The first time this Iowa farm boy saw the recoil, heard its thunder and felt the shudder I wished that the recruiting officer in Des Moines had sent me back to the farm. But before I could have second thoughts the Gun Captain leaped onto the platform and opened the breach. Compressed air spewed out smoke like dragon’s breath. I quickly grabbed another bag of powder. With a smile, I realized that I was part of a team manning a 14-inch gun that might one day be called upon to help defend this great country of ours. It was just another day of life in the Navy.

Those big guns will never be used again, nor will the battleship U.S.S. California sail against the enemy. Today, computerized rockets are launched many miles away from their targets with sophisticated propulsion apparatuses and guided with super-sensitive electronic gear answering to satellites hundreds of miles above the earth. They travel for hundreds of miles to their targets with pin-point accuracy.

On this cruise I ran into Bill Sweeney who had trained with me at the Naval station in San Diego. We became fast friends in the 3rd Division and kept in touch until Bill died in 1997.

As we prepared for the historic voyage I made a interesting discovery: Athletes onboard were privileged to eat at a special table. They were served steaks, hor-d-oeuvers, and desserts that the general mess never had on its menu. You can be on the roster of the race boat crew, the boxing team, and the wrestling team. Soon, I, too, was enjoying the culinary delights of the Navy’s mess hall for jocks. I didn’t know then the heavy price I would pay later on for my snap decision.

On May 1, 1934, every ship on the United States Pacific Fleet was amassed on the West Coast entrance of the Canal. Twenty-eight hours later, every ship had gone through the isthmus and was heading north. At Porta Bella in the Atlantic, we had our first boat race. Twelve of us oremen, pulling like mad for two miles, came in second. Then onboard the U.S.S California, we made stops with the fleet in Guantanamo Bay, Cube, and at the Norfolk, Virginia, Naval Depot before arriving at the Hudson River in New York where all the ships passed in review near the U.S.S. Pennsylvania because out Commander-in-Chief was onboard that vessel.

The next day thousands of us sailors paraded up Fifth Avenue in New York City as ticker tape fell from high rise Buildings. We felt highly honored because the last time this happened was seven years earlier in 1927 when Charles Lindbergh returned form his historic non-stop flight to Paris. Then on to Newport, Rhode Island, where our rowing crew lost several more boat races.

At Norfolk, a tall Texan named John Longmire came aboard with new recruits. John, Bill Sweeney and I became inseparable. The three of us were all the Third Division Mess Cooks for a time and often went ashore together.

The U.S.S. California sailed with the fleet to Long Beach, arriving on September 10, 1934. From there we moved up the coast to San Francisco and thence to the Bremerton Navy Yard near Seattle for a major overhaul. On December 30, with thought of home, I went ashore with a 30-day pass in my pocket and boarded a Greyhound Bus for Sheldon, Iowa. The Iowa snow and cold weather reaffirmed my earlier decision not to make my home in the Hawkeye State.

Back in Bremerton I was shocked to hear the Seaman Longmire had mastoid operation at the Naval Hospital. He seemed to be his jovial self when I visited him, even talked about returning to the ship soon. But John died during the night after I visited him. His parents requested that I accompany his body back to Rockdale, Texas. There I met his sister Saphronia, a 17-year0old girl who began bombarding me with letters. After my return to civilian life I stopped by to see Saphronia at the request of her mother. By that time I had met a girl back home in Sheldon whom I planned to marry, but this didn’t slow down Saphronia. Her mother called me “son” and Saphronia kept churning out her letters. We kept in touch with Mrs. Longmire until she died in 1965. Saphorina married and moved to Vermont in 1942.

My salary as Seaman Second Class paid $1.20 a day, $36 a month. I studied hard and raised my rank to the next grade, Seaman First Class, earning $56 per month. Exams were mandated every six months. When I became eligible to take the tests some 500 other sailors in the entire battle fleet took the exam with me. I came in second of all those who completed the exam.

I frequently stood watch for other sailors, receiving about $1 per night. I also scrubbed their clothes for 25 cents a bucketful of whites, shorts, and T shirts. Nearly every dime I made went home about every three months. Mother opened a bank account and watched admiringly as those dribbles climbed to nearly a $2,000 – a sizeable amount of money in those days of depression.

Onboard the newly-overhauled U.S.S. California we sailed out of Bremerton on April 1, 1935 to join the Pacific Fleet in Honolulu 10 days later.

This sine ship was 630 feet long with nine 8” guns. Its speed was 32 knots and it was manned by a crew of 650 sailors.

