- Author's Bio
- Home On The Hill
- Through The Rear View Mirror
- Forever Alaska
Author's Bio
Nona Jane Hall was born in 1923 in Wayne, Nebraska. Graduating from High School at Wayne Prep., she attended Wayne State Teacher's College one year before entering the United States Marine Corps Reserve on 14 May 1944. Following six weeks of Boot Camp at Camp LeJeune, North Carolina and more training in Paymaster School, she was ordered to HQ, U. S. Marine Corps on 24 July 1944. She served her entire tour at the Navy Annex, HQMC, Arlington, VA. She held the rank of Corporal when discharged on 13 June 1946.
It was during her service at Henderson Hall that she met her future husband, Russell C. Johnson, a life-long Alaskan from Anchorage, Alaska who was a Cadet Midshipman at the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy at King's Point, NY. They were married in 1947. She and her husband have since made their home and raised their family in Alaska. Both are now retired.
| Our Home on the Hill 1943 - 1946 by Nona J. Hall Johnson ISBN: 0-9653074-0-9 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 96-85171 Copyright 1996, Nona J. Hall Johnson. 176 pages, soft cover, b/w photos, 5½" x 8½" $16.95 |  |
Synopsis
Henderson Hall in Arlington, VA has the distinction from 1943 to 1946 of being the only Marine base compound made up entirely of Women Marines with a woman Commanding Officer. In 1944, Nona J. Hall Johnson enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps Womens Reserve and left Wayne, Nebraska to serve her country. After boot camp at Camp LeJeune, NC, she was stationed at Henderson Hall from 1944 through 1946. This is a story of Nona's life as a Womens Marine Corporal, on-duty at HQ, U.S. Marine Corps and off-duty in the barracks. With this book, you will relive the times when America was at its most "innocent," filled with attitudes and character that came from growing up in small towns in middle-America and carried into the center stage of a great world war effort to make the world safe again.
Table of Contents| ILLUSTRATIONS & EXHIBITS PREFACE INTRODUCTION HENDERSON HALL BARRACKS LIFE "MAN ABOARD" THE WORD - OUR POST NEWSPAPER THE PX & RECREATION HALL WHERE WE WORKED WASHINGTON LIBERTY HOLIDAYS HALF - PINT DRILL PLATOON MESS DUTY PARADES BON VOYAGE - HAWAII BOUND WE GROW UP VE DAY VJ DAY FAREWELLS SEPARATION CENTER EPILOG OFFICERS OF HENDERSON HALL, 1944-1946 COMPOSITION OF USMC WOMENS RESERVE BIBLIOGRAPHY |
x xi 13 29 45 68 70 76 85 98 107 117 128 134 145 147 149 150 153 154 168 171 174 175 |
Excerpts from:
Our Home on the Hill
A VISIT TO WALTER REED HOSPITAL
Many of us found another chance to give of our spare time while at Henderson Hall when there was a call from the Red Cross to visit Walter Reed hospital to spend some time visiting with the patients, as wounded servicemen began arriving back in the 'states'. Walter Reed was a huge medical facility. It was just before Christmas in 1944 when a group of us went to the hospital and reported to the Red Cross desk.
I wrote home to my family of the experience:
Dear Folks,
"Sunday, 10 December we went to Walter Reed Hospital here in Washington. When we reached the Red Cross desk the director was most kind and told us to go ahead into the recreation room and talk with the fellows there and in the wards. Being a small town girl from northeast Nebraska and with seven months service in the Marine Corps being my first away from the state, I'd seen a lot of my friends leave and I naturally expected to see them return and carry on where they left off, but I realize now that I was very wrong."
"Sunday I talked with boys of my age, every one a cripple for life. Wheelchairs were a common sight, the occupants having only one leg and many times none. Boys were without arms and eyes and many were scarred. Some could no longer speak. Many were deaf or shell-shocked. There weren't just 10, 15 or even 50 such cases. There were hundreds."
