I stood there staring off into space, wondering, Why do I want to fly? When he told me it would not cost money, inasmuch as it was all under the G.I. Bill, I then looked at the bundle of clothes on the counter. I realized that my competition had a son who was a ex-G.I. I told the customer, “I’ll be there.”

I learned to fly in a Piper Cub J-3, a very light two-seater shortly after I obtained my license we moved to California. Flying didn’t catch me, so I did no more for a couple of decades.

After my oldest son, Vic Jr. joined the construction company, one of the carpenters he worked with was a pilot. He invited Vic to take flying lessons. Our son was still living at home, and I assumed I had the final say, “Yes” or “No”. It took only a few comments from Vic for me to realize that he was no longer under my control. I remember the incident very well. It was a frightening realization.

So, while Vic Jr. was getting his training I renewed my license and we formed a club called “Vernal” with five pilots including Vic Jr. and myself. We bought a Model 35 Bonanza, the third one built by Beechcraft. This craft proved to be an excellent airplane. In the next forty years we traded three times for later models: 35-B, 35-G, and 35-V, reported to be the best. To keep one’s license current, a physical is required every two years. At my last one I asked John Morris, the examining physician, “What is the age of the oldest pilot you have examined?” Without hesitation he replied, “You are.”

I continued flying for two more years until I reached the age of 75. We flew all over the United States, Canada and Mexico. In 1977 we built a cabin (sleeps 20) in the foothills of the Sierra Mountains, a four-hour drive from our home. We kept a car at the Auburn Airport. Flying has been an enjoyable experience. However, we don’t fly anymore. The airways have become so busy our three sons who are pilots didn’t feel comfortable flying anymore. The cabin on the lake is still used, most often now by the grandchildren and yes, even the great grandchildren.

Orville told me he had been reading about a place in upper British Columbia called “River’s Inlet.” This bay is 80 miles from the nearest road. The only access to the lodge is by pontoon planes or boats. Orville make all of the arrangements to go on the fishing adventure.

I met him at the Seattle Airport. The next morning we boarded a float plane for our fisherman’s paradise, “River’s Inlet.” We made a short stop for fuel about half way to the Inlet then we crossed an extremely high mountain range with a little cloud cover. We could have followed the coast and then turned up this long bay. The Pilot said he had made this trip so many times the plane could practically find it with out a pilot. The trip through the mountains was spectacular. He put me in the front seat because he heard that I was a pilot. I am not instrument rated so I must confess I had sweaty palms as we snaked through the mountain passes.

The Lodge was an old fish cannery converted into a very nice resort for fishing. A prize is given every year for the largest fish caught during the season. We both were successful each day we went out. Orville had a movie camera so we took pictures in the boat as we landed our catch. On the third day, I thought I had hooked a floating log. Orville said, “You’ve got a keeper!” He then started his camera to record the catch. When he got a glimpse of the fish I had he dropped his camera and grabbed the net to help land this monster.

The camera kept running, all the while pointing to a red gasoline can. All of our conversation and Orville’s cheering was recorded, however. After we had this large Chinook in the boat, Orville picked up the camera and said, “I think this camera was running.” He put our catch on film. Yes, it was the record for the year – 64 pounds plus. If you ask Orville Helmle he will show you about 10 minutes of re gas tank and conversation of two excited fisherman.

The following year I was 80 years old and my wife wanted to give me, my three sons, and three grandsons a trip back to River’s Inlet as a birthday present. We caught some fish but no records. The boys said the plane trip through the mountains was worth the trip.

In my files I have the proof – a letter from the River’s Inlet Resort date August 24, 1991:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

Let this be to all men & ladies and all B.S. put aside, Victor Bogard did in fact catch the biggest chinook this season at River’s Inlet Resort.

We would like to congratulate you for landing the largest chinook, a 64.4 pound fish. We hope you enjoy your knife and look forward to our next meeting in the “LAND OF THE GIANT SALMON” in 1992.

Sincerely,

River’s Inlet Resort

Terry Johnson
Gloria Johnson

On the way home I turned that thought over in my mind. My next door neighbor and I had a nodding acquaintance, but we never had a conversation. I knew that his wife had move d out several years before. I saw a taxi drive up frequently to deliver packages. His work habits were very irregular. I determined I would call on him that afternoon. That was a mistake. I should have never gone to church that morning!

