Webb Riley

Webb was born in Kokomo, Indiana on June 15th, 1934. He was raised with 9 brothers and sisters. He attended Eastern High School in Greentown, Indiana, where he participated in many different sports, like basketball, baseball, track, and pole vaulting. On June 19th, 1954, Webb and Helen Bontrager were married, being partners in life for almost 72 years at the time of his death.

After moving to Arizona in 1959, Webb worked for a few different general contracting companies, and in the 1970's and 80's, he built many of the Frank Lloyd Wright style homes. During their free time, Webb and Helen would attend many Phoenix Suns basketball games, even being season ticket holders for 27 years. As they grew older, Webb would often find himself down by the pool talking with his buddies, completing puzzles, and watching multiple sports games at the same time. He will be deeply missed by his family, friends, and all who knew him.

Webb is survived by his wife, Helen, their son, Rex, 2 grandchildren and 2 great grandchildren. Webb was predeceased by his mother, father, his 9 siblings, and his daughter, Gwen.

The funeral service is scheduled for 11am on February 16th, 2026 at the West Resthaven Cemetery and Funeral Home, which is located at 6450 W Northern Ave, Glendale, AZ 85301. The viewing will be from 11am to 12pm, and the service will be from 12pm to 1pm."

From his granddaughter Jourdyn:

Good afternoon.

To most of you here, he was Webb Riley. You knew him as a man who was almost 92, and someone who saw nearly a century of life. Obviously, I did not know him for the first 60 odd years of that journey, but I’ve heard stories. I know he was an amazing brother to 9 siblings, an incredible husband and father, as well as an amazing, hard-working man.

But the version of him that I got to know - the version I loved most - was just my Papaw.

My name is Jourdyn, and for those of you who don’t know me well, Papaw's son, Rex and his wife Jaci, also known to me and others as Papo and Mamo, raised me and adopted me at the age of 6. Despite not being blood related, Papaw didn’t wait for a piece of paper to decide that I was his. From my very first memories, we were a team.

If you knew Papaw and me, you knew exactly how our hierarchy worked. It wasn’t “Elder and Child”. It was “The General” and “The Most Loyal Soldier”. And in case there was any confusion - I was the general.

Papaw was a man who had lived a long, serious, hardworking life, but he was completely, shamelessly wrapped around my finger. I was so sure of our bond that, even as a little girl, I used to call this 70 year old man my “boy toy”. It was our joke, and it lasted a lifetime. Our rhythm belonged only to us. Before life got complicated and we both got older, it was simple: it was feeding bunnies at the trailer park, or sitting together in the quiet just eating toast.

When I was younger, we would play car, and I was always the driver. I’d set up two of those little plastic kid chairs in the middle of the room, and I’d point to the one in the “backseat”. And Papaw, all six feet of him, would gingerly lower himself into that tiny chair because that’s where I told him he needed to be. He never complained, he just buckled his imaginary seatbelt and waited for me to tell him where we were going.

When my younger cousin, Ryan, and I were full of energy, we’d have these games where we’d smack a very small, soft plush ball back and forth across the room. Papaw would just sit there in his chair, right in the middle of the chaos, being our target or our teammate, whichever we decided he was that day. He didn’t care about the noise, he just wanted to be with us.

For sixteen years, we always got breakfast at the same IHOP. The waiters even knew us by name, and would always stop to say hello. We watched iCarly together - not because he was interested in the show, but because he knew I enjoyed it. At one family gathering, I brought him back to my room and told him to “stay” while I went out and socialized. And he did exactly as I asked, content to stay in my space, even if that meant he didn’t get to socialize with anyone else. In 2022, I moved to Texas, and of course Papaw stayed here in Arizona.

When you’ve been so inseparable from someone for your entire life, you take for granted that they will always be there. You assume the “backseat” will always be occupied. But distance changes things. Life gets busy, and the phone feels heavier than it should.

I want to be truthful today: I carry a lot of guilt about these last few years. I carry the weight of the phone calls I didn’t make and the time I feel I lost. I think we all tell ourselves we have more time than we actually do.

But even with the miles between us, and even in the silences, he remained my favorite person in the entire world. He was my North Star.

The morning before he went into hospice, I called him. By then, he couldn’t really formulate words anymore. But, he tried. He fought through the silence, and I just listened to him try to reach back at me. At the end of the call, I told him I loved him. And despite everything, he mustered up the strength to say, very coherently, “love you” back.

Those were the last words we ever said to each other. I am so satisfied that those were our final words - there is a peace in knowing that “I love you” was the last thing we gave to one another. But even so, I really hope he knows how much I truly, deeply love him. I hope he knows that even when the distance felt wide, and the calls were too few, he was never once out of my heart.

I made it to Arizona the next day and sat with him in hospice while he slept, for a few hours over 2 days before he passed. I’d like to think he was waiting for me to get there so he could “stay” one last time.

Papaw, we aren’t related by blood, but I think the way we loved each other proved that blood is the least important part of being a family. You chose me from the day I was born, and you never stopped choosing me - even when I moved away, even when I didn’t call enough, and even in that final conversation when you fought so hard just to say those last two words to me.

Thank you for being my favorite person for 27 years. It’s going to be hard moving forward without my favorite person, but I’ll carry the honor of being yours for the rest of my life.

Rest easy, Papaw. I love you