Erin Wells

Kathleen Owsley

AP English

5 February 2004

Chester R. Wells: A World War II Veteran

On June 13, 1918, in a little home about twelve miles southeast of Kahoka, Missouri, a little boy was born. That little boy grew up during the Depression to be a teacher, a veteran of World War II, an employee of the Farmers Home Administration, a Soil Conservationist; and for a while, a makeup artist at a funeral parlor. Yes, little Chester Ray Wells did it all and lived through it all. In the midst of all this Chet Wells, 85, found time to get married and raise a family. He has now been married for 63 years and has four children, ten grandchildren, myself included, and several great-grandchildren. His family is a big part of who he is, but it is not all he is. Chet Wells lives to help others, and he has been helping people all of his life.

My name is Chester Ray Wells. I was born at home in the county seat of Clark County in Kahoka, Missoura, but I was born about twelve miles southeast of Kahoka, Missoura on June the thirteenth, 1918. My father’s name was Glen Wells. My mother’s name was Anna, her maiden name Brookhart, Anna Brookhart Wells. My mother, of course, was a housewife. My dad, of course, was a farmer. My mother always was busy raising her family, and she was good as a housewife. My older brother was Eldred Wells, [my] sister was Mildred Wells, she married a Burk, and the other sister [was] Zelna Ola Wells, she married a Welker.

[My parents’ farm was] a hundred and twenty acres, and [at] that time it was pretty good size farm; but [by] today’s [standards] it would be real small. We raised corn, oats, had some alfalfa, and we raised some soybeans. We had sheep, hogs, and cattle. We [also] had chickens. My mother had ducks and we had turkeys. We had our own eggs and our own meat. [My chores were] takin’ care of the livestock, feedin’ ‘em at night, [and] milkin’ the cows. One thing that I’d like to do when it would be wintertime, when it was maybe zero [degree] weather, [was to] milk the cows ‘cause that was one way to keep your hands warm.

Most of my life, when I was a youngster, was happy memories; and [I] had not very many sad memories. I was raised up during the Depression, [and] we didn’t have much money; but we really didn’t need much money. We raised most of our food on the farm, and we always had plenty to eat. Most everything was [a] happy life. I had one childhood memory, which I think was very interesting, if nine years old is childhood. We lived on a farm, of course, and my dad and older brother had to cultivate the corn. I drove a Model T, followed my uncle to the county seat [of] Kahoka, Missoura, to take our wool from our sheep that we had sheared. I drove a car when I was nine years old. At that time, of course, we didn’t need a driver’s license, but I really thought I was doing something driving that Model T Ford into town.

One sad memory, I had a favorite dog named Rex [who] used to run around all the acres [on our farm]. My neighbor thought Rex was gettin’ into his sheep; [so], he shot Rex and killed him. [Rex] died within, oh, three or four foot of our line. We never did think Rex was guilty of that; but nevertheless, that was a very sad occasion for me. One other time, Rex had a cataract over one of his eyes. I was throwin’ wood out of the wagon, and I hit his eye with a stick of wood. It (the wood) knocked the cataract off. He could see good from then on out. I hated when I hit him with the stick of wood, but I guess it turned out real well.

School was small. [There were] about twenty or thirty [students] total. There was only two in my class. School was about a mile and a half from the house, and we walked it (the distance) most everyday. One memory I had while I was in school [was when my friends and I] set some traps on the way to school. One morning we caught a skunk. O’course I didn’t realize it, but I had that skunk on my clothes. When I went to school, one of the teachers said, “You go home!”

During the Depression, money was a scarce item. We didn’t have hardly any money at all, [and] we didn’t have too many fancy clothes. We didn’t have any expensive toys to play with, but livin’ on the farm we always had plenty to eat and we didn’t go hungry. I’ll give you an example on how tough the Depression was. My dad was sendin’ hogs to the market [and when] he got the bill for the transportation, [it] was higher than what he got for the pigs.