"We had been there about an hour when the Red Cross director approached us with her problem. The entertainment group supposed to be there had been unavoidably detained and so there was no entertainment for the fellows that night. The director asked us if the Marines would come to the rescue and take over the entertainment. Not a one of us refused. We felt honored to do it. In a short time we had set up carnival booths of darts, horseshoe and other such games. Two Marines were in each booth. Then we started our impromptu carnival. Simple though it was, the boys gathered around and participated wholeheartedly. I do believe the WR's had as much fun as the guys. At any rate when I got back to my bunk that night I felt very happy and resolved that I would go out there again very, very soon. Our entertainment was crude and unprepared but we made the fellows laugh and before the evening was over I no longer looked at their empty sleeves or wheelchairs. I no longer glanced away from scarred faces and patches over eyes. They were just home town kids and were having fun."
Love, and Merry Christmas to all,
Your Marine, Nona
FRONT-OFFICE DUTIES
I also had the 'front office' duties for a short time. I can recall the first day of that duty very well. My assignment was to make the coffee for the Paymaster General's office staff. The coffee area was just outside the General's office. Many times I encountered high ranking officers as they came and went at the start of the work day. On this particular day I was told to pour the General's coffee and take it to his desk. To me, that desk was located in the inner-sanctum!
Thank goodness my hair was trimmed, my uniform pressed and my shoes shined, for after all, I had passed barracks inspection that morning. I carefully filled the porcelain cup, and trying to hold it steady on the saucer, I went through the door. The room was spacious and the furniture was massive. The floor was carpeted and assorted furniture was arranged around the room. Another door, directly across from the General's desk led to the receptionist. The General was behind his desk and looked up as I gingerly set the cup down with a "Good morning, sir." My greeting was cordially returned. I hoped I did a smart about face and took one step to leave when I heard the word, "Private." Again I turned and responded with a "Yes sir?" With a nice smile he said, "Your slip is showing." What else could I say but, "Thank you, sir." That door, which was my exit, seemed miles away, but I made it and didn't stop until I found refuge in the 'head'......sure enough, my slip was showing.
Soon after, I found that my most embarrassing moment had been topped by one of the male Marine Sergeants in our section. O.B., as we called him, related his story. He had gone into this same General's office to deliver some papers, the General wasn't there. O.B. couldn't take his eyes off the coat rack where upon the General's blouse was hanging, resplendent with its chest full of ribbons, the star on the shoulder, and O.B. couldn't resist. He walked over to the rack, looked again over his shoulder, and took the blouse off the hanger, slipped his arms into the sleeves and squared his shoulders. As he stepped in front of the mirror to view the attire and just decided he looked rather sharp, the door opened---in walked the General. O.B. said he could see his Sergeants stripes sail away that very moment, just as he heard the General's voice. "Good morning, Sergeant. How does it fit?" O.B. swears his voice left him and he only smiled, put the blouse on the hanger and hastily made his exit, not remembering if he uttered any words of apology or not. We all assured him that our bet was that the General had a good laugh once O.B. was out of ear shot.
| Through The Rear View Mirror The Good Life 1923 - 1943 by Nona J. Hall Johnson Cover Art by Wilbur E. Ahlvers, Roseburg, OR ISBN: 0-9653074-3-3 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 9893862 Copyright 1998, Nona J. Hall Johnson. 120 pages, soft cover, text and b/w photos , 5½" x 8½" $12.50 |  |
Synopsis:
Wayne, America! What is so important about Wayne, America that it should be the centerpiece for the memoirs of a generation? What is so special about the author that she should be the focal point of these memories?
In Through The Rear View Mirror, Nona Hall Johnson relives the years from 1923 - 1943, years that sharply defined an entire generation of Americans. Her stories capture the spirit of the people who not only survived tumultuous times, but went on to help launch America into world leadership in the space of just a few decades.
Her hometown of Wayne, Nebraska began as a prairie village when it was founded in the 1800s. It grew into a thriving town which boasted its own State College campus. Then came the days of World War II which uprooted Wayne's tranquil lifestyle as it did many hometowns across our country. Carefree childhoods suddenly ended, but not without sweet memories.
