One night shortly after the Dorchester had gone to the bottom of the sea I was standing watch in frigid weather. Salt water spray was freezing on our guns and lifelines. The sea was rough and my stomach was churning. At that moment I asked myself, What are you doing here? My classification had not been called up. I could be back home with my beautiful wife and sweet little son. I reminded myself: “You volunteered for this duty so quit your bellyaching.”

Very soon, orders came to sail to Argentina, Newfoundland to escort a large convoy leaving for the British Isles. Planes and blimps were overhead for the first few days; convoy speed: 8 knots. On the third day air cover left and we were on our own.

Every evening we were at our battle stations. The watches were four hours on and four hours off. The Duane’s position was to the rear of the convoy. When a ship went down we’d pick up survivors. All in all there were 105 ships, all cargo vessels – no troop ships. I don’t recall how many were sunk. The convoy was spread out over a patch of ocean ten miles square. Other ships would also pick up survivors.

The following detailed information about that battle was taken from the book, The Defeat of the German U Boats, or The Battle of the Atlantic (pages 37-40):

Convoy H X 233 sailed from New York on 6 April 1943 to Halifax. There the convoy joined with Convoy 126 – sailing to England 1 April 1943. 13 April, 18 German U Boats were ordered to attack the convoy (Convoy Commodore was notified by U.S. Naval intelligence) 15 April 5 more U Boats were ordered to join the wolf pack.

17 April 1943 at 11:50 the Escort vessel Spencer made a Sonar Contact with a German sub. At 12:17 the Duane joined in and both ships made runs over the area and dropped depth charges.

A short time later, the German sub U-175 broke surface. Many German sailors had abandoned the sub while still submerged and underway. When the sub came to the surface both ships opened fire with 5” guns and 20&40 caliber guns. Both ships then picked up German sailors. The Spencer lost one sailor from friendly fire. (This information taken from the publication named above.)

Just before we left our gun stations we saw the sub surface. The Duane and Spencer both opened fire on the sub. Suddenly we learned that the captain and engineering officer and two crew members were still onboard. We could see them coming out of the hatch. I was gun captain on # 4 gun and our firing was limited to about five shells.

The Duane had eight 3-inch guns, plus many 20 and 40 caliber machine guns. Whenever a shell exploded on the German submarine many crew members would shout and cheer. Later on, while writing a letter about this event, I compared it to some sporting event. When thinking about it at a later date you wonder how a human can cheer at the sight of another person being killed. But the rules of warfare are, “Kill or be killed.”

When the order was given by the convoy commodore to pick up survivors, our captain told him there were other enemy subs in the area and requested to resume his position. He was told to carry out the order.

The German sailors were spread over an area of about a mile. We were in a small boat and could carry approximately 12 men. After the second trip I saw a German sailor calling to be picked up. We already had our limit in the boat but we stopped and picked him up. I met that same man again in 1988 some 40 years later (more about that in following chapters).

With my prisoners in tow, I was given the keys to the Brig that could hold four men. The other 23 were kept in the ship’s library. The men in the brig were officers; the other men were separated from them. I remember many of the sailors went to the brig to give the Germans cigarettes, candy and ice cream. Just a few hours earlier we were trying to kill them; now we were treating them as human beings.

We landed the German prisoners in Greenocke, Scotland and then sailed to Londonderry, Ireland. My brother Milo had been there for several moths but was sent to North Africa about two months before we arrived.

Before we left Boston a Life magazine photographer came aboard. We became good friends. Upon returning to the States, he gave me several pictures of our trip and our encounter with the enemy sub. These pictures were classified and not to be released to the public. When we returned to Boston I was given a short leave so I went to Iowa to visit Nelina and Vic Jr. I showed these pictures to P.C. Woods, the editor of the Sheldon Mail. He made copies and said he would not publish them until this event was made public. Through a misunderstanding, however, he published the whole lot about six weeks before it came out in the United Press Wire Service and Life magazine. To make matters worse, the editor boasted the following week how his small town newspaper had carried important news ahead of the major newspapers. I was frightened by the incident, fearful that I would be found in violation of censorship, but nothing was ever said about it.