Before leaving Long Beach for my trip to Boston, I enjoyed a two-week visit with my brother Rich and four other Iowa Dutchmen: Ben Kamphoff, Arie Van Nyhuis, Dick Ten Kley and Meg Rolston. My friends informed me of a certain Nelina Hoevens, a new girl who had moved to Sheldon with her parents and one brother. I heard her name frequently during our visits together. I sensed that Ben was quite fond of her. He bought her some gifts while he was in Long Beach.

The construction of the U.S.S. Quincy was delayed so on April 1, 1936 Bill Sweeney and I caught a bus for home – he to Denver, Colorado and I to Sheldon en route back to Boston where we patiently awaited completion of the Quincy.

During those three weeks I met Nelina’s only brother, Adrian, and spent approximately five minutes with him. None of us realized at the time that within six weeks Adrian would leave this earth and be at home with the Lord for eternity where his weak heart would be made strong. Today his malady could no doubt be corrected by modern surgical procedures.

Now it’s April 9, 1936. Back at the Boston Navy Yard I was assigned to the 3rd division as pointer on Quincy’s No. 3 Turret – an eight-inch gun. Great pomp and circumstance accompanied the commissioning of the ship. Fifty-two years later, in 1988, a book was published written by Commander Grady F. Mesemer titled, “The History of the U.S.S. Quincy C.A. 39.” My name appears on page three as “A Plank Owner” (the name for men who were on the ill fated ship when it was commissioned in 1936). The Quincy was sunk on August 9, 1943 near Savo Island in the Guadalcanal area. The loss of 386 souls, in addition to many more wounded, marked the event as a terrible tragedy.

Being one and a half inches too tall to be in the Navy, I caught the eye of a recruiter for our onboard boxing team. I had some success when competing with fellow sailors. In Majorca, the German battleship Graf Spee invited our boxing team to a match onboard their ship. This was all before the Nazi blitzkrieg in Poland which ended all relations between our country and Germany.

When I saw my German opponent I knew I was in big trouble. If I had been able to read the words on his robe I would have known to fake some illness. Later, when I woke up on a mess table, the boxing coach told me the words on his robe read, “German Fleet Champion”. I resigned from the boxing team on the spot and lost my privileges at the athletic mess table.

The Quincy returned to Boston on October 5,1936 for repair of items which today we would call “the punch list”. In Boston on shore leave I spent a day with my classmate Emmett Mullin. He was at the Yale School of Law. I had a few visitors during my tour of duty with the Navy. Emmett’s appearance was a memorable event.

I left the ship on September 3,1937. In looking over the list of those killed onboard the Quincy I recognized some of the names from our Third Division. This was the worst defeat in the history of the U.S. Navy. Survivors are still questioning why no action was taken against those who gave poor leadership during this battle in which four cruisers and one destroyer were lost in a short time.

I wrote Nelina several letters from May 1936 to July 1937. Howard Cleveringa back home wrote to warn me that Nelina was seeing her old boyfriend, Benny, again. Rich and Howard tried to put in a good word for me, but with a distance of five thousand miles between us I assumed that this romance would end as did my fight with the German sailor. I learned later that Nelina was looking for comfort after the tragic death of her brother, Adrian. Ben, right there in our hometown, had the advantage of that round.

When Bill Sweeney and I were transferred from the U.S.S. California to the Quincy, another sailor, Chuck Morris, joined us in the transfer. He was in the 5th Division on the California so we did not know him. (There are approximately 1,200 sailors on a battleship.) Chuck became a good shipmate. He invited Bill and me to his home frequently while we were in the Boston Navy Yard. Chuck had a sister named Millie who had her eye on Bill from the first time she saw him. During every liberty, Bill would take the train about 20 miles north to her home in Wilmington, Massachusetts, near Lowell. Bill fell in love with Millie and didn’t want to lose her so, they were married before our ship left for the West Coast.

One day the officer in charge came in unexpectedly and spotted Wainwright on the deck sleeping it off. He turned to me and said, “Bogard, can you handle that press?”

“Yes, Sir”, I replied.

A few minutes later I was a presser and Wainwright was cleaning the passageway. This job gave me an opportunity to make extra money and to learn a skill that became useful after my discharge from the Navy on September 3, 1937.

In July 1937, I knew I had to make a decision: Stay in the Navy or take my discharge. I put in for three weeks leave to consider my future plans. I had not written to Nelina often because I had been told she was seeing Ben quite regularly. My job in the Navy was paying a good wage and I had saved enough money to open a dry cleaning plant in Sheldon. The economy had hit a new low and the depression was now in its eighth year. Approximately 15% of the work force was still unemployed. As a nation, we still could not see the “light at the end of the tunnel.” I was 22 years old. It was time, I decided, to find someone to spend the rest of my life with. I knew the one I wanted but…was she still available? I decided to go back to Iowa and check things out.