It (the Depression) possibly molded my life to where it is [now]. I appreciate the things I have now much more than what I would of if I didn’t have the hardships while growin’ up. I really didn’t [think the Depression would last so long,] but then I’ll have to admit when Roosevelt was elected president, he started a New Deal, and that’s what changed some things. My Grandfather Brookhart had a first cousin that was [a] Republican senator [from] Warshington, Iowa, Senator Smith W. Brookhart. He was the one that tried to get Hoover to start the New Deal policies. Senator Brookhart was always for the farmer, since he was raised on a farm himself, but Hoover didn’t pay any attention to him. Then, when Roosevelt was elected, he (Senator Brookhart) presented the policy to Roosevelt, and Roosevelt put [the] policy to work. [Senator Brookhart] was really the one that started the New Deal [policy] which ended our Depression.

[I went to college at] Northeast Missoura State Teachers, which is called Truman State today. I started college in 1936, and I graduated in 1940. I was one of the first ones in our family to go to college, but we didn’t have too much money. So, I worked my way through college. I took care of twins for one of [the] instructors, I took care of [a] clothing store, did the cleaning of the house, [and] I did [the] firing [of the] furnaces. You name it, that’s what I did. I started, I think, with thirty dollars in my pocket, and I wound up with around eighty dollars in debt, [but the hard work] paid off for me in the long run. I majored in agriculture, [and] minor[ed] in mathematics, general science, biology, and zoology. After I got through college, [the] superintendent of Knox City, Missoura, come to Kirksville. [The superintendent said that he wanted] a teacher, so he contacted Calvin Deck. Calvin Deck was the grade school teacher where I went to school in Ballard. He associated with us boys down in the furnace room [during] the noon hour and knew us all. He said, “I have two boys for you that I think will make very good teachers.” One of ‘em was my cousin Wayne Hodges, and the other one was [me]. John Ord, [who] was the superintendent, hired both of us. That was my first job--which I didn’t even have to apply for--but I did have to go to summer school ‘cause I had to get some more courses in zoology, which I was going to teach. I taught math, biology, agriculture, and zoology. I taught a little over a year and a half. I was teaching for one hundred dollars a month, for nine months out of the year, and I thought it wasn’t too bad [of] a salary. [I] had another experience [when] I was a high school teacher. I had to coach baseball. When I was in college, we had a guy that majored in athletics and he called himself “Cowboy.” It was his nickname, and [when] I was in Knox City, he was teachin’ athletics in Edina, Missoura, which was the county seat of Knox County. [Right before a big game,] I give my boys a pep talk, and I says, “The coach over there in Edina, that’s his field [and] you know he’s a professional athlete. I want you to go out, show up Cowboy, and then beat ‘em.” And we just beat the puddin’ out of ‘em. They never even come close. So, I felt like that was quite an accomplishment.

I married Doris Lewis. She lived in the town about, oh, fifteen miles from where I was raised close to Wyaconda, Missoura. [I met Doris when] I was a senior in high school in Kahoka, Missoura. I went through [high] school in Ballard [for my] freshman, sophomore, and junior year. I didn’t want to go to high school my senior year in Ballard because [there] was only two in our class. I didn’t like [the other] girl very well, so I talked my folks into sending me to Kahoka, Missoura, to [go to] high school. I was a senior at that time, and Doris was a freshman; but I didn’t know her at all then. But four years later, when I was a senior in college and she was a freshman in college [was] when I got acquainted with her. [We got married on] February the first, 1941 in my wife’s home. [The wedding took place] in the evening. I was teaching high school in Knox City, Missoura, [at the time,] and [we got married] on Saturday; and [on] Monday morning, why, I went back to the classroom. On the way to Doris’ folk’s home (on the day of the wedding), we [picked up her Grandma Christy to] take her to the wedding [and] that made us a little bit late. But anyway, I was drivin’ maybe a little bit fast, and [I] was goin’ up a steep hill; and well, a car slowed in front of me and I barely touched his bumper. [We] almost had a wreck, but we made it out okay. [At the wedding], Doris’ mother served wonderful sandwiches, and we had hot chocolate after the wedding. Doris was quite young [when we got married]. I think she was eighteen, and I was a little older, about twenty-one or two. We were both too young, but then we’ve never been sorry. Now we’ve been married about sixty-two years. It wasn’t a bit hard [though, being that young when we got married]. My wife, Doris, did her share of the responsibilities, and so it made things easier for all of us. I don’t know how it’d be like not being married. I’ve enjoyed it (marriage) so much. I had a nice family. My oldest boy was Ron, then the next one was a girl, Renee. I waited several years, I think twelve years or more, and had another boy by the name of Jeff, and then I had another daughter five years later named Stacy. We had quite a nice family. I have ten grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren.

[I received] this letter one day [while I was teaching, that offered] me one thousand six hundred and eighty [dollars] a year for the Farmers Home Administration, and I thought, “Man! I can’t hardly afford to turn this down.” [Then] I made a foolish statement, which wasn’t correct that, “Anyone that’s smart enough to teach school, is smart enough to get another job and make twice the money.” But I shouldn’t of said that because teachers are underpaid; and in fact, they’ve always been underpaid. But my school board said that for the salary they paid me, they would release me, and they did find a replacement for me. So in March of my second year of teachin’ school, I started workin’ for the Farmers Home Administration in Monticello, Missoura. [My job was to give] a basic loan [to] young farmers startin’ out to farm [who] didn’t have any money. We’d loan ‘em the money for a tractor, a plow, a harrow, a disk, and a corn planter. That would be the essential machinery that they needed to start out farming. I worked for the Farmers Home Administration about ten years. My first career with Farmers Home Administration was very successful because all I had to do [was] go out to the farm and get the mortgages up to date. It wasn’t a bit hard, but people older than me thought I did a great job with that.

I was in Quincy, Illinois visitin’ my uncle and aunt [on] December the seventh when they attacked Pearl Harbor. I knew right then that things would change. I took my radio to school Monday morning, and we listened to President Roosevelt declare war on Japan. I had a little boy a few months old [at the time and] I just didn’t want to leave. So, I didn’t volunteer for the service at that time to get a commission. I waited until I was goin’ to be drafted. Before I knew I was going to be drafted, I went to Kansas City to apply for a commission. There was seven of us in line, and out of the seven of us, five were turned down and two got a commission. The five of us that didn’t get a commission had the same thing wrong with us: flat feet third degree. I always thought that they just needed two and they had to find something wrong with the other five of us; [but] when I was drafted, I chose the Navy because I thought that I’d always have a bed and food with me.

One thing I remember very definitely [about being inducted into the war was getting your picture taken]. They throw you in a booth and [by] ‘bout [the] time you get a frown on your face, they take your picture. Some of the boys had their hair, which they really thought a lot of, and the first thing they do is give you a boot haircut. It didn’t bother me a bit, but some of the boys sure hated to lose their curly hair. When you go in the Navy, you [get] a boot haircut right down to the scalp.

One thing that I remember very definitely, when I [was in] boot camp [at] Farragut [Naval Training Station in] Idaho, [was when] we had a Easter sunrise service. It was real chilly, terrible chilly, and talk about gettin’ homesick. I never was homesick in all my life until then; but there I was thinkin’ about my wife and my little six month old boy at home, and I guess maybe the cold chilly air had somethin’ to do with it, but when you’re really homesick that is something else. That was the only time I was homesick.

After graduatin’ from boot camp, I was sent to San Diego Hospital Corps School as an instructor since I’d already been an instructor in civilian life. [I was there] first of all as a student, and the second day in class, they pulled me out and made me an instructor in the Hospital Corps School. I was sent to Rocky Mountain Arsenal in Denver, Colorada, to a two weeks training in chemical warfare. [Then] I came back to San Diego and organized the Chemical Warfare Department. In that department, I did teach everybody that came through the Hospital Corps School because there was a class of about sixty, and they’d graduate, and another class would start. I thought that (teaching all the students) was really remarkable. I would [ask] my class [if] the Germans [would] use chemical warfare against us. I said, “Well, we don’t know, but my idea is no, because it (Germany) would be afraid of our retaliation against them.” And I was correct. Chemical warfare agents was not used in World War II against the Americans. And so, that’s one question that I was right on.

