Jeff Westover

The Power of Example

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(Note: The best of family history comes from stories. It is a rich blessing to have stories come from others and the story below is a great example of that. Written by Carma Baldwin Carlson this story is a quick telling of a period of time in the lives of Leon and Darryl Westover. It is outstanding insight into both their relationship as brothers and in their characters as men.)

The original Concord, California ward was organized in the very early 1950s.

This ward was composed of a lot of young families just getting started in life with not a great deal of money, but lots of dreams and ambitions. The Westover brothers, Leon and wife Maureen, and his younger brother Darryl and wife Evie, were two such families.

These brothers and their wives (who were sisters) came from families that had a rich heritage of talented and dedicated teachers. Teaching was their profession but they were fortunate to have a father who was a carpenter, who taught his boys the carpenter’s trade, in which they became quite proficient.

This new ward in Concord desperately needed a chapel in which to worship.

In those days each ward had to come up with the majority of the money to build their chapel, and the members of this fledgling ward had barely enough money to sustain their families. The Church’s volunteer labor service came to their aid. The members would be the builders of the meeting house, their work hours were kept track of, and the equivalent of the going rate for their labor was counted toward the financial debt they owed on the building.

The Westover brothers were MAJOR contributors in time working to build the chapel, and their carpenter skills were a major aid in the construction process.

Leon and Darryl had a very tight family relationship, and their love and esteem were very evident. But they had very different ways of doing things.

There were quite a few times that they each had much different ways they wanted something done, and very heated discussions would ensue.

Now, in the work crew there was a volunteer, a young non-member who had just married an active LDS girl.

He wanted to make “points” with his lovely new bride, so he did a lot of helping in building this chapel. It was the first time he had been around Latter-Day-Saint men, and he watched their interactions with a lot of interest.

When he saw these two brothers heatedly discussing some of the building procedures he began to get rather concerned — afraid that they might come to blows and begin to hate each other.

Then he noted something happen that seemed strange to him. At the height of these disagreements they would suddenly stop, look at each other, then say: “It is time to take it to the Bishop.”

So Bishop Markham was hunted up, the problem was explained to him, the Bishop thought about it, and a decision was made.

Then came the thing that amazed and baffled the young man.

The Westover brothers shook hands with the Bishop, gave each other a pat on the back or hug, went off and acted as if there had never been a disagreement.

They went right back to being their old good natured, fun loving brothers again. That was totally the end of it.

It got the young man to wonder, “What kind of people are these men?”

He credits the example of the Westover brothers as the catalyst which gave him the desire to learn about the Gospel and later join the Church.

Jeff Westover

Becoming a Great Ancestor

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The image here of my family is now ten years old.

I had no idea when we took this picture that it would come to represent the end of an era for my family.

The picture was taken the day our eldest daughter left for her mission. Sandy and I were 45 years old.

In the ten years since life has dramatically changed for us all. We should have better anticipated that.

But if you had asked me then to predict what ten years would bring in the lives of everyone in that picture I would have never been able to get close to what has actually has transpired.

Gone from our lives are a few dear ones we deeply miss. We now can claim three in-law children and four grandchildren (going on five) that we have added to our family in that time span.

The changes in 10 years are profound on a personal level, too.

Ten years ago I was a busy executive, traveling all over the west in a career that had blossomed. I was determined then to push on two work fronts to make money for the ever growing demands of my family. I was also absorbed with world events and engaged in the rocky politics of the time.

So very much of all that has changed.

I do not share many things on this site of my own family past and that of my children. But just because you do not see those things does not mean they are not there.

For many years now I have built pages, image and video libraries, and document repositories of my family that so far only I alone can see on this site.

I am building the record but not yet sharing it for many reasons.

We are still busy making our family history. For me to share my impressions nearly as fast as things happen would, I think, perhaps disrupt the natural flow of events.

It could draw unnecessary and unwanted attention. Some would take it all to be self-serving.

What we’re doing here is not a look-at-me social media thing of our day. What we are doing is attempting to comprehensively record the events and lessons of our 21st century lives.

This week, as I had the opportunity to peer into the face of my newest born grandson, Harvey, I could not help but wonder what he will think of those pages now hidden.

I will know Harvey and, if I’m lucky, I may be able to meet and know his children.

His grandchildren I likely will not know in this life.

It is for Harvey and his children and grandchildren that we make these efforts on the hidden pages. I want them to know and have access to all the family history I did not have growing up.

In the past decade I have found that the lines that separate the generations are more like curtains of fog.

We live largely the same lives. Events in our day today parallel the events in the lives of our ancestors.

Yes, we live in a different time but we can hardly claim to have many differences in our life experiences.

We are born, we marry and have children, we grow old and we die.

Sandwiched between those commonalities are the incredible details shaped mostly by our individual character and the events of the time in which we live. These become the stories that get passed down.

If my efforts in family history have taught me anything is that I find greatness in all of my ancestors – no matter who they were or where they were from.

Though they were normal in every sense, ordinary to those on the outside almost to the degree of tedium and mundane, they are in my eyes, after research, study and pondering, great to me in every sense of the word.

They are survivors, inventors, pioneers and change artists. They are explorers, dreamers and builders. They were rooted in faith, hard work and family. Especially family.

As I grow old and study their lives more I have come to feel that not only do I know their hearts but also I have come to recognize their faces and personalities.

This has happened only because they left enough of themselves behind for us to find.

I get frustrated by the lack of detail, by not knowing precisely their thoughts, impressions and feelings. I long for greater depth of understanding. I feel denied sometimes by stories lost or skimpily shared.

But the harder I work to glean the details the more I am humbled by what they come to mean to me in my mind.

What develops is yet another dimension of love within my human heart – one I never considered earlier in life.

They become a part of me like others, such as my wife, have become a part of me.

They take up a unique space and they give me the sense of something greater that I am a part of.

I dare not think that my life and myself as a person could ever be equated to those of my ancestors. I could not have done what they did.

But decades and generations from now I find the inescapable truth that who and what I am will be meaningful in some way to the families of my great grandchildren.

I will be their ancestor.

Just as my ancestors, I have learned, are part of me, I will be, as their ancestor, part of them.

That is a sobering thought. It is also a joyful thought.

Together, my ancestors and me and my great grandchildren, are writing an incredible, unique story as a family and as individuals.

What then is my part? What are my obligations? How do I contribute? How can I be a great ancestor?

To me it comes down to two things: truth and faith.

As I walk through cemeteries I do not see “Here lies a great farmer” or “He died a rich man” engraved on headstones.

If there are accomplishments or accolades to be shared in stone it is nearly always tied to roles of family – “Beloved Grandmother” or “Father”, for example.

Death has a way of focusing on the biggest and most important roles we have in this life.

That is because real truth focuses on what matters most.

I want my progeny to know the truth about me as their ancestor. The details of my career, my travels and even my worldly accomplishments matter very little.

Too often when we tell the stories of our ancestors we focus on these things. We do that because we lack the forethought, the emotions and the reactions of what was behind all those details.

In my mind, if my great grandchildren know the feelings of my heart they will understand the actions behind the details of my life.

I cannot help but wonder what it would be like to know the anguish of Gabriel Westover when he sent two of his children to the New World knowing he would never see them again.

What was on the mind of Jonah Westover after the Indian uprising in Simsbury and how did that change the course of his family’s experience?

What could have passed through the mind of Jonathan Westover as he gathered the orphaned children of his brother’s family after the series of tragedies that wiped out the Jonah Jr and Abigail Westover family in 1714?

What was behind all the restless wandering in the lives of Amos and Ruth Westover, who spent 20 years of their lives in transit from Massachusetts to Canada and then to Ohio?

Alexander and Electa Westover obviously knew each other and their respective families growing up. There’s a story there. What are the circumstances of their love story? We know how it ended but how did it all begin?

What went through the minds of both Edwin and Ann in February 1857? He was 33 and already married. What did he think about having a 2nd concurrent wife and raising a 2nd family? She was just 17 and fresh off the handcart pioneer trail. What was in her heart?

Perhaps the circumstances of their lives did not allow for recording such intimate details or maybe they just never thought it would be important for them to do so.

But I know clearly that these things will be important to my grandchildren reading the records I will leave behind.

Our modern age is creating a record of all of us. Family search in future generations will detail the grades we got in school, the resumes we sent online, the things we said on social media, the doctors we visited, the driving records we compiled, the addresses we had mail sent to and even the money we made and spent.

But even still none of those details will reveal who we are in heart and mind.

I know this and I can speak to it. I can tell my grandchildren what I feel, think and how I choose to react.

Faith is and always will be an important element in individual history.

My Grandma Begich was a faithful Catholic, just as her parents were. When she was a young girl her mother, it is said, was beheaded because she wore a symbol of her faith – a cross – around her neck. A few years later her father died and Grandmother’s grief as a ten year old was so intense she tried to throw herself into his grave.

Her faith clearly shaped and influenced her entire life experience. It led her to beg my grandfather to not participate in World War II.

Grandma’s faith also shaped the upbringing of her children and its influence endures to this day with her grandchildren and great grandchildren. I’m convinced we cannot know Grandma Begich without knowing her faith.

The same is true of my Mormon ancestors. Ann Findley only really had about a decade living with Edwin. The 17 year old handcart pioneer girl who became his polygamous wife never wavered in her faith as she endured the deaths in her family that would separate her from Edwin.

For another decade in her life Edwin would live but would not be present in the day to day life of Ann Findley Westover. She toiled in the support of her family and in the service of her church and community.

The last 50 years of her life were spent essentially as a single parent and grandparent who worked hard to serve those around her. That was part of her faith and to me it tells the story well of her character.

The faith of our ancestors fills in many of the details we long for from learning of their lives. Faith to them – and to us – is merely an extension of the truth that makes up our lives.

Ten years is a mere blip on the timeline of our family history. Much has changed since that photo above was taken.

I can speak what I felt through this blip in time. It may not matter to anyone now.

But perhaps later, it might.

Arnold Westover
Jeff Westover

The Voice of Arnold Westover

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Several weeks ago Kevin Cook shared a real gem on FamilySearch: a voice recording of Arnold Westover.

I am not certain how old the recording is or exactly when it was made. But in the 19 minute clip below you can hear Grandpa Arnold talk of family history, including small bits of information about his parents and grandparents.

This clip is exactly as it was shared on FamilySearch save some minor editing done to reduce the noise level and improve the audio quality.

While there is not any information in this audio clip that we do not know — in fact, I venture to say we likely have more detail today than maybe Arnold had at the time this was recorded — it is a thrill to hear his voice. I don’t have any memory of this great-grandfather of mine so I am grateful to have this record.

Arnold was born in 1895, the 6th child of the nine children of William and Ruth Westover.

Arnold was only about 8 years old when his father passed away. The family had always known difficult living but the passing of Arnold’s father really placed the family in hardship and forever shaped the character not only of Arnold but of the entire clan. In the audio he speaks a bit of the influence of his brothers especially and of how the family was affected during these early years of his life.

Arnold came of age during the time when the automobile would change transportation. He literally straddled two eras, having spent time in the horse-and-buggy era and living well into the age of modern air travel. Through out it all he knew hard work from the youngest age.

In 1914 his mother passed away and he later married Mary Ann Smith that same year. Within a year, their first son, my grandfather Leon Arnold, would be born. The Arnold Westover family would in time grow to 9 children.

Arnold with his brother Ray purchased additional shares of what was left of their father’s farm and worked it themselves for several years, stuggling to make it support two growing families. They raised several crops and had some livestock. Both Arnold’s and Ray’s histories note several side businesses and activities they pursued in trying to provide for their families.

They were both active in the Church, and likewise served as sextons of the Rexburg Cemetery. Arnold also had some training as a carpenter and used this to build a career for himself for most of his adult life.

Arnold’s was a life of continual service. He was noted for aiding the sick and helping to prepare the dead. He served in various leadership capacities at Church and was called upon again and again to render aid. In 1926 he left his family to serve a short term mission in the Eastern States Mission.

When World War II began Arnold was hired to work in the shipyards at Bremerton, Washington. After the war, thinking of his sons who would need work when they returned from their military service, Arnold looked nearby to build a business the family could all work together. That effort led to the establishment of a successful business that left quite a mark on the community of Quincy, Washington. Arnold went on to become a noted citizen and a leader in the community, serving for a period of time as president of the local Chamber of Commerce as well as continuing service in Church leadership capacities.

A full history of Arnold Westover can be read at FamilySearch.org.

Jeff Westover

Eliza’s Letter

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In catching up on all the family history news I missed over a very busy holiday season I was pleased to see that the Church History Library has at last digitized the letter Eliza Haven Westover wrote to her son Lewis in 1916. This was the letter where Eliza detailed living in Nauvoo as a teenager and witnessing the transfiguration of Brigham Young. We have shared that story before here.

I am not sure how many others asked for that to be done. I have been requesting it to be done for more than five years.

Eliza Haven Westover was the first wife of Charles Westover, brother to grandfather Edwin Westover.

We have shared more of the story of Charles and Eliza at this link. They have their own pioneer story that is worthy of knowing.

It is quite a different thing to just read about Eliza’s letter than it is to actually see it. Seeing it changes the way you see it, if that makes sense.

I hope you click on the first link above to the Church History Library to see the actual letter itself (it is saved as well as a PDF in our Documents Archive here on WFH).

What you see is her handwriting on simple lined paper, written in pencil. Though she was in her late 80s when the letter was written it is clear to read. You can tell it was written not only with a steady hand but also a clear mind.

As previously touched upon in telling the story we note that critics of the Church point out that the memories of this event with Brigham Young were not recorded until years after it supposedly happened. This they say is proof the entire thing was made up. More than 80 people claimed to have had the experience and all those memories were recorded after-the-fact.

The content of the letter will forever be debated. You can take it for whatever you want.

But the letter is family history.

It reveals the heart, mind and soul of Eliza Haven Westover. She was an extraordinary woman.

The 103 year old letter is a treasure. It contains much more than just the story of Brigham’s transfiguration. It speaks of her love for her son and the desire she had to provide him with a sketch of her life. He had, in a previous letter to her, made note of the fact that few remained alive with memories of the Prophet Joseph Smith.

She described Joseph as a “great lover of children”, an important observation considering she was still a child when she arrived in Nauvoo at the age of about 12. She notes his smile and how interesting it was for her to listen to him preach. She talks of seeing him frequently and witnessing his last ride through Nauvoo as he went to Carthage.

She goes on to describe the Nauvoo Temple, then moving to Winter Quarters and then meeting Charles Westover on the plains.

Eliza writes of life on the trail and then in Utah as a pioneer so matter-of-fact. She was, by this point, quite elderly and suffering from ill health brought on by a broken hip.

Eliza was still living in St. George and her son was with his family in Lewiston, Utah on the opposite end of the state when the letter was written.

She would live until the age of 93, passing in 1923.

I believe it is fair to say Eliza Westover had developed a very deep sense of history and her place in it.

She was a stalwart Latter-Day Saint and she lived during a time when Family History was emphasized greatly among the faithful of the church.

Like many of her generation she lacked the means to document far into her family past but she clearly had a vision of the need for her to record her history. A great many details of her life — even beyond this letter — survive because of her efforts to create a record.

She is a beloved grandmother. Eliza made sure she knew them and they knew her. She told them stories. She had outstanding photos taken during an age when it was not common, especially in the place where she lived.

Eliza Westover frequently bore witness of her testimony of Jesus Christ. Her stories were shared. She was in the newspaper from time to time, even beyond her own obituary.

This all happened even though Eliza and Charles Westover were not church leaders or famous community figures. They were just regular folk.

The lessons from Eliza Westover are many, especially as it comes to cherishing her own life experience and sharing it with others.

Her son, Lewis Burton Westover, was born in 1868 and died in 1966. He was a fixture in the community of Lewiston, Utah, not far from where I live now.

My experience in Cache Valley these past several years has led me to encounter many Westovers from this line of the family. As I discuss family history with them I am yet to meet one who does not know all about Charles and Eliza.

But especially Eliza. It’s always the grandmother!

This I believe is Eliza’s greatest legacy — that her many great grandchildren know her and love her.

I can only hope so much for myself.

195th Century Christmas
Jeff Westover

The 19th Century Christmas

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Historians tell us that Christmas in the United States and even the world was not celebrated much prior to Charles Dickens. They claim that the Puritans of Boston banned it and that it was “quite dead” in England of the 18th century.

That is all false.

While some evidence suggests Christmas was quite different it was not the fragmentary thing they made it out to be in America.

In fact, if anything was out of the usual when it came to Christmas it was the Puritan attitude about it. But the Puritans honestly never had a chance with their ban of Christmas.

Christmas was just too big even before they started.

The history of Christmas in the Americas dates back at least to the 14th century French explorers who first came to Canada. They did not record much of their activities however they did make a record of their Christmas celebrations in a strange land.

Columbus, too, made Christmas an event, even going so far as to name his first settlement in what we now call Cuba, La Navidad.

Of course, Columbus didn’t share his sacred Christmas with the natives and he allowed his own men to run wild. When Columbus returned the following year he found all his men dead and La Navidad burned beyond recognition. Columbus later took a more humble approach to teaching Christmas to later natives he discovered.

When the pilgrims of Jamestown arrived it was none other than John Smith who went on record as the first to drink eggnog at Christmas in the New World in 1607. The Jamestown record of Christmas celebration clearly pre-dates the Puritan ban.

Even in New England, outside of Puritan Boston, Christmas was widely observed. Newsprint clippings from the 1600s and 1700s shows Christmas recipes shared, poetry published and goods sold in association with Christmas.

In fact, old newspapers and family journals clearly show a culture where Christmas in one form or another was already a tradition that was passed for generations long before our ancestors of the 19th century came along.

What transpired culturally with Christmas in America only made it bigger as the 19th century advanced.

In New York City, by the late 1790s already a melting pot of nationalities, the secular Christmas in all of its raucous tradition was wildly celebrated.

The cultured and educated of the city fought to do something about it.

For years, spurred through the writings of Washington Irving, a man named John Pintard took up the challenge of taming the Christmas chaos in New York.

He did it by appealing to a common figure among all the immigrant groups of the city – St. Nicholas.

The true story of St. Nicholas (this historical figure, not the legendary Santa Claus he later became) is another that historians tend to gloss over.

Nicholas was a real person. He was a spiritual man, a bishop and a legendary figure in his time. He was one of those in attendance at the Council of Nicea and was a fervent backer of the Divinity of Christ.

In fact, it was there that Nicholas came to blows with a critic and was thrown into prison, only to be freed, it is said, by Jesus Christ, who returned to him his red priestly robes.

By the close of his life Nicholas was famous in many areas of the world, second only to Christ in terms of his fame. Within a few hundred years of his lifetime more than 2000 churches of the Old World would bear his name.

How did this happen in a world without Internet or media?

Nicholas’ exploits and some say miracles were carried by word of mouth. They were taught, as part of the Christmas season, in many lands.

