Aunt Evie
Jeff Westover

Memories of Aunt Evie

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Evelyn Riggs Westover, Aunt Evie to the entire world it seems, passed over to the other side today, Monday, May 23, 2022.

Aunt Evie

In the coming days there will be no shortage of tributes, memories and histories shared of this wonderful lady.

As cousin Lynn Quilter expressed this morning, “Well, that ends an era in the family”.

He’s right. Aunt Evie was the youngest in her family and the last of our “greatest generation” to leave us. What a grand legacy she built with Uncle Darrell and what an imprint she has left on us all.

There are not many people, not even my children, who can fully appreciate how much Aunt Evie has impacted my life.

Even as I still mourn the recent loss of my father I’m almost speechless in trying to express how significant Aunt Evie has been to so many of us. Her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren have long cherished her.

On both sides of the veil today there are hearts rejoicing. Her long illness and physical challenges, which could never define her, have released her and she is free to return home to so many others who also adore her.

As a little boy, I struggled to understand our connection.

I was told she was my Aunt Evie, yet I had another aunt who was so much younger. More confusing to me was that my father called her Aunt Evie, too. So did my uncles – and my aunt. I just couldn’t comprehend that.

Aunt Evie, most of the time when I saw her, was in the company of my grandparents.

In fact, my Grandma, who I adored, seemed to be a little different whenever she was around Aunt Evie.

Riggs Sisters

This family famous photo of the Riggs girls – all expecting, powering the post-war baby boom all by themselves.

You see, they laughed a lot.

Aunt Evie could make my Grandma laugh out loud and with great enthusiasm. This was, at least at that time, a little out of character for Grandma, to me.

My Grandma was a little serious, you see. Not in a stern way, but in a reverent way. Grandma was bright and positive and loving and so very, very kind. But it sure seemed that when Aunt Evie was around my Grandma sure laughed a lot more.

Once, at a family event at my Grandma’s house when Evie was there, I asked her about this whole Aunt Evie thing. I was maybe five or six.

I just did not understand how my Daddy’s Aunt Evie could be my Aunt Evie too. So, I asked her about it.

In fact, I told her I would much prefer to call her Grandma – because she looked a little like my Grandma. Aunt Evie just giggled.

Taking me in her lap, she hugged me, kissed me and told me that she loved me. She was always doing that to me.

She said, “Now, Jeff, I know it’s confusing. But your Grandma is your Grandma and nobody else can be your Grandma. She’s special.”

I said, “I know. She’s my Grandma but you can be my Grandma too”.

She laughed again.

“I love you like any Grandma would, that’s for sure!” Evie said, with a finger pointing in the air. “But I’m your Aunt Evie and happy to be so!”

That sounded a lot like something my Grandma would say. She did her best to explain.

“Your Grandma and I are sisters,” Evie said. “I’m her little sister so that makes me your Aunt Evie.”

I clearly did not understand.

But I was taken with the idea that both Grandma and Aunt Evie were once little girls. Sisters, you see, were little – like me. I had sisters, I understood that. But how could she still be Aunt Evie to me and to my Dad?

Aunt Evie very wisely pointed around the room when I told her of my confusion. “Do you see all these people?” she asked me.

I nodded.

“We are all family. Every one of us. And that is all you need to understand.”

Aunt Evie was always that kind of voice of comfort and love to me. And fun, too. She could laugh with the best of them.

When I was a teenager we moved in across the street from Uncle Darrell and Aunt Evie. Years had passed but Evie hadn’t changed at all. She made a special effort to make me feel welcome living just across the street.

Of course, Uncle Darrell built our house but it was Aunt Evie who made the efforts to make us feel welcome.

On one of my first weekends there she invited me to go to the store with her. On the way, she chatted me up, asking about school and the things I liked. As we walked the store she explained what she was looking for and that she loved feeding everyone.

There was a long line at the check out and while we waited our turn she just kept talking. But suddenly she stopped and started giggling. Behind me was the rack of magazines and a tabloid headline had caught Evie’s eye.

Man Marries a Head of Lettuce, the headline read. Aunt Evie started giggling at that headline and just could not stop.

