Harris, Everton Oneal

Harris, Everton Oneal
01 Jun

Everton Oneal Harris, better known as “Ev-vee”, of Todds Land, St. George, retired Chauffeur of the Sanitation Service Authority, Son of the late Granville and Gwendolyn Parris, Father of Dawn Smith-Noel and Nicole Lyn-Marie Bootman, Grandfather of Tramaine and Traneisha Smith, Brother of Joseph, Koreen and Cynthia Harris, Monica Wilson, Maureen Phillips of the U.K., Edwin, Errol and Julia Parris and Victor Green, Uncle of Sophia, Dwayne, Keisha, Corey and Shanice Harris, Sharon and Darron Wilson, Ashleigh Parris, Shaun, Adrian and Alan Phillips, Nephew of Gladstone Parris, Marie Proverbs, Carl Padmore and Marva Holligan, Cousin of Junie and Francia Corbin, Hyacinth Wentt, Dr. Karen Padmore and Denzil Williams, Father-in-law of Ronald Noel and Roger Devonish, Relative of the Harris, Padmore, Parris, Corbin and Williams families, Friend of Trevor Wood, Mark Otley, Peter Gaskin, Emmerson St. Hill, Everton Burrowes, Beverley Smith, Peter Thorne and Cheryl Bootman

The funeral of Everton Oneal Harris leaves Waithe’s Funeral Home, Greens, St. George on Friday, June 01st, 2018 at 2:45 p.m. for St. Jude’s Anglican Church, St. Jude’s Village, St. George, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 4:00 p.m. for the service, followed by the interment in the churchyard.

The Organist and members of the choir are asked to attend.

Floral tributes can be sent to Waithe’s Funeral Home no later than 2:15 p.m. on Friday.

Online condolences can be sent to: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
    Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightening they Do not go gentle into that good night.   Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.   Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.