William Alva Egan
March 19, 1942 – August 5, 2025
William Alva Egan made his grand entrance into the world on March 19th, 1942—strategically timed between calving season and planting, like a proper farm boy should. He was the oldest of five born to Sarah Louise Allen and Alva Howard Egan, which meant he got the privilege of learning everything first, including how to dodge cows, wrangle siblings, and take credit for things that went right (and maybe a few that didn’t).
Born in Pocatello (not the “new hospital” in Downey, as previously thought—thanks for the decades-long mystery), Bill was basically farm dirt and determination wrapped in overalls. He was so connected to the land that it’s rumored he once tried to plant himself to see if he’d grow. Spoiler: he didn’t—but he did raise a thriving crop of kids and grandkids.
As a boy, Bill trained in elite farm sports: cow herding, ditch digging, hay bale bucking, and the legendary “baling twine repair Olympics.” He moonlighted in basketball, just to keep things balanced. When farm equipment broke down—and it always did—he fixed it with duct tape, wire, and whatever string of prayers he could muster.
Bill graduated from the brand-spankin’-new Marsh Valley High School in 1960, back when the desks still squeaked and the paint was barely dry. He then moseyed on over to Utah State, where he earned a degree in Agricultural Economics in 1966—because if you’re going to wrestle with Mother Nature for a living, you might as well know the numbers behind it.
While at Utah State, Bill also pulled off his greatest accomplishment: snagging Kathy. The two became a legendary True-Aggie power couple, sealed with a smooch on the block A and an unspoken vow to survive cows, kids, and countless Jazz games together. Their love story was part romance, part rodeo, and 100% unbeatable.
Bill didn’t believe in clocks. His schedule ran on “done when it’s done” and “lunch is whenever someone remembers to bring it.” The only time he’d glance at a watch was to make sure he didn’t miss a kid’s game—or better yet, a grandkid’s. He was the world’s loudest cheerleader in Wrangler jeans.
Despite all his time working the land, Bill found time to serve in his church—and not just in the “I’ll show up for cookies” kind of way. He was a Young Men’s Leader, Bishop, a clerk, a counselor in the stake presidency, and a temple ordinance worker, but his favorite role? Nursery duty with Mom. Apparently, he discovered that hanging with toddlers was just like ranching, but with fewer hooves and more goldfish crackers.
Community service also found its way into his busy schedule, somehow he found time to serve as a Marsh Valley Hospital Board Member, was a 60-year board secretary of the Marsh Valley Cattlemen’s Association, the Bannock County Farm Service Agency Committee and served as Marsh Center Irrigation President—a title that, while not glamorous, probably came with the superpower of controlling water (kind of).
Now, Bill did have a few guilty pleasures: Jazz basketball (he never missed a game), westerns (the more dust and horses, the better), historical books (so thick you could use them as fence posts), FOX News, and spontaneous bursts of singing. If you said something that vaguely resembled a song lyric, you could count on him to belt out a tune like he was auditioning for Farmers Got Talent.
He could also bust a move—anytime, anywhere. In the kitchen, at church, mid-ranch chore—you name it. The man had rhythm. Or at least enthusiasm.
Bill farmed alongside his dad and later with his boys, proving that stubbornness and a love for John Deere are clearly genetic. Even in his later years, he’d insist on helping with hay, although the family made a few “minor adjustments” to ensure he didn’t get launched off a tractor seat. On the day of his fall, he was out doing what he loved: hauling hay, likely grinning, blasting country music, and yelling at cows like they owed him money.
Every day, he’d check in with his parents over lunch, probably sipping a bottle of Pepsi or Coke (depending on who had the better sale that week). His mom, Louise, fed everyone within a 10-mile radius, and Bill never turned down a meal—or seconds.
On August 5, 2025, as the sun rose over the still, calm ranch, Bill took his last breath, with his sweetheart Kathy at his side. It was peaceful. It was fitting to pass at the ranch where his roots ran deep rather than a sterile hospital room.
He leaves behind his greatest crop: a loving family. His wife, Kathy, kept him alive longer than most warranties last—keeping his fridge full, his water bottles frozen, and dragging him off the farm for the occasional vacation. His children: Wade Egan (Jill), Angie Beck (Blake), Sherri Bodine (Mark), Tara Gibbons (Chris), and Josh Egan (Hayley) all survived the chaos of farm life and turned out relatively normal. He’s also survived by his sisters Linda Morrison, Vicki Reese (Bill), Nancy Lasley (Charles), 17 grandkids, 7 great-grandkids, and countless cows, tractors, and duct tape repairs.
He joins his parents, his older brother, and his daughter Candace, hopefully finding a tractor that never breaks and a hayfield that bales itself.
Bill Egan’s legacy isn’t measured in acres or equipment or how many Jazz and Aggie games he watched, but it’s in the people he raised, the work ethic and faith in God he instilled in them and the countless meaningful social connections he had with others.
Rest easy, Dad. Try not to fix Heaven’s irrigation system… at least not on day one.
Funeral services will be held Friday August 8th at the Arimo Stake Center at 1:00pm, 286 Henderson Ave. Arimo, Idaho. Visitation will be from 6:00 – 8:00pm Thursday evening at the same location and 11:30am – 12:30pm prior to services.