She was laughing so hard tears were starting to come out of her eyes and she started apologizing. But she kept right on giggling and asked me to help fill out her check because she couldn’t see well enough to do it herself.

I understood rather quickly that this was just life with Evie. She saw humor in things most of us might never notice. She was infinitely upbeat. She took great joy, it seemed, in just about everything.

She had her serious moments, too, of course. At Church one Sunday, after I had given a talk, she came up to me and grabbed my face, giving me a big kiss in the process. “You did far better than I could do. I’m proud of you.”

There was no giggling with that, just love. That was Evie’s gift.

Over the years I would have opportunities to have many conversations with her. Some about me and what I was doing but almost always it was about other people in the family. My parents, my cousins, my grandparents, her parents and all those who came before.

Darrell & Evie

My adventures in family history I’ve noted many times came about thanks to Uncle Darrell. But in a more quiet, consistent way Evie was at the center of many of those conversations, too.

She always read what I would post on this website. She asked me questions. She encouraged me. She was always interested.

I’m not sure how much Aunt Evie knew how much that motivated me. I’ve always had kind of an Aunt Evie filter in place when I write things – because I knew she was going to read it.

Still, we teased her a lot when I was younger.

I can never forget those early morning drives to Seminary. It was always early and we were always grumpy and Evie never was. Never.

Being teenagers we would sometimes do things just to get her reaction. On a cold day when the windshield on their big Chevy Impala iced up we all sat in the car while Evie tried to clear the windshield.

Evie was a little lady. That Impala was huge. She had bummed my pocket comb off me so she could scrape the window.

We were content to sit in the car with the defroster blowing watching her jump up at the windshield in an attempt to get her little arms to cover some distance on that huge window. The higher she jumped and reached to scrape the ice the more we laughed.

Looking back now, it seems kind of a mean thing to do.

But when she, out of breath, got back into the car and saw us laughing she started laughing too. “I must have looked pretty silly!” she laughed. But that was Aunt Evie – always bright, always positive, always laughing at herself and never at others.

To me, she was always sensitive about my Mom.

She always asked how Mother was doing. She always asked, if we were discussing something important, if I had talked to my Mom about it.

She always complimented my Mom to me, too – how pretty she was, what neat things she did with our yard, how talented she was in so many creative ways.

Once, when I was maybe 15 or 16, Evie could see I was struggling with girls. I thought she and my Mother talked about it because I had just recently had a talk where my Mom encouraged me to not be so shy – to let my light shine.

Aunt Evie, knowing it was a difficult topic for me but not knowing my Mother had already talked to me, asked me if “the girls” were treating me okay. I told her that was an interesting question, then I told her about the conversation Mom and I had about it.

Aunt Evie hugged me and then kissed me and then told me she loved me. She said my Mom was one smart lady and that I should do as my mother advised. In later years I wanted to ask Evie about that moment but I never did. I should have.

My Mom sometimes had problems accepting love. This was likely due to her upbringing. She just didn’t always know how to respond when someone expressed love.

I know Evie tried and tried and tried with all of us, including my Mother. She never stopped trying.

I say this only because when I think of all the big moments in my life Aunt Evie was there.

She was there when I went to school, when I graduated, when I went to the Temple, and when I went and returned home from a mission. She was there when I got married.

She made sure to speak for those I loved who I had lost.

When my Mom died, she expressed love and told me how much my Mother must love the man I had become. Even recently when my Dad died she told me how grateful he was for me, that he loves me and that she agreed with him.

Evie’s love extended beyond herself and I always felt okay with that. After all, who else would know?

She was especially sensitive to me about my Grandma and Grandpa. After my grandparents passed away Aunt Evie always invoked their name at these big moments she participated in. Grandparenting is a proxy work, if you ask Aunt Evie.

She knew how invested I was in my grandparents and how they were invested in me.

Evie, Dad and Grandma

This was a significant photo for my Dad, show him being held by his mother next to Evie in Topaz, 1943.

She did the same thing with my father.

In fact, one of the last conversations I had with my father before he passed was about Aunt Evie.

She was always his 2nd Mom after Grandma and I never knew a time when Dad and Evie were not close.

