PENN TWP — Dennis Bogan will be a century old in June, but the fleeting years have not clouded the memories he holds of his time, travels and tribulations as a sailor during World War II.

Bogan’s wartime experience is enhanced by a number of relics among his memorabilia, including a hand grenade can he used to send home a set of tiny porcelain saké glasses; his dog tags from both the Navy and Army (he underwent Army training while studying to become a Navy radio man); a treasured block of ribbons he proudly pinned on his shirt; honorable discharge papers dated April 5, 1946; frayed and yellowed Hawaiian newspapers declaring Japan’s surrender; and a laminated card confirming his acceptance into the domain of Neptunus Rex when his ship crossed the equator.

Bogan, who is quick with a joke but very serious about his time in the military, recalls playing touch football with his brother just before Christmas 1941 on his family’s farm on Glade Mill Road in Middlesex Township.

He went inside to get a drink of water and found the radio in his parents’ house blaring away.

“We didn’t have any television yet because it wasn’t invented,” Bogan said.

That’s when he heard news that would alter the course of his life and the lives of his two brothers.

“Pearl Harbor was bombed,” Bogan said of the Dec. 7, 1941, sneak attack by the Japanese that decimated the naval base in Hawaii and pulled the U.S. into World War II.

Bogan was drafted by the Navy in April 1943, and headed to boot camp in Ray Lakes, Ill.

After two weeks leave, the young sailor was informed he had been assigned to radio school per an aptitude test the recruits had taken.

After attending radio school at the University of Chicago, Bogan was sent to San Luis Obispo, Calif., for further training.

He eventually boarded a brand new ship in Seattle as a sailor in the 592nd Joint Assault Signal Company, and sailed to Pearl Harbor, where he took Army radio training before shipping out on the PC-1231 to join the Navy’s 7th Fleet in the Battle of Leyte in the Philippines.

“When those big guns go off on a battleship, your clothing would go like this from the recoil,” Bogan said, flicking his pantlegs quickly back and forth.

He said the deployment on the PC-1231 was a temporary assignment for himself, four other signalmen and five radiomen on board.

At one point in the two-week battle, Bogan woke up on board a hospital ship, as he had been knocked out in the fighting, but suffered no physical injuries.

Following the battle, he said one injured young sailor on the hospital ship paced the deck all day.

“He kept saying ‘Please tell my mother what happened,’” Bogan recalled, his face pinched at the memory. “That night, he died and they had his burial at sea. It was very rough.”

Bogan was eventually sent back to Pearl Harbor, where he was promoted to Radio Operator 2nd Class at a whopping salary of $97 per month, plus an extra 20% for sea duty.

Bogan was flown to Guadalcanal, where he served on board a ship while fighting was ongoing, before being stationed in Okinawa, Japan.

He served as a radio operator on the wooden hull minesweeper PCS-1391.

Bogan said Japanese kamikaze planes aimed at his and other ships were shot down daily.

On one occasion, his ship’s radar picked up a “pip” that could have been a submarine. Upon closer inspection, three children were discovered swimming in Buckner Bay.

The youths were brought on board and delivered to headquarters.

“I don’t know what happened to them,” Bogan said. “I can remember how scared they were.”

As war raged on around Bogan’s ship, he and his fellow sailors were too busy to be afraid.

One task they had to complete each week, washing their laundry, required improvisation.

Bogan recalled attaching his clothes to a line and throwing it over the ship’s fantail to clean the clothing by dragging them through the salt water of the East China Sea.

He then left Okinawa for Saipan, where he was transported back to Pearl Harbor.

In August, 1945, Bogan was assigned to the USS Calvert.

Although the war ended the next month, Bogan had not accrued enough points to be discharged, so he was sent to Hiroshima, where an atomic bomb dropped by the Americans had decimated the island and its people.

He recalled seeing children whose skin hung from their tiny frames through blown-out windows in buildings there.

Bogan’s last transfer was to Guam, where he was discharged from the Navy.

The trip to San Diego, where he planned to board a train for home, took three weeks of sailing.

Bogan’s long cross-country train trip east ended in Bainbridge, Md., where he was officially discharged from his duties as Radio Operator 2nd Class.

As was common back then, Bogan stuck out his thumb for a ride north to be reunited with his mother and father.

A man in a Cadillac picked him up and asked him if he could drive. Bogan replied that he could, but hadn’t driven in a while because he had been in the Navy.

“He said ‘You are driving to Pittsburgh,’” Bogan said. “At one point, he woke up and said ‘This car will go faster than that.’”

He disembarked the upscale ride in Pittsburgh, and can’t remember how he got to his aunt’s house in Ingram, where he knew his parents were waiting.

But Bogan does recall the happy reunion with his folks, and their relief that their son had returned home in one piece.

“There I am, unharmed,” he said, his aunt’s door swinging open.

Both of Bogan’s brothers also survived the war and returned home. Bob served in the Army Air Corps and Bill in the Navy.

After arriving home, he spent much of his time helping high school friends build houses, as many were getting married.

A few years later, he met Nancy McElhinny at a square dance.

“She was the most beautiful, redheaded girl,” Bogan recalled.

The two married and had six sons and two daughters. Nancy is now deceased, but she left her husband with a boatload of happy memories and adoring offspring.

Brian Bogan said his father always told him he wished he had done two things while in the service: visit China and return home from the South Pacific through the Panama Canal.

Brian always delights in his dad’s contention that an actual hand grenade is in the can containintg the saké cups by saying to visitors “I hope the pin doesn’t fall out.”

Dennis Bogan, who worked as a union bricklayer for 50 years, is proud of his service and will share his experiences overseas with others for as long as he is able.

“I’m just glad I helped protect America,” he said.