I was cordially greeted at the door and invited into his home. “No,” I said, “I don’t care for a glass of vodka.” He told me of his only child living in Joplin, Missouri, whom he had not seen since he was a baby, about thirty year earlier. I said “I’ll take you to the airport tomorrow,” I called the airline and ordered the ticket. I called his son to be sure he would be home. Then I took the bottle of vodka and poured it down the drain. “I’ll pick you up at two o’clock tomorrow.” I shared my afternoon experience with Nelina. We wondered if perhaps we had taken Pastor’s challenge too seriously.

The next day I was at his door at the agreed-upon time. When I opened it I knew he couldn’t make the trip. He told me that he had disappointed his son frequently by not showing up at previous appointments. I told him, “You’re going, and I’m going with you.” I grabbed a bag, packed a few things and met Nelina as she was returning from some duties. “Where are you going?” she asked. I kissed her on the cheek and said, “I’m on my way to Joplin, Missouri.” We stayed over night in Kansas City. The next morning was a short hop to Joplin.

It was worth the trip to see a father greet his son and embrace his two grandchildren whom he had never met. I went back to the hotel so they could be left alone to get acquainted with one another.

While drinking a cup of coffee in the hotel’s café the gentleman next tom me made some conversation and we soon shared stories. I told him I da some through Joplin some forty years before and that I was kicked off a freight train here. I told him I had slept all night under a water tower because it was raining. He told me he knew just where it was and said, “Let me take you there.” I soon found out he had spent four years in the Navy and was now selling real estate. He took me down to the old park next to the tracks. I smiled as I recalled a miserable night in that very park.

My new friend wanted to show me the lots he had just listed. These were three-acre sites on a gentle rolling hills with oak trees scattered, and plenty of open space. He pointed out a lot that he was planning to purchase. When I head the price of $10,000 with water and roads in, compared to Santa Cruz, this was a buy! “I’ll take it ,” I said.

I was asked to be back for dinner a t the son’s home that evening. We enjoyed the family setting and a good meal. That evening back at the motel, we read the Gideoun Bible together and the doctor was very serious. After the claims of Christ were presented he said he wanted to clean up his act and accept the Lord.

Back home, my neighbor attended church and attempted to stay off the vodka, but we saw evidence of his reverting back to his old life style. He became more of a nuisance and would try to talk to Nelina when I wasn’t home. Finally, I told him I would try to have him committed if he continued his aggressive behavior. He pleaded not to be taken away for help. I later saw him sitting on his cliff about 90 feet above the rocks below. No one knows if he accidentally fell, or it he jumped off the cliff. The insurance company paid the life insurance policy. I met his wife – a very gracious lady – who received 50 percent of his assets. I soon found out the doctor had appointed me as the custodian for the grandchildren’s inheritance. We also discovered that there were six grandchildren instead of two. There were a couple of previous wives. These funds were to be distributed periodically as the children reached certain ages. The last would be distributed in 2015.

I hired a friend to take care of this mess. Cliff Meidinger was a retired merchant and did a good job. The doctor’s wife and the son’s inheritance was not our problem. Then the grandchildren’s portion was given to us for safekeeping. Cliff sold all the gas stocks, and portions of real estate and converted it all to cash so there would be little work to oversee this responsibility. A few years later when discussing my problem with a friend, who was an attorney, he suggested I present it to the court. The grandchildren were now all of age and the judge said if each would agree he would approve the distribution of the funds at once. My friend Cliff took care of all the legal work and put in his fee and included $1,100 for my efforts and cost that I had incurred.

When the check came, as a surprise to me, I gave it to Cliff. “No, no!” he insisted as I protested. “I got paid for everything I did. It’s yours.”

The scene now changes to a young preacher in Hollister. My wife and I have always tried to encourage and help young pastors in small churches. Dwight Koopman started this church a year before. When visiting them, just before Christmas, they told us that they and their three children would have a very meager Christmas because the church was not making the salary budget.

I suggested to Cliff, “Let’s cash in that eleven hundred dollars and give ten one-hundred-dollar bills to the Koopmans so the family could enjoy a Christmas. We’ll take the last one hundred dollars and go out for dinner. The four of us went to the Koopmans and, needless to say, they were very happy.

About three years later, my son Vic, who takes care of all my affairs, walked into my office with sort of a smirk on his face. “You got away from me didn’t you?” he said as he threw down a notice from the IRS, notifying me that I owed them $600 (plus or minus) for not reporting this income. Cliff had done such a thorough job he sent the final distribution of all the funds to the IRS. A few months later the state came in for its share with a letter informing me that if I wish to contest, “call us at Fresno.” At least I didn’t go to jail.