In his final years they would call each other frequently, comparing notes on their health issues and cheering each other on.

During the course of these conversations, which always ended in a mutual expression of love, Evie would remind Dad that she was supposed to go first.

In my conversation with my Dad that night he passed away he said, “If I go first, Evie will never forgive me.” I understood fully what he was saying. He just didn’t want to let her down.

When I saw Evie a week or two after my father’s funeral, she hugged me, as always, and whispered in my ear, “I’m sorry about your Dad. I sure loved him.” But without saying a word to her about it, she just kept talking. “He wasn’t supposed to go first. The little stinker!”

This too was one of things I love about Aunt Evie.

Everything is eternal in her eyes. My Dad was not “gone”. He is still here, still the same. So too, I would tell you, is Aunt Evie.

She spoke of Uncle Darrell, too, in present tense. Grandma and Grandpa have been gone for over 30 years but not in Evie’s eyes. The same was true of her parents and her siblings. She spoke of them all in the here and the now. Always.

That’s because one of Evie’s great gifts was to see the greatness in others. That was never something in the past, it was always something in the now.

Like all truth, the greatness in people is eternal. Evie was always so bright and hopeful and loving in expressing this about others.

That’s why her passing at age 96 is not a thing to be sad about.

The reunion taking place right now is filled with the laughter – and the giggles – of Evie and her sisters. I know it.

How proud her Mom and Dad must be. How thrilled Uncle Darrell must be to have her back. What a great time it is for my grandparents, and my parents, and all who know and love Evie.

I cannot think of Evie and not smile. It just isn’t possible. Even in death, there is joy.

How I miss her already. How deserving all those dear family members on the other side are of her presence there with them today. Like a new baby coming into this world, I know the passage of Aunt Evie in that “new birth” is one of great rejoicing. It can simply be no other way.

I would be remiss without acknowledging all of Aunt Evie’s children, who have been so loyal and loving to her these many years. Barta has been there for Darrell and Evie these many years with such devotion. How I admire her tenacious care, especially during these difficult times. What great acts of service and example we have still among us.

There is much more to tell of the life of Aunt Evie. There’s a great love story. And another story of raising a dynamic family. Another other of church service. Another of service to family, past and presence. I just can’t do justice to it all.

The responsibility is now ours to document the wonderful life of Evelyn Riggs Westover.

I know among her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren there are many memories and lessons. I hope you will share them in abundance here, so that the record we leave behind is complete.

Family in the Cemetery
Jeff Westover

Family in the Cemetery

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The passing of Maureen Westover this month came as a sudden shock, as sometimes can happen.

This past week her funeral was held as family from all over the country gathered together physically and virtually to celebrate her life. There an incredible story was told.

Her story is not over. And another story is emerging that I believe is of great significance and huge value to anyone calling themselves family – especially for Maureen’s children and grandchildren.

As I write this there are seven vehicles carrying a large number of those so important to Maureen from California to Idaho for her burial.

Maureen is a native Californian with roots in the Bay Area. There she and Gale raised their children. For them, California has been the scene of so much life and family history.

But Rexburg is where Maureen, and I assume that someday, Gale, will rest.

I’m sure that was not the original plan. I’m certain the strange politics and expense of California has something to do with it.

Those details aside, I see the coming of a new story to the cemetery in Rexburg as a continuation of an old story. I pray the real significance of this is not lost of those of Maureen’s children and grandchildren left behind.

I hope they all come to understand that this is actually a blessing and, I believe, an answer to prayers given by one of our grandfathers many, many years ago.

The Rexburg cemetery resides on land that once belonged to family members. I believe we have shared this story before but I will recount it here again briefly.

A man by the name of Walter Paul came to Utah with his father, who was a rather well-known furniture maker. Walter and his brothers all learned that trade and when Walter married and started raising a family with his first wife he moved to Logan, Utah where he opened a furniture store.

Years later, after many children were born to him and his wife and after his furniture business had prospered, Walter’s wife suddenly passed away. Given that they had many children and several of them were quite young, Walter needed to remarry and he chose a young bride by the name of Emma Westover, of Mendon, Utah.

