1981
Hello, I’m John Darrington and I Think We’re Related
March 1981


“Hello, I’m John Darrington and I Think We’re Related,” Ensign, Mar. 1981, 8

“Hello, I’m John Darrington and I Think We’re Related”

It had been nearly forty years since either side of the family had made contact, but here Susan and I stood at a farmhouse in rural Iowa in 1976, hoping to find some Darrington family members.

In 1866 John Darrington left England for America and crossed the United States with a group of Mormons on their way to Utah. He was not a member of their church, but upon arrival in Salt Lake City he was met by Uncle Bill, who had joined the Church years earlier in England.

Uncle Bill owned a farm in Willard, Utah, where John stayed off and on between jobs. In 1872 Uncle Bill and some other men became disaffected with President Brigham Young and moved their families to Iowa. John went with them. But he did not stay long. After taking care of some debts, he announced to Uncle Bill one morning, “I’m going to Utah, I guess I’m one of Brigham’s boys.”

John married, moved to Idaho, raised a large family, and after some years joined the church that had had such an influence on his life. With the passing of time, the family in Iowa was largely forgotten.

Then in 1976, on our trip home after a business meeting in Tennessee, Susan and I decided to go through Neola, Iowa, and try to reestablish contact with Uncle Bill’s family. I inquired about Darringtons at a local service station, and the man behind the counter rattled off the names of several families in the area. It reminded me of what might happen if a stranger asked the same question in my home town, where there is a Darrington family on nearly every corner. One name struck a chord, however—Bill Darrington. Surely, with that name, he had to be related to Uncle Bill.

Following the directions given, we proceeded to a neatly kept farmhouse on the outskirts of town. With some apprehension I rang the doorbell and announced to the lady of the house, “Hello, I’m John Darrington, and I think we’re related.” After a brief conversation she reluctantly invited us into the parlor and then excused herself. Moments later she reappeared with her husband, Bill. He was a man in his early seventies, and I immediately recognized the family resemblance.

We visited for a few minutes until Bill was assured of our authenticity. He then said that he had heard his father talk of his Idaho cousins and admitted that he had hoped someday to meet them.

The conversation centered around politics, professions, and religion. I told Bill that the Idaho Darringtons, like their Iowa cousins, were mostly Republican farmers. This pleased him since he had spent many years as a Republican legislator in the Iowa House of Representatives.

Uncle Bill’s family had become members of the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints upon their relocation in Iowa. I emphasized that our respective churches had many beliefs in common, and that should draw us together rather than pull us apart.

Since our annual family reunion was to take place in three weeks at a small resort in Idaho, we extended an invitation to our newfound relatives to attend. Bill thought it over and said, “By golly, if there is any way we can make it, we’ll be there.”

We left Iowa with a warm spirit. We felt that our family, which had been separated through the years by distance, religion, and lack of interest, would soon be reunited.

Upon our return home we notified family members that we might have a representative of the Iowa family at our upcoming reunion. Word spread fast. Instead of just our invitation, Bill received a number of others, along with offers for sight-seeing trips and overnight lodging. The effect was overwhelming, and a few days later we received a telephone call from Iowa confirming that they would attend.

No one would have guessed that the 1976 Darrington gathering was to be the best attended in years, but then, no one fully understands the force that draws families together. Upon invitation, during the business meeting, Bill stood and introduced himself and his wife. He told of his relatives in Iowa and expressed his appreciation for the invitation. In conclusion he said, “Let’s not get ourselves lost again.” That has since been our mutual theme.

In 1977, when a business trip took us East again, my parents traveled with us. The Iowa Darringtons were expecting us and for the first time in twenty years gathered together in large numbers from Nebraska, South Dakota, and Iowa. We were treated to a Midwest feast and then spent the evening meeting a crowd of people—all relatives! They were just as excited as we were.

We hung a huge twelve-foot pedigree chart on the wall showing where our families merged. It was the center of attention all evening. Everyone present seemed to have an inborn desire to know his “roots.” It was the first time many of them had been exposed to genealogy, and some took the opportunity to ask questions and copy the pedigree. As a climax to the evening, they decided as a group to begin holding an annual family reunion.

The spirit of brotherhood runs deep between family members, as evidenced by the feelings we all had for newfound relatives. Through correspondence since, one has said, “I’m proud to know that we are related.” And another, “This was the finest evening of my life. I met some of my own cousins for the first time, and I appreciate your helping bring our family together.”

After that evening in Iowa, Bill’s son took me aside and said, “John, dad has much more enthusiasm for life since meeting with you people from Idaho. I can’t tell you how much I respect your courage in stopping at his door to introduce yourself. Our lives have been so much fuller since that day.”

With all of these expressions I recognize the power and love of families, but nothing has brought this home to me more significantly than that day in Iowa when those feelings encouraged me to say, “Hello, I’m John Darrington, and I think we’re related!”

  • John C. Darrington, city administrator in Soda Springs, Idaho, serves as first counselor in his ward bishopric.

Illustrated by Robert Barrett