The Germans had a new type of acoustic torpedo so we had to wait a week until the device was built in the stern of our ship to counteract this new Nazi weapon. Finally, we were underway toward London to pick up several empty ships to be escorted back to the States. On this voyage we stopped in Gander, Newfoundland, where I sent Nelina a message: “Meet mother in Boston. Stay at YWCA.” This subterfuge sounds silly but censorship was strict. We had some passengers aboard, and we knew they had to be in Boston, but nobody knew when.

Whenever a ship has been out to sea for a time, some of the sailors start anchor pools. The moment the heaving line hits the wharf the quartermaster records the minute in the ship’s Log. I am not a gambler, but I did buy a number on that trip. I was thinking more about seeing Nelina who would be in Boston waiting for my arrival. As we approached the pier I looked at my watch and realized our docking was going to be close to my number.

As soon as the gangway was in place I usually was the first ashore to supervise the securing of the ship to the dock, placing the rat guards, etc. However, this time I saw a pay telephone so I placed the first call that was made by the ship’s crew. Nelina was at the YWCA where she had been waiting two days for my call. I told her to catch a cab and come to the Boston Navy Yard.

When I returned to the ship, several sailors were looking for me. I had won the Anchor Pool - $300.

It is hard to put into words the emotions my wife and I experienced after being separated four months under conditions that were both hazardous and strenuous for both of us. I believe Nelina was the first visitor to greet these happy sailors that day. She told me that when my telegram arrived in Sheldon from Argentina, Newfoundland, she was just ready to wash her hair. One train passed through Sheldon bound for Chicago and Boston, and it was leaving in 30 minutes! Needless to say, her hair didn’t get washed. Two nights and two days later she arrived in Boston, a very tired girl. As instructed, she checked into the YWCA and was given a dormitory room with a cot for 50 cents a day.

I had arranged for liberty and a short leave during the week we were in Boston. I don’t remember the name of the hotel where we stayed but I do recall that next door was a display window with a beautiful three-quarter-length Silver Fox fur coat. After passing it the second day I said, “I want you to have that.” Now, Nelina is very thrifty and wasn’t about to try it on. I reminded her of my windfall on the ship’s Anchor Pool. After she tried it on the clerk said. “It is made for you.” We tried to justify this luxurious purchase so we called it our memorial for this time together in Boston.

We found out that my friend Bill Sweeney was working in the Navy yard where we were tied up. The Sweeneys invited Nelina to stay with them in Tewksbury while I had duties at the dock. Our friends invited Nelina and me to dinner when I could arrange for shore leave. And this is where the meat from the sea comes in.

It was very difficult to get meat during the war, of course, so my secret ham heist was treated like treasure. I wrapped it and stashed it in a garbage can on the dock. Later I retrieved it and gave it to Bill and Millie, his wife. They invited his parents and her brother to a ham dinner that we all enjoyed immensely. The Sweeneys were gracious hosts. Nelina enjoyed her short visit with them.

A radioman onboard our ship told me we would be leaving for New York for a few days and then join an eastbound convoy. He was so certain about it he sent his wife to meet us there. He encouraged Nelina to join his wife and stay in a small hotel in New York City. I told her that if she didn’t hear from me in a week to return to Sheldon. We sailed to New York but joined a convoy that had already left the harbor. Nelina and I never made contact. As planned, she returned to Sheldon.

In the center of the convoy was an odd looking vessel, a converted tanker with a flight deck with about six planes parked on it. This proved to be the end of submarine warfare. The “Battle of the Atlantic” was won. No convoy sailed without these “ Baby Flat-Tops”. Enemy subs could not surface in daylight and at night they were spotted by radar.

I have a book, written by a German Sub Captain, Herbert A. Werner, titled Iron Coffins. He writes that “happy times” ended for the German subs when Baby Flat-Tops traveled with the convoys. Admiral Karl Doenitz, the German admiral, called all his submarines back to European ports when he was notified that he had lost 16 subs without sinking one allied ship. At this time they started putting Schnorkels on their subs – a device that permitted a boat to draw air from the surface via this long tube while submerged.