Emma was actually close in age to one of Walter’s oldest daughters and they were, in fact, good friends. But Emma was not a plural wife.

It was their intent to have children of their own – and to build a new life. Before long, Walter was asked to join a group of local men in Cache Valley who were assigned to settle the Rexburg area.

Walter opened a new store in the frontier town of Rexburg and, in fact, took on many roles within the community. He was a constable, very active in church leadership, a frequent host and producer of local plays in the theater and a justice of the peace. He was, conveniently, also the town undertaker and the primary source of caskets.

Walter and Emma, like everyone else in Rexburg in the 1880s staked a claim under the Homestead Act. This famous legislation provided them with at least 40 acres for free if they developed it and made it productive within five years.

This was a daunting task for Walter because building a house and managing a farm was a lot of work on top of all his other duties.

In fact, he decided he couldn’t do it and would “quarter” his claim. That meant dividing his property into four equal parts and having others develop the land for him. This was evidently a common practice, especially for men in Walter’s kind of situation.

One quarter of the land went to a local that Walter wanted to help. Another quarter went to his brother in law, our great grandfather William Westover, father to Arnold who was the father of Darrell – Grandpa to Gale and Maureen’s children.

William’s story is one we should all get to know.

The opportunity for him and his young bride, Ruth, in the 1880s to get some land that could be their own to raise a family on was significant to William. He wanted something lasting that he could give to his children. That was something his father could not do for him and something his father had never had himself.

So, William and Ruth went to work and it was brutally hard. Harsh winters, dry summers and the swampland that became the Westover Ranch was not an easy project to develop. Their poverty was severe.

As their children were born and they fought the challenges and disease of the time, they also had to contend with a struggling local economy that was devasted by a lingering depression during the 1890s.

That same depression devastated the finances of Walter and Emma Paul.

They went into bankruptcy and it was complicated.

Sadly, the finances of Walter Paul directly affected the hopes of William and Ruth and they stood to lose all they had invested and could do nothing about it.

But Walter was an influential man who could see no good in everyone losing everything in Rexburg and having to walk away.

With others, he worked with federal regulators to not only save the land but the entire community that was on the brink of becoming a ghost town.

In the end one of Walter’s quarters would be “donated” to become the community cemetery.

William and Ruth could claim the land they had already been working for years and could press forward by starting over – and agreeing to a payment arrangement.

When this arrangement was made there was no way William Westover could know that he was sick with a cancer that would prematurely take his life.

But when he found out, he re-doubled his efforts to make the farm produce and to pay it off before he passed.

He barely made it.

Within weeks of his death he cleared the debt and secured the land for his family – all that he could leave for his children and grandchildren. He was only 42.

Those children of William and Ruth, as well as the generation of their grandchildren, never had an easy life in Rexburg.

But it was home to them. It was precious. It reflected the dying wish of a father and grandfather who wanted permanence of his family for generations.

The Westover Ranch has a difficult and interesting story. Very few of us of my generation and beyond have the connection that our grandparents have to the place.

But it has survived thanks to their vision.

Now the cemetery will begin to see new generations laid to rest there.

I do not see Maureen’s burial there as a thing of necessity. I see it as a miracle of connection. I believe it begins a new tradition of coming home that perhaps is something our grandparents never considered.

I cannot help but think that William and Ruth are pleased.

This land is not what is important. The family with this land is what is important.

The Westover and Paul roots in Rexburg should be honored for their sacrifices during their years there. I can think of no better way than coming home to rest when times like this come.

As I have traveled the cemeteries where we find our grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins it has given me great pause for where I will someday be buried.

I think in most cases folks are buried wherever it is they made their home, and that’s okay.

But to come home where home was originally built is a thing of honor and, oddly for me, something of security. It adds to the permanence Grandpa William was seeking.

I hope when Maureen is buried there that some time is taken to consider all the Westovers and Pauls already buried in that rural resting place. In the years to come when Maureen’s children and grandchildren come to visit and tell her story I pray they will look around. There are stories aplenty there to learn. Adding Maureen’s story there only enriches the heritage of the family going forward.

I hope other members of the family consider that sacred place for themselves.

