Jeffrey Hatfield Obituary

On April 30, 1963, Fran and Harold Hatfield welcomed their son, Jeff, into our family. As doting aunt and uncle to many nieces and nephews, this was their long-awaited child, the joy of many years of dreams and disappointment.

One could scarcely have blamed them if they had raised a self-indulgent, pampered, little prince. Instead, they instilled in Jeff the old-fashioned virtues of integrity, hard work, and the unwavering strength that defined his character.

Each year, the Hatfields and the families of Fran’s younger sisters scrimped and saved for a precious week in July. Our three families gathered in cabins at Vacation Village in Okoboji.

Those childhood memories were drenched in golden sunlight, magic, and endless possibilities. It was there that we seven cousins learned a profound truth: family is the foundation you build your life upon.

Eventually, Jeff returned to live in the area. He was able to indulge his affection for boats and the water when he went to work at Mau Marine. With honesty, an eye for detail, and self-deprecating humor, Jeff charmed visitors and friends alike. Mirroring his father, Jeff was a natural salesman. And so, it is ironic that few ever guessed that the engaging, easy confidence cloaked a very shy, private man.

As soon as he could toddle, Jeff faithfully followed in the footsteps of the father he adored. He was often seen in his work overalls, carrying his own little toolbox. Young Jeff watched, listened, and learned. Blessed with curiosity and a thirst to master new skills, Jeff was an active learner throughout his life. He often said, “Well, I’ve never done it before, but let me take a look at it.” This led him to seek employment in the electrical field, hardware, and maintenance work far beyond the abilities of we mortals.

Born into a generation of hardship and scant resources, Jeff’s parents did not tolerate waste. They taught him that if a thing was broken, you fixed it. You just didn’t toss it away. Jeff applied this adage to objects, humans, and especially to the animals he loved.

There was the cautious, abused dog that followed Jeff for days before she allowed him to offer her food and a home. There was the fragile, helpless squirrel kit, abandoned in the dumpster. There was the cat with seizures that he adopted and provided medical care for, when he could not afford his own. There was even a tiny bat that he discovered in his garage as winter was setting in. Safely offering the small creature refuge in his home, Jeff was able to release it once warmer weather arrived.

One by one, the lost and the broken found their way into Jeff’s care. This was a man they instinctively knew they could trust, a man who would move mountains to try to fix them, a man who would never just toss them away.

Decades ago, Jeff was diagnosed with a cruel, unrelenting disease. He was never one to indulge in self-pity, nor to offer excuses. He persevered in his service to others, without fanfare or praise. Like his parents, he didn’t believe that helping those in need made you heroic. It just made you human.

On October 20, 2025, the unbearable happened. Gone was the childhood cousin, the best friend, the beloved ‘little brother’, the one who always assured me that if I needed him at any time he would be with me in a few hours. The broken body could not be fixed.

No one is more deserving of salvation than Jeffrey Alan Hatfield. At last be at peace.

A private family burial will take place at the Malvern Cemetery in Malvern, Iowa.