I remember I taught material medicine and [in] that particular subject, I would work one day ahead of my class. I would study what I was goin’ teach ‘em. I just kept one day ahead because it was new to me too. That’s kinda a little difficult that way, but I made out real well. I taught hygiene and sanitation, [and] I taught first aide.

Since it is a small world, [when] I went into the service I was a teaching chemical warfare [class] in San Diego, California, [when] one boy come up to me and said, “Mr. Wells!” To my surprise, it was this boy that I had taught in high school, and he was in the Marine Corps. He recognized my voice, I was on the loud speaker giving orders, and that was really interesting to meet up with him again.

One incident, which I may wanna mention, was a unpleasant incident [that] happened in the Navy. During the middle of night [there] was a big commotion goin’ on. We’d just graduated one whole class and half of the dorm was empty bunks, and those bunks [were] bein’ moved around. [A] lot [of] people [were] chasin’ each other, and I couldn’t figure out what in the world was goin’ on, when [I heard] the dardnest loud noise you could ever dream of. I immediately got up, [but I] didn’t have my uniform on or anything, so they didn’t pay any attention to me. Finally, [I] discovered that it was a racial problem. There was a black boy comin’ in [and] pesterin’ the sailors while they were asleep. They did chase [him] around, [but they] didn’t catch him. They caught him [when he was running]. The bottom of the building was painted black and it looked like an opening. He hit that, and it about knocked him out. But anyway, I learned later [that] he was a steward’s aide for the officers’ mess in San Diego. That’s one incident that I had in the Navy that was very unpleasant. I will say this, that the Navy had a real good system, I think, [but] it don’t seem like it’d work today. The Navy believed in, not discrimination, but in separation. In other words, the Navy would separate all the black students in one class, [but] they [would] give ‘em the same benefits that the white class would have. It (the separation) seemed like a very successful way to handle things. Whenever I had a black class, I really had fun with the boys, and it just seemed like they liked to be separated. They liked their own people, and it seemed like they were happier that way than makin’ ‘em mix together with [whites]. It worked real well for the Navy; but today, why they don’t do things that way.

We had gasoline rationing. We run out of so many gallons of gas and it was really a bother. You wanted to drive a lot more, [but] you had to be real conservative on how much you could drive. While I was in the Navy, in Hospital Corps School in San Diego, I wanted to go home and get my automobile. So, I took a draft of boys that graduated from school (in San Diego) to Chicago. This was kind of an interesting situation. We went by train to Chicago, and then I went by [train to] Wyaconda, Missoura, to pick up my automobile to drive back. Our commander, he was kind [of] a tough old boy, said, “My orders read you to return by private owned automobile,” [but said] nothin’ about the time, nothin’ about the days. So, I got my automobile, [and] my younger sister said [that] she was goin’ to come back with me to San Diego. She drove a little while, but I [was] nervous ‘cause she [had] just learned to drive. We did get lost in Kansas City, I remember that; but anyway, I drove all the way without stoppin’ to Denning, New Mexico, and then we slept four hours. [Then we] drove all [the way] into San Diego [for] some two thousand miles with four hours sleep. I was just hittin’ my forehead to keep myself awake while [I was] drivin’. I [reported] to the base the next morning. [My officer said,] “Are you back already Wells? My goodness OPA regulations [gave you] eight hours drivin’ day, thirty-five miles round, you had eight days to get back in.” And I made it in less than three days.

I was in San Diego when I heard that he (President Roosevelt) had passed on. Everybody thought, “My goodness, Harry Truman will never be able to carry on,” but history has [it] that Harry Truman was probably one of the smartest Presidents we ever had. People didn’t have any faith in him, but he was a good President.