They will add to an already great story, too.

Jeff Westover

A Letter to my Granddaughter

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Dear Granddaughter,

Here it is the night of July 4th, 2019, and outside my windows there are fireworks and explosions of my neighbors celebrating Independence Day.

Unlike most years, I’m alone this 4th of July.

Usually we have a gathering and all the family are here. There is food and fireworks and fun — the stuff of family.

But the stuff of family also creates lonely days like this, too.

I’m here alone because your Gram has gone out to Atlanta to be there for your birth. It has been 18 long months since she has seen your parents and your brothers.

That’s too long to be separated. Being here alone knowing that Gram is catching up, playing her roles as mother and grandmother, is enough for me to endure the solitude. You are worth it.

It’s not good to be alone. The Lord never intends us ever to be alone and that’s one reason why he put us in families.

It might seem weird for a man to write a letter to a yet-to-be-born granddaughter. But it’s not weird to me. I’ve written letters to my children – including to your father – every year on or near their birthdays. I just haven’t given the letters to them. I will someday.

But this one I’m putting out there now. I can’t help myself.

You must be someone special because you’re coming to a great family.

I don’t even know your name yet. I’m not even sure your parents know your name.

But I can tell you that you are very much anticipated.

Everyone is talking about you. You don’t know it yet but you’re making history. You are our fifth grandchild but our very first granddaughter. That makes you the first woman of a new generation in the family.

That is significant because the women who came before you in the family have been tremendous individuals. Some you will get to know in this life because they will share this space and some time with you here. But so many others you will only hear about.

I don’t know if it is so but in my mind’s eye they are with you now, in your final hours before you come to this world.

I know that not because I know you but because I know them. I know them to be women of great strength, power, authority, and deep, deep love.

Where else would they be right now than with you, the first woman of a new generation?

There are many things I want to tell you, Granddaughter. There are many things I want you to know.

But first and foremost, as your Grandpa, I would echo what your grandmothers are whispering into your ears right now: I love you.

We love you. Your parents and your brothers love you. And that is all that matters.

You see, when I walk through the cemeteries looking upon those names and dates – some from those very grandmothers and grandfathers you are with right now as I write this – I do not see teachers and farmers and construction workers and doctors and scholars.

I see only mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and aunts, uncles and cousins. I see only family.

I see only the fruits of love.

The rest of that stuff is not really important. Granted, it might be interesting, in many respects, to learn the details of their earthly journey. In time I hope you come to gain an appreciation for those things and, like me and many others, take up the work of learning and honoring their history.

It is a worthwhile endeavor and one that will go far to helping you understand your identity, Granddaughter.

But Granddaughter, as you begin your life I hope your eyes reach far out to the horizon and long into the eternities. There is much more to this life than this life.

The world explains this life as ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I would explain it differently.

You are first a spirit child of God. You have been held in reserve to come forth at this time. You must therefore be someone very special.

Your presence here is merely a stopping point on a longer journey.

This is why love is your legacy – and my legacy – and the legacy of all who came before. It’s not who we are here, or what we accumulate, or what name we gain for ourselves here.

Love rises above the things of this world.

Of love you were created and of love you will be remembered.

In just a matter of days, maybe even hours, Little One, you will come into this world naked and probably crying.

In time, like all who have gone before us, you will likely leave this world the very same way.

It is what we all have in common, this thing called love.

You will spend your life trying to understand love, trying to define it, trying to convey it.

Some will accept it from you, and some won’t know how to accept it from you.

Love, you see, isn’t easy and it is not automatic in this world.

And yet, we are, in our physical state, the result of love.

Right now I would tell you that your Mom and your Dad are feeling a lot of anxiety.

I’m very proud of them.

Right on the heels of your birth they will celebrate their 7th wedding anniversary. Not many thought they would make it that far – me included, I was one of the doubters.

But here they are, welcoming you, their third child and their first little girl. Who would have known 7 years ago they would have you and your brothers?

That’s a miracle. That’s what love does. It produces miracles.

Mommy and Daddy are anxious right now because they have never had a daughter before. They want to do it well. I believe that with all my heart. I see them now, and how they work with your brothers, and I’m a believer in them. I’m proud of them.

