the temple is built.

Suffice it to say that I did not sleep all night. It seemed as though they were with me until daylight opening my mind to many things…”

Can you see the connection? Can you see how the chain of family serves, both in this life and in the life to come?

Brigham Young lived to see the St. George Temple dedicated. He said, “What do you suppose the fathers would say if they could speak from the dead? Would they not say, “We have lain here thousands of years, here in this prison house, waiting for this dispensation to come?” … What would they whisper in our ears? Why, if they had the power the very thunders of heaven would be in our ears, if we could realize the importance of the work we are engaged in.”

Charles was there. Eliza was there. Edwin was there. Electa was there.

After all, they knew Brigham.

And they shared with Brigham a vision for their future family…and of their past family.

Jeff Westover

This is NOT Alexander Westover

/0 Comments/by

Certain dates tend to stick in the minds of most avid family historians. 1890, of course, is notorious.

That year of the federal census was mostly lost to history due to a fire in 1921 that wiped out most of the records. Nearly every family has a missing piece of information tied to that census – and that causes challenges in solving family mysteries.

Years of war – 1860-1865, 1914-1918, 1940-1945 – these are worldwide event windows that have profound effects on family history.

For me one date in history is a very definite line in the sand: 1838.

1838 is the year when the first photograph of a human being was first recorded.

That is why I know that at least 18 people on Ancestry.com are dead wrong.

They have posted and shared the image seen on the right as a picture of Alexander Westover.

But that is NOT Alexander Westover.

Alexander Westover died in 1834. The earliest known photographs of people in the United States only date back to about 1839. That can’t be Alexander Westover.

Fortunately, we know who the man is.

It’s Levi Murdock – and yes, he’s family.

He is Ruth Althea Rowe’s grandfather (her mother’s father).

Levi is actually older than Alexander – by about nine years. But he lived much longer, passing away in 1879. If I had to guess, I would say this picture dates from the 1850s at the earliest.

Levi joined the church in 1840 and traveled with his family west from Indiana in the 1850s. He settled in Ogden and had a successful farm there until he passed at nearly 90 years of age.

We don’t know who first confused the picture of Levi for Alexander – but the Internet has perpetuated the inaccuracy.

This little incident proves everything that is wrong with Ancestry. 1 person posted this image in error and several others re-posted it as fact. I contacted a few of those who had posted the image and told them as gently as I could who the picture really represented.

A few got upset with me — despite my best efforts to tell them why it couldn’t be Alexander.

Genealogists live by a strict code: it you can’t prove it, it’s not true.

That is really hard to do with photographs.

Most think that rule applies to names and dates. But it should apply to photographs, too.

In this case, all one has to do is the math. Alexander died before the age of photography. I would love to have an actual picture of Alexander Westover. But it is not possible.

I would love to have a picture of his grave, too. On Family Search right now, someone has posted a picture of Alexander’s grave on Alexander’s memories page.

But, sadly – like the mistaken image of Levi Murdock, I fear the posted picture is false.

You see, there is no record of a grave site for Alexander.

We know when and where he died. We even know with official government documentation of the time when he and Electa were married. But we have no documentation on his death and burial.

I am guessing that is because Alexander was likely buried on the farm he was working. They were pioneers – there just wasn’t a town cemetery back in 1834 in Goshen, Ohio – at least not one we have found.

So Alexander remains somewhat of a mystery in terms of what he looked like and where he is laid to rest. I am hoping that some modern day sleuthing can resolve some of this because Alexander is a key part to the Westover family story of the 19th century.

But so too is Levi Murdock. And look at that handsome mug of his – who can’t look at him and not see family?

A lot of people ask me why these old time photos aren’t more happy.

We have to remember that taking a picture then was quite a production. Albert Smith, in his journal, talked about traveling to Salt Like to get his “likeness” done, which is what they called the imaging process of people back then.

Albert bought a new suit for the event.

Likely, Levi did the same. Look at how sharp he is. But why isn’t he smiling?

Probably because he had to stand absolutely still for over a minute while the exposure was made.

Lost in our review of these old pictures is the reason they were doing it. These pioneer families and individuals took these images precisely because they knew we’d be looking at them today.

It was important to them.

Contemplate that.