Wayne, Nebraska sent its sons and daughters, including Nona, off to war with he strength of character and can-do attitude that came from growing up in the farm belt of middle-America. It isn't without merit that the state motto of Nebraska is "The Good Life," and in Nona's book, we learn exactly why this is so. Not only will this book entertain you with nostalgic memories, but it will serve to remind each reader how "The Good Life" can be lived in modern day.
Table Of Contents| Acknowledgments Introduction A Prairie Village About Grandpa Stick In The Mud About Grandma What Have I Uncovered Scared At Grandma's House Mother Nature's Fertilizer Red, Juicy and Edible Meeting Danish Royalty A Tragedy And Near Miss The Ranch The Farm Near The River Bedbugs My Other Grandparents A Man, A Baton, The Band Run, Shirley, Run Joy Ride You Can't Do That - You're A Girl! Epilog |
viii ix 1 5 8 12 17 23 26 30 35 45 50 73 79 85 89 98 102 108 113 |
Excerpts from:
Through The Rear View Mirror
ABOUT GRANDPA
Mads Dyrvig Jensen Høll was my paternal grandfather, born January 4, 1874 near Kolding, Denmark. He sailed for the United States when he was 18 years old. At Ellis Island his name was changed to Dervie Hall.
He had the unusual ability to make plants grow and flowers to bloom. He knew how to touch them with sensitivity, and a response was given. So it was that he began a greenhouse business and built a home in Wayne, Nebraska in 1922. I spent a good part of my childhood at that home. I was my grandfather's first grandchild, and perhaps that is what created such a close relationship over the years. He was an individual with quite a profound personality. That must have been part of the reason he lived to be 94 years old and had been married to my grandmother for 68 years before she passed away.
The business and family home he built has remained in the immediate family to the present, 76 years and counting. He looked forward, not back; he had a deep religious faith, and he loved his family. Grandpa passed away May 6, 1968 at the age of 94 - in his garden, hoeing weeds and coaxing his vegetables and flowers to grow. Even today as I see flowers blooming and vegetables ripening, I see an image of my grandpa presiding over the plants.
My first memory of Grandpa was that of a rather short, stocky man with very little waistline, his chest merely merged into his hips. I never saw him without suspenders. He used elastic garters to hold his pushed-up shirt sleeves, his arms were so short.
In the watch pocket of his trousers he carried a stub of a pencil, no longer than three and one-half inches. When the occasion arose to do some calculating, out would come that pencil stub. He would measure for one of his projects, or jot down a sale of his produce or even negotiate a land sale or swap. With that stub of a pencil he'd make his notations on any scrap of paper he could find. Many a business deal was negotiated on a paper bag or an old envelope.
He whistled. Many times I have observed him sitting on the arm of the sofa, tapping his feet as he whistled. The tunes were unrecognizable, probably a Danish song from his early life.
My own grandson whistles when he is engrossed in one of his projects. Yes, I believe we do inherit many things from our parents and grandparents. This is the reward when families take the time to record stories that reflect upon their lives.
| FOREVER ALASKA by Nona J. Hall Johnson ISBN: 0-9653074-4-1 Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 99-72883 Copyright 1999, Nona J. Hall Johnson. 224 pages, soft cover, b/w photos, 5½" x 8½" $14.95 |
 |
Synopsis
Nona J. Hall Johnson arrived in Alaska in 1947 as a new bride, having met her husband Russ during World War II when she was a Woman Marine and he was a Merchant Marine seaman. Earlier generations of the Johnson family were pioneers in Valdez and Anchorage so when Nona arrived in Alaska, she entered into the essential fabric of early Alaska history as it was handed down from that generation to hers.
Russ and Nona Johnson
In Forever Alaska, she tells of her great love for Alaska in stories of the new life she was to live in the last frontier. She’ll give you a 1940s town tour of Anchorage, her husband’s hometown, when it had only one paved street 10 blocks long. A popular Sunday drive was 8 miles south to the end of the road at Potter Station. Later, they moved to the remote fishing village of Seldovia where case-lot groceries were delivered by seagoing freighter. Three years later, they moved to the Interior city of Fairbanks in the shadow of the Arctic Circle where winters were dark and cold but where summers brought round the clock daylight. She tells what it was like to raise their two children 4,000 miles from their maternal family roots and how life in Alaska gradually began its transformation from an almost forgotten U.S. Territory to the 49th State.