You will not know or understand the anxiety they feel right now for many, many years. Probably not until you walk in those shoes yourself.

Anxiety is really just another expression of love, by the way. It’s a good thing.

They are worried about paying the bills. They are worried about giving you a name. They are worried about their other children, those fine grandsons of ours.

Your Mom and Dad are worried about how to dress you, how to feed you, how to make you feel safe and warm and loved. They are thinking of everything from teaching you to speak to giving you an education. They are thinking about how you are going to change the world.

No, not the big world outside — they will leave that to you.

They are worried about how you are going to change their world and believe me, Granddaughter, you have changed their world already.

You have taken them from four to five and you have already been the topic of many deep-in-the-night conversations between your Mom and Dad because you change everything.

You are their little girl and that’s new.

All that is love, Granddaughter.

Then there’s the rest of us. Your cousins, your aunts, your grandparents on every side…good grief, we’re a handful.

And we’re going to be all over you.

That’s love, too, by the way. It might be the kind that drives you crazy, but it is love nonetheless.

So too will your brothers drive you nuts and I guarantee you there is nothing but love behind them.

As of this writing they are ages 3 and 6. We have only known love from them. They are and will be outstanding men – because of love.

Your gender is important, Granddaughter.

It is unchangeable. That was written upon your soul long before you were etched as a reality in the hearts of your parents.

The world is going to try to convince you otherwise on this point. They will try to confuse you.

Out of an abundance of love I urge you to resist such foolish notions.

Your gender has a purpose. It is woven in your spirit, your intelligence, in all that you are — both for potential and for growing, ironically, in spirit and in intelligence.

Do not dismiss the gift that your gender is.

You will find, as you contemplate all those people before you who loved you without knowing you, that their gender went a long way in bringing you forth at this time.

Yup. You are not just a creation of your Mom and Dad. You are a child of God first. You are the fulfillment of every father and mother that make up your DNA. They are your family, your blood. They are all love.

I have written this and posted it here because you are making family history – just as they all did.

And someday, perhaps when you are a grandmother yourself and maybe after you have ended your mortal journey there will be others you call grandchildren who may read these words.

They will love you for being you, too.

You see, we are forever a part of each other – backwards and forwards in time. That’s what love does, too.

Now, as your Grandpa, I could go on and on.

But I am hoping to have time with you soon to peer into your eyes, to learn your little personality, to see and enjoy your light.

In time I hope to get to know your life, your little smile, indeed the very important things in your heart.

As I do I will try to say to you all the things I feel about you, and I want you to know I feel them already, even though you’re not here yet.

I want to tell you about your Mom and your Dad. I want to tell you about your cousins and your aunts. I want to give to you what knowledge I have of our ancestors going back hundreds of years.

I want to share all this with you because it’s all love and it will help you.

I cannot tell you all. And that’s because half of your story is written by your Mother’s side and I don’t know those stories.

You are going to have to seek them out, both for you and for the sake of your children and grandchildren.

I know you can do that. I expect you to do that.

Is that right of me to do, to place any kind of expectation on you at all?

Yes, it is and it is done out of love. The world condemns the Patriarchy but I still believe in it. The patriarchy is what got you here and the patriarchy is what will take you home. Never forget that.

The role of patriarch is sacred to me on every level. I take it very seriously.

Your family, from every side, will protect you.

The more you get to know them here, and get to know their past as well as their present, will serve you. I promise that if you seek them out they will be there for you.

This is your Grandfather not giving you a command, you see. I’m giving you the wisdom of my experience. That is part of my patriarchal role and it is one I learned from my father and grandfathers.

Without knowing your family past you deny yourself a gift of love that may just prove the difference in surviving the evils of this world.

I know that sounds dramatic, but I swear to you it is true.

I want you as well to know God. You are His child. That makes Him family. Do you see how this works? Your heritage is endless, just as is your potential. You are part of something great. You are glorious.

Granddaughter, as the fireworks in the sky explode outside my window, I feel cause to celebrate.

But the fireworks are gone from that sky almost as fast as they brilliantly explode.

