FROM SAILOR TO PREACHER
JAMES LOER AT 18.
Beyond the Sea — CHARLES TRENET & JACK LAWRENCE, 1946
Seventeen-year-old James Loer enlisted in the Navy in January 1941, mainly because he didn’t want to be in the Army. “I didn’t like the idea of sleeping in a foxhole and eating cold rations,” he said. Plus, the adventure of sailing the seas appealed to the North Carolina native. “I wanted to see the world,” he said. Then he shook his head and laughed. “I didn’t know I’d see it through a porthole!”
However, he did avoid foxholes. “I had a bed and a hot meal every night.”
James was enjoying one of those hot meals while stationed in Norfolk, Virginia when the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor came over the loudspeaker. The nation was at war and a young man’s wish to cross an ocean or two was about to come true. During the next few years, he logged 250,000 miles aboard the USS Washington, a convoy escort battleship. The ship was often under fire by both submarines from below and bombers from above. “Everyone had a battle station,” he said, describing his job as gunner’s mate. “Those guns were the first line of defense against enemy air attack.”
The screeching of the aircraft is a sound that James has never forgotten. “The plane made a horrible noise when it dove,” he said. “They tried to get as close as they could before they released the bombs.”
When not actively engaging the enemy, James and his fellow sailors spent time target practicing. One day as he returned from an exercise he walked under the #10 gun. A shell hadn’t been released, and just as James walked past, the gun fired. The concussion from the blast knocked him down. “I managed to get up, but I couldn’t hear anything.”
The young sailor spent two days in sickbay and eventually suffered permanent hearing loss as a result of that close call. Still, he counts himself lucky. The USS Washington never received a direct hit though they were under fire repeatedly. “They got all but three of the cargo ships,” he said, shrugging.
Accidents claimed lives as well. “One of my better friends was buried as sea,” James recalled, and his voice grew husky at the memory. “After a short service we wrapped him up in a canvas bag with a projectile between his legs (for weight) and down he went.”
After being discharged in 1946, James returned to North Carolina ready to leave the sailor’s life behind. “I’d served four years, eight months and nine days—you really counted the days back then.”
He found work in a textile mill, and one afternoon at a church service he spotted a pretty girl named Helen singing in a trio. James, an aspiring minister, had been invited to preach on a Baptist radio program, and the girls were invited to sing. James offered them a ride. Helen glanced across the table at her husband as she recalled that first meeting. “I thought he was handsome,” she said.
James shook his head and interrupted. “I can tell you right now this isn’t going to be romantic!” But romance can mean many different things. For instance, Helen found it romantic that James “just happened” to sit by her in church Sunday after Sunday. She also liked the way he interacted with boys in the Sunday school class he taught. Every Saturday he took them out to play ball and get an ice cream cone. “I asked Helen if she wanted to go with me,” said James. And she did.
They conducted most of their courtship in church. “Well, we did have a picnic one time,” Helen recalled.
Soon James left to attend Bible school in Tennessee and their visits were limited to weekends. While they were apart, James spent a lot of time thinking about Helen—wondering if she’d agree to become a preacher’s wife. He said he’d always wanted to be a pastor, but after the war he got serious about it. “Young people today handle their lives so carelessly,” he said. “When you go through a war you take life a lot more seriously.”
HELEN MILLER, 19.
When he came home for Christmas break in December 1947, he asked Helen to marry him as they sat in his Oldsmobile—the one place where they were guaranteed some privacy.
During the war, Helen, at 22, had worked in the fingerprint department of the FBI in Washington, DC. She felt she’d earned the maturity to make this life-altering decision. She agreed to be his wife. However, her father was not pleased that his only daughter chose to marry a preacher. “He said, ‘You’re going to make your bed hard and you’re going to lie in it.’” And the ladies in their church weren’t happy, either. “They thought I’d have a big church wedding, but after he asked me, he had to get back to school.”
So the couple married on January 18, 1948, in the home of the pastor with a few friends to witness their nuptials. Though they had no honeymoon, Helen said, “We ended up traveling a lot so that made up for it—I wanted to see the world.”
In December 1948 their son Eric arrived. Money was tight, so Helen took a job at Cannon Mills. “A lady at the trailer park watched him while I worked,” she said.
James was offered a church in a tiny town in Idaho in 1952, so the family made their first cross-country move, a move that proved difficult for Helen. “I was so homesick, I couldn’t stand it,” she said. “My three-year-old son said, ‘Mama, I’ll take you back to Grandma’s in my wagon.’” And her father’s words weighed heavily on her mind. “A year later we were offered a church in Sandpoint, Idaho, and I’ve never been homesick since.”
JAMES AND HELEN LOER WITH SON ERIC, 1949.
It’s a good thing, because although they eventually returned and retired to Idaho, there were many states and many churches in between. Helen smiled. “Our life has been really hectic!”
Financial struggles and frequent moves only served to draw them closer. “We’ve had to make lots of choices, but we’ve done them together,” she said. “He was offered some good jobs, but he always chose the ministry.” The former sailor pastored churches across the country, usually staying for four years before moving on.
In 1962 the couple welcomed a daughter, Candace (Kandi). Helen was thrilled. “I’d been wanting a girl so bad!” While James pastored, Helen took jobs with the federal government wherever they lived, usually working for the U.S. Forest Service.
Finally, in 2005, James officially retired from ministry. However, he didn’t sit back in a rocking chair, and neither did Helen. The couple bought the historic Rathdrum Train Depot in 2009, and set about renovating the 1908 landmark. They currently use the building to host Bible studies on Sunday evenings.
James said, “We’ve really learned to know each other well enough.” Then he laughed. “For instance, I know if I make a wrong choice I have to live with her and that wrong choice!”
That knowledge has served them both well. Helen smiled. “We love each other. Why fuss and fight?”
LOVE LESSON
“It’s not one thing, but a combination of things that has held us together all these years. One thing that’s been helpful is being a Christian, because you have spiritual help.”— James Loer
JAMES AND HELEN LOER, 2010. Photo courtesy Ralph Bartholdt