I can’t close this little episode without bringing in two very close friends of ours – Doug and Norma Welty. They were the parents and the grandparents of the Koopman children and have included us in their circle of friends for many years. Doug is a fine draftsman. We frequently meet for a noon lunch. The Welty’s have experienced some difficult medical problems within their family. Two of their six children have been affected with cystic fibrosis. One child, Jill, died when she was nine years old and the son, Nathan, died when he was about 20. The parents spent hours, day and night, nursing these two children.

During one of our last lunches, Doug must have been a little depressed. He shared with me some of his feelings. He was now nearly old enough to retire, but he had not invested for retirement. He expressed other concerns and said he felt that he had failed. I tried to encourage him and assured him that he and his family had other successes that he could look to with pride.

When I returned to my office I shared some of Doug’s remarks with my son Vic Jr. He was very vocal about the Welty’s many achievements. He remembers both of them singing in the choir. He also remembered the Bible studies they had with their neighbors in their home. Last, but not least, they had raised a great family. He said he worked with a daughter, “Toots,” when she helped out on a job in Chico. He valued her abilities very highly. “Yes,” he said, “they could be a mentor for any couple that was looking for a guide to successful living.” He ended by saying, “Success is not always measured in dollars and cents.”

Now if the reader is wondering about the lot I bought in Joplin, Missouri, here is the story: We sold is about three years later for approximately twice the purchase price. Yes, the IRS received its share!

If you just get in and start down the road you will not enjoy it. Careful planning is required to find common interest that makes every trip exciting. You don’t have to leave the United States to find beauty of all kinds. Our National Parks have the most exquisite scenery in the world. Just to park the R.V. and enjoy God’s handiwork is quite inspiring. Select a good book, lean back and enjoy.

We developed an interest in Presidential Libraries, and have visited all of the completed ones in an R.V. I usually buy a book about the presidents. Nelina had become interested in their wives. We rest and read for a while then go in again for a closer inspection of the facilities.

In 1992 we purchase a lot in an exceptionally well appointed development in Palm Springs. It has a gold course, six pools, two clubhouses, numerous tennis courts, hot tubs, spas, and other goodies. We look forward to spending approximately four months of the year there. Our sons have hinted that we were too old to be R.V.ing so we traded in the last one on a large triple-slideout 5th wheel which stays on the lot permanently.

Every Sunday we have a chapel service in the clubhouse. Bill Gwinn, formerly the director at Mount Hermon Conference Center, retired in this “Outdoor Resort”. He does an excellent job of managing the chapel, speaking once a month and bringing in outside speakers for services on the other Sundays. We frequently have as many as 300 in attendance.

A Memento for the Farm

In 1924, my father bought a windmill to pump water on the farm. It was erected over a well some distance from the house. As a boy, I thought it reached to the sky. I often told my boys how I helped my father assemble it. My father was not a patient man, and having a nine-year-old boy trying to assist him only irritated him. As Rich and I grew older we would often take my Dad’s .32 rifle and shoot at the tail of the windmill more than 1,000 feet away. We occasionally would hit it. Dad thought the little dents in the sheet metal must have been the neighbor boys because they were always carrying rifles.

Now we move this little story to 1972. We are in Sheldon Iowa at our family reunion. I took a few members of my family out to the farm where we were all raised. They seemed to enjoy seeing those places I had told them about over the years. As we were leaving the farm Peggy, my daughter-in-law, spotted that old windmill in the field.

“I surely wold like to have that old mill in our back yard,” she said.

I was driving the car and made a 180-degree turn. We talked to the owner about her wish. The farm had been divided and the owner, Bill De Young, owned the half with the buildings. The windmill was a few feet on his half. After a short session of bargaining he graciously agreed to let us have it.

Jack Duimstra, my brother-in-law, agreed to disassemble it and ship it to Santa Cruz some 1,800 miles away. When it arrived (in good shape) we saw that Jack had included some old rough-sawn boards about 20 inches wide. These were put on the walls on my grandson’s room. Chip would often show his friends the little whit spots that decorated the boards. There had always been many doves in our barn on the farm.

The mill stood some 27 years in Peggy’s back yard. It weathered a major earthquake and countless windstorms. At that time we didn’t know we would build our last home adjacent to their home, so we also enjoyed the mill for 15 years.

This story of the old Windmill will end on a happy note. Peggy and Vic sold their house, but before it went on the market, Chip again disassembled the old mill and is in the process of erecting it in the back yard of a new home they are building. There is will be safe for as long as our family needs it to remind them of happy days on our Iowa farm.