They are a thing of this world. As such, they are too temporary, too ordinary, and much too insufficient to convey what it is I’m celebrating.

Now, the fireworks more appropriate for you are in the same night sky.

They are the stars – the brilliant artwork of God that sings forth praises.

They did that for another Baby born years ago and they do that now for you.

You are like they are: glorious in every way and a beautiful expression of celebration.

Until I can gaze into your eyes, and see once again the wonder of what God our Father does in bringing forth both Spirit and flesh, I will look at the stars – here by myself – and think about you.

When I do that, I’m not alone.

Your Mother and your Father and your brothers will see you first in this life. They are your family. You’re going to love them all.

Grandma will be there too, looking upon you for us both.

We love you so much. That is the first thing we want you to know.

That is what we always want you to know.

Love,
Grandpa

Jeff Westover

Yes, Del Shannon is a Westover

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If you are of a certain age or just a fan of popular American music then you likely have heard the name Del Shannon. This was Shannon’s first big hit in 1961:

Everyone knows the song. It was, after all, a #1 Billboard hit.

But did you know the Del Shannon is actually a Westover?

Over the course of the years since we launched this site I have been asked at least a dozen times how we might be related to Del Shannon, who was actually born as Charles Weedon Westover in 1934.

I have largely dismissed the question because it most often comes from outside the family.

Shannon was famous and still has millions of fans. Sometimes they come here seeking more information about him.

I am not really interested in exploiting Shannon’s memory as an artist for the sake of family history, plus we are merely distant cousins at best.

But… when the question comes from within the family – and this time it has – I suppose the time has come to at least talk about it.

So here is the tale of how Del Shannon is actually a Westover:

If you have watched our video titled Brothers you should be familiar with the name John Westover, a grandson of Jonah Westover, Sr. from whom we all descend. This John Westover lived in Sheffield, Massachusetts where he was clerk of the local church and a prominent member of the community.

I focus on this John Westover a lot for three reasons: first, John and his wife Rachel had by far the largest family of their generation. Second, of their 12 children, 7 of them were boys – Levi, John, Job, Moses, William, Noah and Amos (our line comes through Amos). These men would do much to carry forward the Westover name in North America in many places.

Why? Well, that’s the third reason: the sons of John and Rachel Westover with all the Biblical names came of age during the American Revolution.

After the war was over they set off in seemingly all directions to explore the frontier. Today their great grandchildren are all over the world, but mostly in the U.S. and especially in Canada.

John and Rachel’s 2nd son, also named John, stayed in Sheffield, Massachusetts. All of his children with his wife Ruffus were born on the family homestead in Sheffield.

John, a farmer, and Ruffus, had seven children, the sixth born being a son named Issac.

Issac covered some ground during his life time.

When he was around the age of 24 he can be found in Connecticut where he married a woman named Polly Wales. Shortly after they married in 1798, they traveled to Quebec, where they more than likely found the beginnings of a new life near great uncle Moses Westover, who had fled to Canada after the war.

(Moses, along with brother Job, were loyalists. Even though they enlisted and served with a Colonial militia during the Revolution, opportunities in post-war Sheffield were not great for loyalists).

Anyway, Issac and Polly would have two children in Quebec before Polly passed away at the age of 23 in the year 1803. Two years later Issac would marry again, this time to a woman named Tamer Emma. Together they would have four children including a boy they named Charles Edward Westover.

Charles Edward Westover would wed a woman named Sabra Mindwell Gleason. While this couple met in New England they move their family to Haldimand Township in Ontario, Canada.

Together they had four children including a son they named Jonathan Gleason.

Jonathan Gleason Westover was a blacksmith in an area that would come to be known as Gleason’s Corner. He and his wife, Jane Rae, eventually would take their family to Michigan and would have a son they named Jonathan Gleason Westover, Jr.

JGW Jr. was a merchant for many years in the community of Nunica, Michigan and with his wife, Edith, would have 6 children including a son they named Burt Leon Westover. Jonathan Gleason Westover, from the pictures at least, is the very image of a family man:

His son, Burt, would stay in the community and become a mailman known to most in the small farming community of Coopersville. Burt Leon Westover married Leone Mosher and they had a son they named Charles Weedon Westover – who then went on to fame as Del Shannon.

