In this section of the narrative audio Uncle Loris details Navy life in the years before the war leading up to and including the events of December 7th, 1941 at Pearl Harbor.
Loris talks about the condition of his ship and crew that Sunday morning and how they were the first ship out of the harbor.
Though his 4-year enlistment was complete the war changed things for everyone and Loris remained in the Navy.
This is the first of three recordings of Loris Westover recounting his military experience in World War II, inclusive of his experiences at Pearl Harbor.
This recording was made in 2001. Loris is recorded by his brother, Darrell J. Westover. (I am uncertain how this was first recorded. There is some background noise that I attempted to minimize. You can hear Loris and Darrell clearly but the background noise is still evident but improved over the original).
I have some knowledge of Loris’ life story but I am hoping this post gets passed around to his family and invite them to comment or share memories of his life and story as an attachment to these posts. I believe they can better represent his story than I ever could. I did not have the opportunity to get to know Loris but it is a thrill to hear his voice through the stories he tells in these recordings.
In this portion of the recording Loris recounts enlisting at the age of 17 and his experiences and observations at boot camp. He recalls being shipped on an oil tanker from San Diego to Vallejo and assigned to the Indianapolis where he worked scrubbing decks. After a week he was transferred to the Henley.
Special thanks to Marc Westover for providing me with this recording to add to our archives here.
Today, the 27th of October 2015, is the 100th birthday of my grandfather, Leon A. Westover.
I had hoped by now to have more of his personal history compiled. In the absence of that, I would hope that you would log in and spend some time looking over the Leon A. Westover Collection of photos and by reading the ongoing project that is the history of my grandmother, Maurine R. Westover.
Grandpa was a complex man. I think in many respects he was misunderstood. Of course, I speak of him from the perspective of a grandchild. I have just my own memories and those shared with me to fully evaluate his life.
I suppose you’re wondering what the story is of the picture posted above and why I chose that image to accompany this post. Why didn’t I use the image of him in his classroom or the image of him as a missionary or young married father? I guess because the picture here shows the perspective of a child — I’m guessing one of us kids shot this picture, since my Dad is the one holding all the fish — and because it shows Grandpa photobombing the shot long before that was a term. Grandpa could kid around and have fun. He was a relentless tease. Things like that don’t get talked about much in histories.
He was part of that Greatest Generation we so often hold up in admiration and respect. His story is a little different than most but it is worthy of review and respect. When you consider where he came from and what he accomplished his was truly an incredible life.
I have many enduring memories of Grandpa. He and I would talk baseball frequently. We shared a love of history. And he tried his best to convince me, while yet a teen, that computers were worthy of my time and attention and could be a future pursuit. My Dad would sometimes joke about his father’s ability to see the future but on the computer Grandpa had it all exactly right. He was ahead of his time.
But if I had to recall one particular topic most consistent in my conversations with Grandpa it would be family. He spoke of it often. He admired those he was related to and he cherished his heritage. The Westover Ranch was very important to him and for a child who never even visited the ranch when I was younger he certainly made an impression upon me about it. So much so that when given the opportunity to provide a little service and contribution to the ranch in recent years it has been mostly out of love and respect for him that I’ve gladly done so. I know on these things I have his approval and encouragement.
As I have aged I have come to appreciate Grandpa more. After all, I knew him from about the age I now am until he died. In years it isn’t long. But it was long enough to make me admire him and to love him greatly.
I am hoping during this 100th year of the anniversary of his birth we accomplish more on this site to archive the details of his life. Grandma has done a great job of telling us so much but how wonderful it would be to find whatever record that Grandpa left behind.
For my children I would tell you this: get to know Leon A. Westover. He wasn’t a perfect man. He was a great example of a man who always tried, who was faithful to the ideals he was taught by parents who raised him through no small amount of adversity. He lived a young teen life during the Great Depression and with great faith brought forth a young family. He served — relentlessly. He worked multiple jobs for years at a time and even in later years sacrificed his resources for the sake of his children and grand children. He served a mission early in life — and another late in life. He embraced the value of education and instilled that in each of his children, a fact I know he was proud of. He was the first of his family to graduate from college.
There is much from him to be learned.
In the coming year I am hoping we get the contributions of others who knew him to help write his story for his grandchildren and great grandchildren to enjoy.
Happy birthday, Grandpa. We love you.
For the past several months I have watched my father go to work on his mother’s history. My Grandma, Maurine Westover, was a shining example of one devoted to the work of genealogical research, temple work and family history.
In the early 1980s while serving as a missionary with Grandpa at the Martin Harris Farm Grandma took to writing her own story — more than 12,000 words of text telling of her life from 1916 forward. It is wonderful.
A few short years later she was diagnosed with a terminal disease and my Dad, who had the means of broadcast-quality television recording equipment through his work, asked Grandma if she wouldn’t video tape her memories even though she had already made the effort to write them down.
Not only did she agree but she embraced the idea wholeheartedly. For several hours over a period of a couple of years she sat in a recliner and just talked — answering questions to individuals unseen on the screen.
Those recordings have for the most part remained under wraps. I believe my Dad had them digitally transferred and gave them as a whole as Christmas gifts a few years back to a few individuals. But until now there has not been a wholesale method to share them or to place them in context with her other records.
Now there is.
When Dad began the process of working on her history his first effort was to populate the history with images Grandma and Grandpa had taken and collected over the course of their lives. Most of these images were digitized at a family gathering at Keith’s house in Atlanta in 2009 — hundreds and hundreds of images we all worked to salvage.
As Dad dropped in the pictures he added a couple more elements — here and there his own comments have been added to Grandma’s manuscript. He also asked Aunt Evie to help him remember the layout of early homes and properties and together they added drawings to accompany the story Grandma was telling.
These efforts changed the record considerably. Grandma’s 12,000 words now spanned more than 150 pages in Microsoft Word and yielded files so massive they crashed the computer time and again.
Dad and I started to talk about the project and how to get it into the hands of the rest of the family — including the video. The only way that really works is by way of this website.
So slowly, page by page, we are editing and adding the video Grandma sat for nearly 30 years ago — and posting it all here. Over the course of the past several days we have extracted more than 40 video segments that go with Grandma’s manuscript.
As we look at it now it is a stunning record. And it is all her.
While the written manuscript tells her story the pictures and the video make it come alive. You can see her smile, laugh, and with great energy tell the story of her life and the people in it. It is like she is here again. You get a feel for her personality and for what was important to her.
These videos have the added gift of having Grandpa jump in here and there. He changes the tone by not only adding his perspective but by being himself — and the dynamics of their relationship emerges. Aunt Aldyth makes an appearance in a segment remembering Christmas as children. Frequent she and Dad are heard off screen making comments or asking questions. Because of this it gives the video in places the feel of a visit to my grandparents’ living room.
I can recall being present when some of these videos were recorded.
They were made at a time when I had regular contact and frequent visits with my grandparents. But it has been almost 30 years since I have heard their voices or felt their presence or heard them laugh. Seeing these videos brings them back.
Of course, instead of seeing them as a 20-something young man I’m now in my 50’s and have the life experience lens to seem them through now — and what a revelation it is!
Seeing Grandpa in his rumpled shirt — which may or may not be buttoned correctly — while at the same time seeing him in tears talk about giving a ring to Grandma during their courtship brings a delicate combination of emotions to me.
How simple it all is and yet how precious a record to have so that my wife and children can get to know these wonderful people who just happen to be my grandparents and theirs, too.
As of this writing I’ve only posted through their meeting and courtship – less than half of what Grandma originally wrote in her manuscript. But I feel a need to highlight it now. For as long as it is taking to edit the videos and put this all together it will take others out there a while to catch up to me.
But I want you to see it.
This is how telling your own story is done. In our modern age in technology there is no reason why each of us can’t leave behind a comprehensive record that uses text, images and videos in telling our story. Grandma here is showing us the way — as was her way with lots of things.
To see this you’ll need to log-in and go to her profile page. The links to her record are beneath the pictures.
It has been a source of some bitterness to me that on top of all we have been through this year we had to make a move we didn’t anticipate and didn’t want. We literally left our home of the past several years kicking and screaming in protest. And it was a pretty ugly experience – it was done in haste, things were scattered and we have had to adjust to everything new on the fly. Here is it months later and we are still trying to find a home for everything.
So when my Dad needed to move in recent weeks I knew it would not be something I would embrace with enthusiasm.
As is common, I think, for a widower, Dad is saddled with 50+ years of accumulation – stuff that he and Mom worked hard for and that reflect a life together of constantly changing circumstances of both need and want.
They have a lot of stuff.
I have not been the only one who has been involved with helping Dad move. On one glorious Saturday a few weeks ago my sisters, my kids and several of my nieces and other available folks came together for just one big part of the overall project of getting stuff moved. It was actually a fun day, despite the work.
Dad rented a large – and I mean HUGE – storage unit closer to his new home and we have been slowly filling it, trying to organize it, while at the same time trying to thin it out. There have been many trips to the DI, some trips to the dump and plenty of spreading out of useful items to homes in the family. My son Enoch and his wife Angie are just getting started and their little apartment is filling up with some of the remnants of stuff left over from the times and seasons of my parents.
It would be easy, in my mind, to look at a storage unit some 100 feet deep and maybe 20 feet wide filled from back to front well over my head and think, “Wow, that’s a lot of crap.”