Nicholas, long after he died, became known in many cultures and, due to his charity and his December 6th feast day, became associated with Christmas.

For Pintard in New York around the turn of the 19th century, Nicholas became the focal point of a more tame Christmas celebration.

He opened a museum of Nicholas history, drawing upon the Nicholas-themed traditions of every culture he could find.

He also used the literary market to great advantage by convincing popular writers such as Washington Irving to create works featuring St. Nicholas and Christmas. One of Washington
Irving’s associates was a wealthy professor of theology and religion named Clement Clark Moore.

Moore and his wife had a large family and, as the story goes, as he was delivering Christmas turkeys to the poor on a snowy Christmas Eve he penned a fun little poem about St. Nicholas based on the jolly demeanor of his white bearded sleigh driver.

Moore later shared his “Visit from St. Nicholas” with his many children, who were delighted.

The poem first became a family tradition of Christmas and later Moore had it published, anonymously in a New York newspaper, in 1823.

As was the tradition in those days, the poem passed from one paper to the next and was shared over time around the country. It became a media tradition of Christmas to share it every year.

Combine the image of Moore’s Santa Claus with Dicken’s resurgent embrace of Christmas with A Christmas Carol and you have the cultural fuel that made Christmas what it has become in America.

By the time our pioneer ancestors crossed the plains in the late 1840s they had, regardless of their land of origin, established traditions of Christmas celebrations.

They would continue those traditions of Christmas where they settled.

Christmas of 1847, the first in Salt Lake City, did not feature much of the usual trappings of Christmas. The 1500 or so of the first Saints in Zion did however gather at the flagpole that had been erected in the settlement and observed the day with song, talks and fellowship.

Christmas of 1848, just months after the Westovers had arrived, likely wasn’t much different in Salt Lake.

But by 1852 much progress had been made in building up the community, including a “social hall” where a Christmas day party was noted in one of the first editions of the Deseret News.

With the Westovers still living at that time within 3 blocks of the social hall there is little doubt that they were there.

It is quite likely that most there witnessed their first Christmas tree, which they then called a Santa Claus tree because it was decorated, as many trees then were, with gifts for the children.

Children really were the focus of the 19th century Christmas.

Thanks to the crafted images of Santa Claus in popular media it was common for children to commandeer the largest sock in the home – usually Fathers’ – to hang for Santa Claus to fill.

Christmas was almost always handmade.

Stockings were filled with handmade rag dolls, knitted items, candy and nuts. If fruit was available, which it often was not, that too might find its way into a stocking as a treat.

Albert Smith noted the passing of Christmas in his journal a couple of times, without much detail.

But with his home filled with children, especially in the 1860s and 1870s, you can be sure a special family meal was held and that inclusion in Manti’s Christmas activities, whatever they were included the Smiths.

It was the Smith home, after all, that served as the community theater for many years after Manti was first settled and Albert, known locally as “Father Smith”, due to his age and long-time Church member status, was certain to speak on any given occasion when folks gathered.

The Westovers of Southern Utah likely participated in the dedication of the St. George Tabernacle, which featured the first ever performance of Far, Far Away on Judea’s Plains.

We will never know if any of our family participated as choir members but we do know that both Charles and Edwin worked on the construction of that building, which took many years to construct and it is likely many of the family were present when it was dedicated.

While details of our pioneer family Christmases are scarce we can be assured their Christmas celebrations always meant a family gathering of some type mixed with church and community celebration.

They changed as the times changed in the 19th century.

It wasn’t until 1870 that Christmas, along with Thanksgiving, became an “official” holiday. It did not come as grand announcement, but rather as a measure designed to give federal workers the day off with pay like most of their private sector counterparts already received.

What did this mean? It meant that Christmas had already been long observed in a special way as a common observance.

Our 19th century ancestors were not strangers to Christmas. As followers of Christ they marked the day, if even in their more unique way.