Where did the name Weedon come from? Shannon’s maternal grandfather was named Weeden Henry Mosher.

Is there anything in the family history of Charles Weedon Westover that would foretell his talent for music?

Not really. His many biographies say he was taught the ukulele by his mother and that he took so passionately to the instrument that by fourteen his guitar skills were very well developed.

Shirley Westover, Shannon’s wife, would later comment that if there was anything genetic that affected the life of Del Shannon it was alcoholism.

Complicating matters for Shannon was a natural melancholy which would lead to fits of both creativity and depression. Many feel these qualities would later be an influence in his popular music.

He picked up gigs in local night clubs in Grand Rapids, married his childhood sweetheart (Shirley) in 1955 and then was drafted into the Army in 1956. While there he played in a band called the “Cool Flames”.

After his military service Charles returned to Coopersville and took different jobs in his home town.

He worked in a carpet store and was a strawberry picker for a while. At night and on weekends he continued to play with a country rock band at a local bar. Over the next several years as he grew in experience he signed a record contract and had to come up with a new name.

He adopted the name Del Shannon because Westover, he said, “had no ammunition.”

It is said the name “Del” came from a Cadillac Coupe de Ville driven by the manager of his carpet store job and “Shannon” was a wrestler name a friend wanted to adopt.

It should be noted that Shannon never completely abandoned his Westover identity. Even a 1968 album would be titled The Further Adventures of Charles Westover.

Shannon’s career foreshadowed the arrival of the Beatles by a couple of years and came after the phenomenon of Elvis. His rush to fame was no less spectacular than those artists and at times it was a bit much for the small town artist, Chuck Westover (as we he was known locally). All of it was overwhelming.

In fact, his history notes that when he made it big he returned home to a mixed welcome by the community. He had many supporters but the town mayor wasn’t one of them. They just were not yet sure about rock ‘n roll in Coopersville, Michigan.

Del Shannon would go on to a storied music career, ending up in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1999. Despite his success Shannon would eventually succumb to his depression when he died by suicide in 1990.

In tracing the genealogy of Charles Weeden Westover I noticed that the recorded histories of his parents and grandparents dating all the way back to John Westover in Sheffield around 1775 is pretty scarce. There is a lot of work to be done there.

I suspect, as with all of us, the story of Del Shannon cannot be fully understood until the life experiences of his ancestors can be fully discovered.

Jeff Westover

A Vision for Rootstech

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Is anyone out there going to Rootstech this year?

Rootstech is the world’s largest convention dedicated to family history. From all over the world people gather to learn more about family history research and to connected with resources, vendors and experts related to geneaology.

It is held every winter in Salt Lake City, Utah and now another event is planned for the fall of 2019 in London.

Rootstech is not cheap. It costs about $200 for entry to the four day event, although it is quite easy to score free tickets for the usual Family Discovery Day offered on the last day of the event. The event offers classes on a number of family search related topics as well as speakers from all over who provide instruction and motivation. I am lucky enough to live close enough to Salt Lake to attend Rootstech most years and I will be going again February 27th through March 2nd.

I know there are others in the family who either attend this event each year or hope to attend it in the future. I have a hope that we can someday gather whatever family can attend Rootstech to meet up and share resources.

My vision for it would extend to something even greater if we could drum up enough interest. On the Sunday after Rootstech I would like to see us host our own family gather dedicated to our family history. This could be held close to Salt Lake City and live-streamed to family anywhere. The combination of Rootstech the conference with a family event dedicated to family history would be a great way to improve our collective efforts, to foster greater momentum in pushing the work forward and to build a love for our heritage with our children and grandchildren.

Such a family gathering could showcase talks given by family members, especially the elderly who cannot travel but want to contribute. It could easily share gathered information, photos and videos that others perhaps have not seen and it could generate ideas from family folks engaged in the work from all over.

That would be the eventual vision. For now I would settle on just knowing who would be at Rootstech this year and who wants to meet up if you are going. If you are, please fill out the information below so I can contact you: