Jeffrey Alan West (that’s A-L-A-N, despite what the military records say) was born in Torrington, Connecticut on July 31st 1955 to Roland Edward West & Lois Anna (Westberg) West.
He was only two years old when the family moved to Portland, Oregon. Having fallen down the stairs & broken his nose just before the cross country trip, it was probably a memory he didn’t mind not remembering.
Growing up in a houseful of six kids, Jeff was one of two «middles». Goofy at times, always clumsy, he made us laugh. I’m sure all of us remember the great «spaghetti sauce christening» of the pop-corned ceiling in our brand new house in Gresham when Jeff dropped the bowl of sauce while clearing the table. The stain remained there as a sorry reminder to Jeff until the first painting.
When Jeff was around three or four years old, he was standing on the shore at the beach, pretending to fish with a long stick he found, when a wave took him out into the ocean. Dad, like so many other times, with so many of us kids during other outings, jumped in with his clothes on and camera around his neck & rescued him before he was «swept out to sea».
Jeff grew up in a large house near Mt. Tabor Park and spent many wonderful days during the summer participating in park activities. Jeff, like the rest of us kids, picked strawberries during the summer to earn extra money. That seems funny now for a kid who was allergic to strawberries.
One particular day when he was all through in the berry fields, he begged mom to let him go to Seaton’s Pharmacy to buy candy. It was not too far from the house but on the corner of SE 60th & Belmont – a very busy street. Jeff was about nine years old & baby brother John about four. Mom told him he could go but only if he took his baby brother Johnny and made him promise to hold his hand at all times. Jeff, being Jeff, let John run ahead – luckily for John. Jeff was struck by a hit-and-run driver and thrown about 50 feet. The ambulance took him just across the street to the then Adventist hospital (coincidentally where John was born). One of the girls who worked at Seaton’s Pharmacy knew our family and ran to our house to tell our mom and dad who were all dressed up about to go out for the evening. They rushed to the hospital emergency. Mom remembers that Jeff was dirty clear down to his underwear, not having washed or changed from the berry fields. Jeff had his ear nearly torn off in the accident and spent months in physical therapy for his neck injury. Tim remembers Jeff fought with him tooth and nail when he had to take him for his somewhat tortuous therapy sessions. His neck injury bothered him the rest of his life. We later found out that he had also broken a vertebrae in his back during that accident.
As were most of my brothers, he was not thrilled with school & couldn’t wait until he graduated from Gresham High School. I remember mom taking him to his very first job interview at Kentucky Fried Chicken near our home in Gresham, Oregon. He was so nervous, he told mom he didn’t want to go – said he would probably throw up during the interview. And we all know what mom’s response was to that! She sat in the car in the parking lot at KFC during the entire interview until he was finished. He did get the job…and the girl. He met & soon after married the love of his life, Sandy Evans. They had two children, daughter Angela and son Christopher. Although Jeff and Sandy later divorced, they remained close all throughout his life.
Having joined the Navy 6 months prior to his marriage, Jeff and his family moved several times as most military families can do during a long stretch of service. He most loved his home in Virginia because it was «his».
Jeff served 20 years in the Navy in Avionics and traveled all over the world, seeing sites and having experiences that most of us never will in our lifetime. He retired in March of 1994 as Chief Petty Officer. His retirement took place in a hangar at his base in California. It seemed like there were 1000 people there that day. He was so nervous about giving his speech, so as his older & wiser sister, I shared with him some sage advice. Imagine my embarrassment when he began by saying, «I was so nervous about getting up here to talk, but my sister told me to just imagine that everyone in the audience is naked». Jeff spoke of his years in the service as the best of his life.
He just couldn’t seem to adjust to «civilian life» after he retired. He held several different jobs but was always restless. He often «dropped out of his life» wandering around the country…sometimes living in campgrounds or even on the street. But he always seemed to return to his roots and family…until the next call to adventure.
Jeff could be very stubborn at times. He was sometimes sullen, many times just downright grumpy. Yet other times, he showed us the «true» Jeff – kind, compassionate, generous & funny.
He was very intelligent – yes the same guy who barely made it through school. He had a wealth of knowledge & would carry on informative conversations – I’m sure a lot to do with the History Channel and all those documentaries he loved to watch.
Jeff was a loner in so many ways, but he liked people and people liked him when he gave them the opportunity to know him. Oh, how he loved his animals – had a very soft heart when it came to his furry friends – said «they love me just the way I am».
His thirst for adventure never stopped even after his health started to decline and his feet wouldn’t take him where he wanted to go anymore. He dreamed of far-off places – The Bahamas, Austria and Switzerland – but the furthest he got was the mountains or the beach. He so loved the beach.
I remember a particular camping trip my husband Paul and I took to Beverly Beach with Jeff, Sandy, his son Chris, daughter Angie and husband Carl and grandson Oliver. It was colder than…well you know the saying. We spent more money on firewood than it cost to stay there. I particularly remember Jeff and his «larger than the tent» air mattress that kept deflating. Despite the weather, the mosquitoes and the very noisy neighbors, we all had a good time.
When I nagged him about putting up some pictures of the beach or the mountains in his apartment, he said «whatever» as only Jeff could reply. For Christmas, I found a wonderful painting of Cannon Beach that I knew he would enjoy. On the Sunday in June, just before he went into the hospital, I was sitting with him in his apartment having a long «emotional» talk – Jeff didn’t share that vein of conversation often so I knew he sensed something wrong. He looked up at the beach picture and said «You see that driftwood log there? That’s where I want to die». A part of him will make one last trip there.
Jeff regretted a lot of the choices he made in his life. The ever-present «demon alcohol» that resulted in his failing health and ultimately, his death, had more pull than he had strength to fight. He told me he most regretted feeling like such a disappointment to his family – his children Angela & Chris and Grandson Oliver, his brothers and me and friends who tried so hard to help him. He felt he was «unlovable» – didn’t deserve to be loved. Imagine his rude awakening to see just how supportive his family really was during these past few months & final days.
Jeffrey left this world on Friday night, September 18th in his sleep…peacefully…in no pain & knowing that he was very much loved.
Jeff is survived by his son Christopher West, daughter Angela Scripter and husband Carl and grandson Oliver Scripter and his brothers Richard, Tim, David and John West and sister Sue Roberts and their families.