She describes the danger and raw power of nature in Alaska as she and her family experienced the Great Alaska Earthquake of 1964 and later, what it was like being stalled on a lonely road near the Canadian border at 65° below zero!
In Forever Alaska, you will understand why Nona and thousands of other Alaskans over the years planted roots and grew with the country to make it their Alaska, forever.
Table of Contents
| Acknowledgments Introduction Alaska - U.S. Overlay Map Chapter One – The Early Years REAL ALASKAN PIONEERS – MY HUSBAND’S FAMILY ANCHORAGE ARRIVAL – 1947 SEA TRAGEDY - SS YUKON TOWN TOUR – ANCHORAGE 1947 MY FIRST JOB MY FIRST YEAR THE YEAR OF SORROW Chapter Two – Early 1950s FIRST TRIP OVER THE ALASKA HIGHWAY COUNTRY LIVING NEAR SAND LAKE SWEETPEA IS MISSING THE MOVE TO SELDOVIA Chapter Three – Seldovia MAP OF LOWER KENAI PENINSULA OUR SELDOVIA HOUSE CASE LOT GROCERIES AND FRESH SEAFOOD MAILBOAT - MOST POPULAR VESSEL AFLOAT PICTURES, PORTRAITS, AND POSTCARDS MOTHER’S DAY ON THE BAY EASTER SUNRISE ON THE BAY OVER EASY, SCRAMBLED OR HARD BOILED MODERN WEDDING IN 18TH CENTURY SETTING GAYLE’S FIRST MEETING WITH HER GRANDMOTHER A CHROME MINE - FOURTEEN MILES UP RED MOUNTAIN THE SUMMER OF ‘54 A SOCIABLE KING CRAB BOARDWALK IN SELDOVIA THE SKEDUNK LEAVING SELDOVIA Chapter FOUR – Fairbanks FAIRBANKS LIVING LAST VOYAGE OF A STERNWHEELER COME ON OVER TO NOME STATEHOOD - WE’RE IN! Chapter FIVE – Back to Anchorage and Beyond BACK TO ANCHORAGE CAMPING IN COMFORT EARTHQUAKE !! THE 500 MILE CURLING TRIP AT 65 BELOW SELDOVIA’S CHANGE THREE DECADES IN A CLAMSHELL EPILOG PERSONS NAMED IN THIS BOOK ABOUT ALASKA |
ix xi xiii 1 3 5 11 20 30 32 35 39 41 48 52 55 61 62 63 67 71 76 79 81 84 98 102 107 111 114 116 118 121 125 127 134 146 154 157 159 162 182 188 194 196 201 203 205 |
Excerpt from:
Forever Alaska
CASE LOT GROCERIES AND FRESH SEAFOOD
(1952)
It didn’t take us long to realize that living in this secluded village of Seldovia was going to be a special time for us. It would be quite different than living in the city of Anchorage. Seldovia is one of the most picturesque towns in Alaska, in an area of unsurpassed scenic beauty. It is nestled along the shore of lovely Seldovia Bay, across Kachemak Bay from Homer. The old world Russian atmosphere dates back to shortly after the transfer of Alaska to the United States in 1867. At that time the powerful Alaska Commercial Company established a sea-otter station and trading post on the present site of the town. The town was proud of its small hospital and its modern school.
For one thing, we just didn’t go downtown to a store for groceries or other household items. There were two mercantile establishments, Morris’ and Raby’s. They both carried staple products and some clothing, mostly for fisherman, but Russ was able to find a cute little sailor dress at the store and bought it for Gayle for her birthday.