When Harry (Truman) dropped the bomb [on] August fifth of [1945], they gave us three choices. One was to stay in and finish serving the Navy. Number two was to go back and serve as enlisted men in our field until we had enough points to get out of the Navy. Number three was to go home, [get sent] to the Reserve, and [you] didn’t get a discharge. Everyone in the class, [including myself,] went home. I wrote to my buddies in San Diego and I said, “You can call me mister now, ‘cause I’m out.” The reason why I wrote to ‘em [was because] they all said I was foolish for leavin’ the San Diego school [because] I was safe there, and had been there for the duration (of the war); but anyway, I was free then and got out of the service. Also I wanted to add that since I’m [a] reserve, I could go to Olathe, Kansas. I was livin’ in Marysville, Kansas, then, and get money for bein’ a reserve. But it was quite a hardship to drive that far, so I joined the National Guards at Marysville. I served in the National Guards in both Marysville and Billington, Kansas. I stayed in National Guards ‘till I retired. [I am] very thankful for that, because today I get my auxiliary medicare insurance paid for, and that was really a good break for me. It saves me about two thousand dollars a year on insurance, which I’d have to pay if I hadn’t stayed in the National Guards and retired from the military.

[The war] didn’t change my view of the fact that I always like to make the best out of [whatever is ahead of me]. I’ve always had that philosophy, and that part [of me] hasn’t been changed at all, whether in the war, or out of the war, or workin’ at home, or what have you. I try to make the best I can with what the challenges are ahead of me.

[When I went back to work after the war,] I took a leave of absence from the Farmers Home Administration to go to College of Mortuary Science to be a mortician. The reason why I wanted to be a mortician [was because when] I was instructing chemical warfare in U.S. Hospital Corps School in San Diego, [a man] come up to me and says, “I want to offer you a job when you get out of the service. My dad has a funeral home in Stewertsville, Missoura, and I want you to buy half interest in it. In seven years time, you’ll be able to pay for it and have it clear. I think maybe you’re just the man we’re looking for.” I never give it too much thought and went ahead and finished my career in the Navy. After [the war, when] I went back to [work for the] Farmers Home Administration, things seemed rougher than they used to be, so I thought, “I’ll look this guy up.” I went to the local mortician [and] found out [the] address [of the man that offered me the funeral home.]

[I went] to see him and he [said], “Yeah, the offer’s still good.” [Then] I went to College of Mortuary Science in St. Louis, and just before I graduated, I got a letter from him [that said,] “I hate to tell you this, but my sister wants my dad to sell that funeral home right now ‘cause she wants to invest in a typewriter business in Little Rock, Arkansas. But you have first chance at it, [and it costs] forty thousand dollars.” At that time, forty thousand dollars was almost impossible to raise; so I didn’t even try to raise it (the money) [because] I knew I didn’t want to work for someone else all my life in the funeral business.

My second career [was] with Soil Conservation Service, and I stayed with them until I retired in 1974. I had a very successful career with Soil Conservation Service that consisted of soil and water conservation for the farmlands. [We also] built terraces [and] waterways. [We were in charge of] grassland management and wildlife management. It was real interesting work. It (Soil Conservation Service) was a result [of] the CC Camp and it was first called Erosion Control Service, [and then] changed its name over to Soil Conservation Service; but today, it’s [name is] Natural Resources. It’s changed its name about three times, but it does the same job as it did [back then]. It was really a result of the New Deal under Franklin Roosevelt. Of course, during the Depression there’d be dust storms clear into Missoura from western Kansas and northeast Missoura. They (Soil Conservation Service) had no control over it, [but] since then they [have added] wind breaks and different things, [so] they never had the wind damage since as what they had before. That was quite a achievement for the Soil Conservation Service.

[When I worked for the Soil Conservation Service], I was in charge of the county. I had about three or four people under me. Right at first I was a soil conservationist under another guy in Marysville, Kansas, [and] then I got my own unit in Burlington, Kansas. I was in charge of the office there. [My work] was very important, because [now when] I fly over the countryside, I [can] see the results of [the] terraces [that we built.] They were really beautiful. I see the work that we have done.

After I retired (from the Soil Conservation Service), I went back to my first love and worked for a funeral director in Rogers, Arkansas. [I] found out that maybe I should of stuck with it, ‘cause I liked it very well. I was very successful with it. The different employees of the funeral home would always get me to put the makeup on the bodies. That was something I didn’t think I’d ever do; but then they thought I was pretty good at that, so I even surprised myself.

This interview was conducted by Erin Wells in December of 2003.

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