I’ll admit to thinking that some over the weeks we have been working on all this.
But as we have dug into the stuff I have come to some different conclusions.
Buried in all this stuff is the progression of individuals and of our family.
I spied some hand-made charts I recognized from family nights long ago. They were outlined by my Dad but they were the artistry of my Mom. “Remember those?” Dad asked me as I pulled one out. “Yes, I do. Very much so” I said, thinking of those lessons where Dad would have his scriptures open while using the charts. Mom said little during these lessons but she would be engaged nonetheless. My memory of those charts was shattered just a bit when Dad commented, “We made those to teach your mother the gospel.”
That’s a huge lesson: Dad and I were looking at the same thing but recalling our own perspectives of what they were. I always thought they were made for us kids to learn the gospel.
My mom was my Mom — I never considered when I was a kid learning from those charts that she learned from them too. And yet here was Dad telling me that he and Mom went to all that trouble to make those charts because he wanted to help Mom, a convert to the church and a recent one when those charts were made, to learn the gospel.
As we have worked side-by-side on stuff there are puddles of evidence from earlier lives of all of us – not just Mom and Dad.
Found were high school yearbooks, report cards, and various items of absolutely no value except in the memories they hold and the time of life they were to each of us.
Of course, having lost Mom, it has been hard not to see her fingerprints on everything.
Mother was a pack rat, you would think, and you’d be wasting your time and missing the point if that is all you see in that stuff.
Mother’s boxes and boxes of silk flowers, her handmade crocheted afghans, her prodigious supplies of scrapbooking stuff, and the crates and crates of Christmas decorations are so much more than the money spent on such stuff. They were the tools my mother used to create our home. My mother was a homemaker of the first order – always working to create a place of peace and warmth – for us.
As I’ve worked on this never ending project – and trust me, it’s going to take years – it has occurred to me that we’re not dismantling the life Mom and Dad put together.
We’re reassembling it and Mother is homemaking still as those items come to my home and my sibling’s homes and into the homes of her grandchildren.
There are teachable things in much of this stuff.
Over the course of the next several months I am going to call the family together again and again. I hope you will all come with your trucks and your minivans and your children, no matter how small, to help find the right homes for all these things that my Dad alone no longer needs.
Yes, some of it will be donated to charity and some will just be thrown out. But what can be used should be used by the family.
But as we gather from time to time to go through this stuff I hope you take the time to consider the story behind the stuff.
Weeks ago I found a couple of old reel-to-reel tapes that had recorded on them the audio of Christmas morning from 1967 that my Dad had made at the time. I was four. Can you imagine that morning of my parents with a 7 year old, a 5 year old, a 4 year old and a 2 year old?
Well today we stumbled upon the reel-to-reel recorder that made those recordings. Dad and I had already discussed it, hoping to find it eventually and he shared with me what that piece of equipment meant to him at the time. “It got me through college,” he told me. I understood what he was saying.
But when we found it today Enoch looked at it and not having anything to compare it to in his life experience had to ask, “What’s that?”
“That’s Granddad’s iPod,” I explained.
Enoch was there to do the heavy lifting and this thing is about the size of an ice chest and quite heavy. Enoch could only remark, “Well iPods were heavy back then!” as he hefted into the vehicle. In my mind, I’m thinking – “Wait until we get that thing going so he can hear when he old man was a four year old.”
Dad right now is very focused. He has been working on his mother’s history and I cannot wait to show you what has become of it. He is also working on my mother’s history, filling in gaps and providing a narrative that I think even my siblings will be surprised by.
As we have dug through the mountains of things the family history stuff has been set aside. There is SO MUCH to wade through, to organize, to scan and to, frankly, rescue.
For those of you who do not know, Dad has cancer. This was learned only about a month after Mom passed. It’s rare, it is treatable but he is in a stage of really not knowing how bad it is or how long he has. He’s hopeful, positive and looking forward.
Next month he will have a crucial exploratory surgery. We hope to know as a result of this procedure more about what he is exactly facing.
This is part of the reason why we are pushing so hard right now to get some order to all this “stuff”. Not only can Dad not physically handle this alone he will need help to organize and perhaps even delegate how our family history is managed going forward. He will need the time and attention of all his children and grandchildren who value their family history to step up and take a part in this.
Some have already begun. Matt, for example, has been scanning and organizing the letters from Grandpa Carl. That’s been a long-time project and he’s tackling it. It will give access to that material to all of us.
But there are other projects waiting to begin. And that is really what this is all about.
It isn’t a storage unit filled with stuff. It is part of all of us.
And guess what? I came home tonight and realized something: I’ve got a garage full of stuff too. It’s not as big and there is not as much.
But it is every bit as precious.
I’m betting you’ve got stuff too.