We were two dumb kids who didn’t know any better so we decided, “We are going to marry on July 26, 1938 and open the dry cleaning shop.

One of the Van Wyk boys sang “Whispering”, and a Sipma boy played “Anchors Aweigh” on his trumpet after the ceremony. My parents could not make the trip from Oregon to attend. Remember, this was before transcontinental flights made everyone in the country only a few hours away. A trip on the train would have taken three days one way; driving a car would have required approximately four days.

I suggested that we spend our honeymoon in Benton Harbor, Michigan. When I had visited Benton Harbor five years earlier I found it to be a lovely spot on Lake Michigan with clear water for swimming, a small boardwalk, well appointed restaurants and hotels, parks and amusement centers. But in the five years between 1933 and 1938, Benton Harbor had become Slum City. We soon left and drove to Minneapolis to visit Nelina’s relatives.

Back in Sheldon we learned that Nelina’s father and mother had purchased a small house on Sixth Avenue for $2,800. Yes, two thousand eight hundred dollars. They rented it to us for $25 per month. When a garage went up, so did our rent to $30 a month.

Thirty days into our marriage and “Bogard Cleaners” located at Third Street and Highway 60 opened for business. A handsome steam press, boiler and steam iron were kept hissing as business for the new cleaning process rolled in. My brother Milo agreed to work for us the first year. He operated the cleaning machine, delivered the clothes, picked up new business and generally took care of the customers.

Our first customer was Barney Evenson, a loan officer with a local savings and loan institution. He turned out to be a faithful customer, indeed. Half a century later when my nephew, Norman (Milo’s son) celebrated the 50th anniversary of Bogaard Cleaners (notice Milo put back the double “a” in our name), Barney was still bringing in some of his clothes.

On the first Saturday of our fledging business enterprise I brought all of the cash and checks home. Nelina and I sat on the floor and did one of those crazy this kids do: We took all of the dollar bills and tossed then into the air, letting them fall on us as we sat on the floor of our living room. In those days we got 95 cents for suits and dresses, $1.25 for overcoats. Never again were we short of money. I was just 23 years old; Nelina was 19. We worked long, hard hours – two kids who had little knowledge of running a business and limited skills in cleaning clothes. Nelina’s mother helped with the tailoring and alterations. We soon hired a spotter and presser. Milo became proficient and eventually handled all phases of the cleaning operation. He boarded at our house and used the panel truck to go out to town. My brother’s wages were the tidy sum of $1 a day, in addition to his room and board. When my parents moved back to Sheldon the following year, Milo moved to their house in Sheldon.

Within six months of opening we were able to purchase an empty lot next door to the shop for $1,150, We built on it a new, 20’x 40’ cleaning shop – the first new building in Sheldon for several years. No new construction went up in the city for the decade of the worst economic depression. For a loan we went to the same banker who had discouraged me from opening my first cleaning plant.

By the grace of God, each move was successful. This is not written to boast, only to give thanks to our Heavenly Father for his never-failing answers to prayers at a time when many of my contemporaries nose-dived into helpless debt during economic times that were worse than anything this country has seen before or since.

“Thank you, Lord. We count out blessings.”

“It’s not uncommon for a newly married girl to miss a few”, he told us.

After Nelina missed four more, I accompanied her to the doctor. He told us the same thing. But I had been sort of sizing her up from time to time and noticed that she was gaining weight. When I confronted the doctor with my observations he told us, “She’s just getting fat”.

I was born on a farm and knew more than Nelina about the reproduction process. So, I told her, “I’m going to take you to my old doctor who delivered me twenty-three years ago”. I asked Dr. Vermeer if he would examine Nelina and confirm my suspicions.

“I don’t have to examine her,” he said. “She’s pregnant.”

I reminded him that Dr. Balkema said she was “just getting fat.”

“Well”, Dr. Vermeer replied, “that ‘fat’ is going to come out and walk around pretty soon.”

On the way home Nelina told me she had felt something that morning but thought it was just a little gas bubble trying to get out. So, Vic Jr. was kicking around even before we knew he was there.

From all this it would be easy to assume that Nelina had an easy pregnancy. Hardly. Victor Jr. came only after extreme pain and difficulties. Most babies in those days were born at home. My sister, Leona, was in her last year of nurses’ training. She worked her schedule so that she could be available for our son’s delivery at home.

My sister was a little disturbed when our old farm doctor came in and sat on the side of the bed with a cigar in his mouth and wearing no gown or gloves. Only after my wife had endured approximately 14 hours of labor did her doctor decide that instruments were needed to help the delivery process along.

Eventually Grandma Hoevens, my sister Leona, Dr. Vermeer and I all got into the act, groaning and encouraging Nelina to bring that baby into the world. Finally, a 10-pound boy surfaced. We gave him the imaginative name of Victor Frank Bogard, Jr. The date was June 19, 1939 – the very day on which Nelina’s brother Adrain had died in 1936. So Vic filled a void that had been left in the Hoevens family. The doctor’s entire bill for our baby’s delivery amounted to $25.

All my life I can remember my father boasting to his children about his accomplishments. One boast was that he took his first steps when he was nine months old. I heard it every time he encouraged one of his own children to walk. I desperately wanted Vic Jr. to beat his record. Sure enough, after many hours of coaching, Vic walked at eight and a half months.

Another of dad’s boasts was that he had a thousand dollars when he was 21 years old. “None of my boys will ever accomplish that”, he often bragged. I would remind him that I had twice that amount in the bank by the time I was 21, money saved up during my time in the Navy.

Not long after Vic Jr.’s arrival the new building for our dry cleaning establishment was finished. Our business increased considerably after one competitor closed his shop. My brother, Milo, operated the cleaning equipment; my old friend Paul Niewenhuis did the pressing. Paul was one of my first friends I had, and he stood up with me at my wedding. My parents often visited the Niewenhuis family after church while we boys went to Sunday school. After World War II, Paul opened a dry cleaning plant in Santa Monica, California and operated it for about 12 years. He died at the age of 48 with inoperable liver ailment.

Perhaps we’ll understand one day in heaven the mystery of why some are taken so young.

I heard one day about a lot on upper Eleventh Street for sale at $350. It was on a paved street with sewer, water, curbs and sidewalks. I bought the lot and paid $10 for a set of plans. Soon we watched with pride as our 950 square-foot house started to go up. Total cost: $3,150. Our monthly payments, with taxes included, amounted to less than $50. We owned one of the first F.H.A homes in Sheldon.

I trained workers for those establishments and sweetened the deal so each operator could eventually own his own plant. We didn’t make a fortune on those deals but it was fun and a great experience.