As we entered the store, clerks waited on us with a small order book in which they wrote down the items we had on our list. Russ had set up a monthly charge account which was the normal arrangement with just about everyone in town. Credit cards? Nope, not at that time nor in this town. We soon realized that we would need more than what the store had in stock. We obtained information about having goods in case lots shipped from Seattle on the freighters. This was to prove to be economical as well as convenient. We had a large storage area in the house, so that was no problem. It was rather fun making out those huge grocery lists: a case of toilet tissue, cases of canned vegetables, coffee, and just about every item that would feed our family. Milk came in gallon cans and in spite of it being canned, it was quite good.
The butter came in a brine barrel in one pound pieces wrapped in wax paper. It had to be washed before using in order to remove the salt. We bought eggs in 30 dozen quantity cases. By the time I would get to the bottom of the case, the eggs began to taste a little odd. In fact, I never broke an egg directly into a frying pan, I first cracked it into a sauce dish to make sure it was edible. Sometimes I got a very unappetizing surprise.
We ordered flour and sugar in large quantities, as I did a lot of baking. There was no bakery in town our first year living there, and the store did not carry bread on their shelves. There were only five one-gallon cartons of ice cream on each shipment that came to the store, and Russ reserved one gallon for us from each shipment. We had a deep freeze and really enjoyed having ice cream now and then.
We were able to order our meat from a firm in Seattle. They wrapped and froze the meat and poultry and it always arrived in good shape. Our freezer was always full and, of course, we had access to lots of seafood. It was not unusual to have Russ come in the door with a whole salmon weighing 30 pounds or more, which he cut into steaks and roasts. We found that freezing the fish in bread pans of water kept the fish fresher.
We had fishermen friends who gave us shrimp and crab, but the most fun was going down to the cannery while they were processing the king crab. As the workers removed the crab meat from the shell, it was put onto conveyer belts, then passed on to other workers who packaged the meat. It was then frozen for shipment to the markets. I could always count on Chuck Hendrix, the manager of the cannery, to give me a plastic bag with the invitation to ‘help yourself.’ I would take a handful of the fresh crab meat off the conveyer and fill the bag. It was the most delicious seafood one can imagine. I’m sure people in the city would love to have had crab meat that fresh.
Of course, we had the opportunity to go fishing, crabbing, and clamming ourselves and did so many times. When the tide was just right, and it had to be a very low one, it was perfect time for clam digging. I’m not fond of clams, but Russ would get ready to get his share at the low tide. Oddly enough, those low tides always occurred in the wee hours of the morning. It was still dark, but he and Ed Bahrs, his employee at the plant, would put their gear into the little skiff and head across the bay to the clam beds. I could watch them from the living room window. Quite a few of the clam diggers from town would take off and I could see little lights across the bay on the beach as they all carried their lanterns. They looked like so many fireflies moving about. In just a few hours they would be back with their catch. Then came the job of cleaning the clams. That job belonged to Russ; I refused to clean fish or clams but would offer to cook them any way they liked them. Clam chowder was Russ’ favorite, and over the years he has perfected quite a recipe for the dish.
Another seafood expedition was for dungeness crab. These were smaller than king crab and could be found at the head of the bay. With the small boat we had, Russ and I would go out at low tide, he would row the boat slowly as I positioned myself on the bow, watching for the elusive creatures as they scampered along the sandy bottom. I had a sharp spear attached to a long pole and at just the right moment when the boat was right above the crab, I would thrust the spear into the water. If my aim had been good, the spear struck the crab on its shell and I would pull it up into the boat. We had a wooden box in the boat and into the box would go the crab.
When we had enough crab, we headed back for the beach where others were gathered with their catch. We had put a large tub of sea water on the open fire, and after butchering the crab we would drop them into the boiling water until the meat was cooked, approximately 23 minutes. We all sat around the fire, pulled the cooked crab from the tub, then broke the shell, and picked out the delicious meat. The picnic was made complete with salad and homemade bread. I never developed a taste for seafood until we lived in Seldovia. I grew up in the midwest, and had never eaten much seafood. Most of the midwest fish we were able to catch came from the rivers, and they always tasted like mud to me. That image of river fish soon left me and I now enjoy Alaskan seafood to the fullest.
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