I returned the following day to San Francisco, quite disappointed. My future was still uncertain, although I had decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with that baker’s daughter in Sheldon. So, on September 3, 1937, I received an honorable discharge from the U.S. Navy and headed home for Iowa. God was on his throne. All was right with the world and in my quiet time I prayed, “What’s next, Lord?”

On the evening I returned home Rich and I drove to Sheldon and parked in front of a stairway that led to a dance floor over Wolfs Clothing Store. Rain poured down that evening so the two of us sat in the car watching couples going in to the dance. Suddenly a couple dashed in front of the car and ran up the stairs. It was Ben and Nelina. Ben recognized our car and waved to Rich. Soon he came back down the stairs and went next door. As he did so, I jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs. I saw Nelina talking to some friends. We greeted each other with a “Hi”, and I said, “Can I pick you up tomorrow night?” Without any hesitation she replied, “Yes”. I knew by the look in her eyes that there was a future for my in her life.

That fall I picked corn for my Dad and two of our neighbors. I had a very competitive spirit, so I picked 150 bushels a day at five cents a bushel. One hundred bushels a day is tops as a big day’s work. As I look back, I think I was trying to impress my father. I made enough money to buy Nelina an engagement ring. I gave her the ring before her birthday on November 10.

My brother Rich became engaged to Leona Struyk. They planned to be married and take over the farm from my parents who were moving to Oregon with the three youngest children. It was decided that I would drive my parents to Oregon about November 30. Then I would try to find a job and come back to Sheldon, marry my fiancée and take her to the West Coast. Nelina never put her approval on this plan but I assumed it would jell in time.

We arrived in Portland on about the 10th of December, 1937. The folks found a house large enough to accommodate all of us. I went out daily looking for ways to make a living. With four years in the Navy, I had some preference in all government jobs. I advertised to buy some small business – dry cleaning, restaurant, or bowling ally.

In the meantime, Nelina finally made it very clear: she could not leave her parents, inasmuch as she was their only child. I had a good lead to work in a lighthouse for the U.S. Government. This did not excite me very much, so I packed my bag and headed back to Sheldon via Greyhound bus.

I didn’t fully realize that I had no home in which to drop my bags. Rich and Leona graciously let me stay with them until Arie Van Nyuis returned from the West Coast. Arie sheared sheep and lived in the old Royce Hotel. I stayed with him in an inside room, sleeping on a very small bed with no springs. I knew this job with Arie was not for the long pull. My bed in the Royce was much worse than the ones I had in the Navy so Nelina and I decided to marry and open a dry cleaning plant in Sheldon. The month of July was chosen for our wedding. We would spend August getting ready to open shop in September.

The Fiebig Bottling Company went broke, so the front office became available to rent. When the banker heard that I was going to invest all my money in a venture that already had two competitors in town he warned me that one was nearly broke and the other was always late on rent. I was deaf to these warnings and went to Sioux City to work in a plant that had the same equipment I was purchasing.

The other cleaning plants used naphthol, which was very explosive. The cleaning tubs were usually kept in back sheds. Our equipment was compact and trimmed with bright chrome. We placed it within sight of the public to observe the cleaning process. This equipment was new on the market and proved to be both efficient and profitable.

There were some problems to work out. As I recall, either Nelina or her father suggested that I join the First Reformed Church before our marriage. This involved a ceremony in which the candidate for membership would confirm his or her faith in Jesus Christ as Savior. After confirmation, you were considered to be a member of the local church and of the Body of Christ. My father was a bit of a rebel when it came to these denominational procedures. I might have agreed with some of his views, hence the delay in making my public confession. My brother, Rich, and his wife, Leona, joined me that morning to go through this ritual. Looking back some 60 years later, I see that joining the church was the right thing to do in that situation.

Nelina had to remind me that a prospective groom always asks that father of his fiancée for her hand in marriage. I had already given my fiancée a ring and Mr. Hoevens had never indicated that there was a problem. Nevertheless, I wanted to conform to custom.

My shining moment came one evening at the Hoevens’ house. Nelina’s mother saw me heading for the kitchen so she quickly slipped into the living room. John warmly greeted me. When I stated my intentions he reminded me that his daughter was only 19 years of age. Would it not be wise, he suggested, to wait a year? I might have mentioned to him that night that the bed at the Royce was small and hard. John gave me his blessing on the spot so the date of our wedding was set for July 26, 1938.