The next morning we repeated this event and this time safely brought the Commodore aboard. He climbed up the ladder and waited for the whale boat to be secured. He then turned to the Captain and said, That Boatswain Mate should be made Chief.”

A month later we arrived in Norfolk, Virginia. My orders were to be transferred to a new construction on the West Coast as a new Chief Boatswain Mate.

I had a short stay in Sheldon, Iowa, with Nelina and Vic Jr. Nelina’s father, John Hoevens, always took me to the train when leaving Sheldon. Nelina never accompanied me to the depot. Somewhere along the way I heard that this was a bad omen. Anyway, it worked out for us because I came through the war without a scratch.

One day before we set sail we could see the supply personnel taking off all tropical gear and replacing it with heavy winter clothing. Our nice, South Seas tour ended before it started. Ordered to the Aleutian Islands, we arrived there the first of September, 1944, and seldom saw the sun for five months. Our ship was a beacon for observation planes flying over the Kurile Islands and Northern Japan. We would sail approximately 1,000 to 1,500 miles west and go in circles for 30 days then return to Adak, Amchitka, Attu or Dutch Harbor – the absolutely worst duty a sailor could have.

In January, 1945, I put in for new construction to get off this dismal circuit. The skipper said he would approve my request if I put in for shore duty. I had more than three years of sea duty under my belt so the transfer was approved for shore duty in the St. Louis area.

Approximately three weeks later I found myself in Seattle. I sent Nelina a telegram (her parents didn’t have a telephone) to meet me at the Sioux City Airport. Nelina was working at Starrett’s Store as a cashier when the telegraph messenger headed up to the cashier’s desk. Many of the clerks stopped and watched. Telegrams usually brought sad news but when a big smile came across her face they knew the telegram carried good news. What a happy meeting we had after nearly a year apart. Vic. Jr. and Norma were with Nelina at the airport. I had a 30-day leave en route to my new assignment in St. Louis.

On the way home we stopped to visit Marj and Jack in Orange City. Jack Duimstra informed me that F.D.R., my Commander-in-Chief, had died. A few days later Germany surrendered. We could see that the war was winding down.

I reported for duty at St. Louis and was assigned to be the officer in charge of guarding dams in the Tennessee Valley. I could see that there was no need for this service anymore. Knowing I would be shipped to the Japanese invasion force I put in for “New Construction, East Coast.” I figured it would take several months to outfit and commission a new vessel and maybe the war would be over by then. I was sent to the U.S.S. Ponchartrain at Ft. McHenry, Maryland. The ship went into commission a few days before Japan surrendered. A short shake-down cruise to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba followed and then a return to Norfolk, Virginia before I was sent to St. Louis for discharge.

The fellow who was running our dry cleaning plant had a lease on the place for another year. We made a satisfactory offer to compensate him and he bought a plant in Sutherland.

After I was discharged from the service I had no job because I had leased the dry cleaning plant to one of our employees. Seeing my restlessness, Grandma Hoevens suggested that Nelina learn the game of cribbage. You can’t learn the game in one evening. There are too many combinations to remember. But Nelina is a fast learner. Soon we were playing very competitively.

When we moved to California we decided to play one game every day. Each game lasts about 14 minutes. We carry a little folding Crib Board in our bags as we travel and often find ourselves playing on the plane, in a motel, or in our R.V.

It is every player’s dream to get a perfect hand of 29 points. I won’t burden non-players about what this is composed of, but on May 19,1995 at 4:45 p.m. I, Vic Bogard, had a perfect Crib hand - “29 points”. Nelina wanted to forfeit the game, but I insisted on finishing and won. I have recently learned that the odds of getting a perfect hand are one in 12,444,000. There were no prizes given, no cheering, and no requests for me to make a speech. Karla, my daughter-in-law, put the cards of this perfect hand in a frame and now it graces a wall in our home. I have never met anybody who had this moment of excitement, which I greatly enjoyed. One frequently hears of 28 but 29? Never!

We are sorry to report that no record has been kept over the past 55 years showing who won most of the games. We both have periods that are too long when it appears we are losing.