Elmer Carlson holds his Navy uniform from inside his home in Greenhurst. Carlson served on the converted civilian ship USS Acubens during World War II, where he was a second class boatswain’s mate. Carlson turned 100 years old on Sunday. P-J photo by Eric Tichy

GREENHURST — If there is such thing as a fountain of youth, Elmer Carlson likely found it at the age of 10 when he accidentally rode his new motorcycle into the Chadakoin River.

The Greenhurst resident and World War II veteran — who turned 100 Sunday — openly admits he stays young by keeping active. That includes taking long rides on one of his two BMW motorcycles.

“It’s just how you feel. It’s in your genes, I guess,” he said.

Carlson said his fascination with the machines began at a young age. When he was 10 years old he came across a 1919 Harley Davidson in need of repair. Hoping to barter for the motorcycle, Carlson said he went to the city dump and found parts to build two bicycles. At the time, he noted, anyone could go to the dump to rummage around for odds and ends.

“If I needed something I would go to the dump and get it,” Carlson said. “I could build bikes with the parts from the dump.”

After building two bikes from scratch, Carlson convinced the owner of the Harley Davidson to make a trade.

Not long after, Carlson came across another motorcycle, this time a 1917 Indian hanging inside the basement of the old East End Hotel in Jamestown. While helping to carry beer up to the bar, Carlson saw the motorcycle hanging on the wall and asked what it would take to buy it. The bartender told Carlson if he cleaned the basement he could have the machine.

“So it was about three weeks cleaning his basement and he gave it to me,” Carlson said.

Carlson, still only about 10 or 11 years old at the time, knew a guy who owned a garage on Hopkins Avenue not far from the hotel. The guy told the young Carlson what he needed to do to get the motorcycle back into working condition.

And not long after it was time for a test run.

“We brought the bike to the back of the garage,” Carlson said, noting that the motorcycle’s kickstarter didn’t work. “I was going run alongside it, and when it started, I was going to jump on it.”

“Well it started,” he continued. “The cables on the throttle were all messed up so you couldn’t tell how much gas you had. It must have been wide open because it took me right off my feet, right across Hopkins Avenue and down the bank right into the river.”

Carlson was born May 27, 1918, in Norwich, Pa., to Victor and Ada Carlson, both of Sweden. He attended school in Lander, Pa., and later Jamestown.

In his earlier years he helped work on the family farm in Sugar Grove, Pa. He eventually began working various jobs at Dahlstrom Manufacturing that included helping to load boxcars and building wooden crates for shipping. Eventually he became foreman for maintenance of the company’s machinery.

Then World War II broke out, and Carlson figured he was going to get a call from Uncle Sam. Having a choice, Carlson decided to join the Navy where he served as boatswain’s mate on the converted civilian ship USS Acubens. Part of Carlson’s duties included supervising and directing personnel related to ship maintenance, structure and equipment. He obtained the rank boatswain’s mate second class while enlisted.

“I could have been first class if I would have stayed on the boat after the war, but why would I have wanted to do that?” Carlson said.

Life on a ship during the war certainly had its ups and downs. Carlson said the Acubens got caught in a hurricane with 170 mph winds with waves more than 40 feet high. He claims at one point the ship was within 2 degrees of capsizing.

“It was pretty rough going,” he said.

Carlson said he got used to sleeping above deck, becoming wise to the fact that submarines would aim their torpedoes for the midship area where crews slept. He ultimately strung a hammock between the ship’s forward gun turrets.

“I didn’t want no part of it,” Carlson said of sleeping below deck.

However, it wasn’t until Christmas 1944 that Carlson had to truly keep his escape route off the boat in mind. On Christmas night, an airplane was shot down and began falling out of the sky. Carlson said he could see smoke trailing from the stricken plane as it headed toward his ship.

“I was just standing there,” Carlson said. “Just as I thought he was about to hit us he got another ship on the side of us. If it had gotten close I was just going to jump overboard.”

Carlson was honorably discharged at the end of the war having spent a total of three years in the service. He and 4,000 soldiers arrived in San Francisco to be sent back home either by train or plane. For three to four days, Carlson kept eye on a large billboard that posted the names of soldiers and when they were to return home.

Despite being back stateside, the former boatswain’s mate found there wasn’t much to do in San Francisco while he waited for his ride. “I just walked around the streets. There was a base there, no girls,” he joked.

After returning to the Jamestown area, Carlson continued to work at Dahlstrom for 11 more years. Wanting to be outdoors, he rented space to work on motors and eventually paint cars.

During this time he married Freda Anderson and raised two children, Susan and David.

Carlson eventually returned to the factory, this time Watson Industries, where he would work for the next 17 years.

In 1960, Carlson opened Carlson’s Cycle Sales, selling BMW motorcycles and Arctic Cat snowmobiles. He turned his passion of motorcycles into his full-time career, selling various brands for 20 years until his retirement in 1980.

Asked what Memorial Day means to him, Carlson said, “It’s a good feeling. You relax and go back to life. For me, it was a lot harder coming back than it was going in.”

Carlson said he feels bad for families when soldiers leave. “It breaks up the family,” he said.

Friends and family celebrated Carlson’s 100 birthday Saturday at the First Baptist Church in Falconer. Carlson said he didn’t think much about hitting the century mark.

“It doesn’t bother me one way or another,” he said. “It’s just a number.”