In the summer of 1943, she’d arrived at the base in the San Francisco Bay as an apprentice seaman clerk-typist. She worked hard, used her brains, was tactful and diplomatic with her superior officers, and quickly mastered whatever tasks were assigned to her. As a result she rose steadily in rank and when the war ended she was a petty officer first class and secretary to Capt. Alexander Gilmore, the newly appointed base commander. She assumed that she’d be discharged when the navy ordered the immediate separation of all eligible enlisted personnel including most WAVES, but instead Captain Gilmore asked her to extend her tour of duty and promoted her to chief. With the promotion, Mary Ralston became one of the youngest women in the navy to attain that rank.
She never regretted her decision to stay on. Her job helping run the naval station for her boss held much more appeal than the notion of returning to college. She’d enlisted after completing her sophomore year at the University of New Mexico, not knowing what to expect. It became an amazingly liberating adventure that did far more to help her outgrow her family and her past than college ever had.
Leaving home for college had put some distance between her and her parents—who ranched on the fringe of the Galisteo Basin outside Santa Fe—but not nearly enough to suit her. Clyde and Shirley were pious, pompous, and old-before-their-time churchgoing Baptists who’d been painfully unhappy with each other ever since Mary could remember. Whatever affection they possessed for their two children was reserved for Mary’s older brother, Tom, a bully who could do no wrong. It didn’t take her long to figure out that she was a mistake, not a blessing.
Her greatest measure of happiness came from the freedom the ranch provided. Twenty-four thousand acres gave her plenty of opportunities to escape her parents’ constant dissatisfaction and her brother’s relentless taunts and pestering. Until her teenage years, as long as she obeyed, did her chores, went to church every Sunday, and got good grades in school, Clyde and Shirley let her roam on her pony as much as she liked. She’d pack a lunch and leave her cares behind, loping her pony across rocky pasturelands, up low-lying mesas, and down wide, shallow arroyos until she knew every nook and cranny of the ranch. She’d be gone for hours and it didn’t matter. Or she’d call from her best friend Patty’s house, who lived on a neighboring ranch, to say she was staying overnight. Most of the time, her parents didn’t care if she was home or not.
That all changed when she started high school, stopped acting like a tomboy, and got interested in boys. Her parents reined her in hard, worried and suspicious that she might be hanging out with the wrong crowd and, as they put it, letting boys take advantage of her. They were so vexed by all the sinful trouble she could get into that she was obliged to participate in a special family Bible study hour after every Sunday dinner that made her want to scream. It didn’t matter that she was an honor student, president of the Spanish Club, was liked and respected by teachers and friends, and had won an academic scholarship to the University of New Mexico. The fear that she might become pregnant and disgrace the family name dominated their minds.
One Saturday night near the end of her senior year, she stayed out way past her weekend curfew at a pre-graduation party thrown by Patty’s parents. She made it back to the ranch road at two in the morning in a pickup truck driven by the Elkins brothers, walked four miles home, and crawled into bed thinking she hadn’t been caught, only to be dragged almost naked into the kitchen by her father, who accused her of being nothing but a whore. She sat frozen in a kitchen chair, arms crossed to cover herself, shivering while he ranted, threatened to send her to their minister for counseling, and demanded to know who she was sleeping with, while her mother glared at her in unforgiving disgust for a sin she’d yet to commit. It was the worst day of her life.
Sent to bed, locked in her room, and ordered not to come out until called, Mary dressed quietly, snuck out through the window, and in the predawn light rode her pony to Patty’s, thinking she’d run away forever, never to be found. She was huddled with Patty in her bedroom when Clyde showed up red-faced and riled, yelling and yanking her into his truck. He drove her away, with Patty and her parents standing dumbstruck in the dust thrown up by the tires. Grounded, virtually imprisoned except for school and church, terrorized by a regime of silence, her worst day turned into her worst month.
One Monday afternoon at school, the last week before graduation, she fell apart and ran sobbing out of her Spanish class to the guidance counselor’s office, where she babbled to Miss Scoville about her miserable family and her unhappy life. She was a good person, had done nothing wrong, had never gone all the way with a boy, but now she would, she would, she would, yes, she would.
Miss Scoville, who knew Mary to be a smart and well-mannered girl, said nothing for the longest time. When she finally spoke, her advice was direct and simple: trust who you are, get out and on your own as soon as you can, and don’t look back. It was advice Mary never forgot. Only the prospect of college made that summer at home bearable.
At the university she used her part-time job at the college bookstore as an excuse to shorten her visits home. At the end of her freshman year, she took classes in the summer session that also cut into her time at the ranch, which made being with her parents slightly more endurable. Her relationship with Clyde and Shirley became an armed truce verging on open rebellion. She survived flare-ups by avoiding doing anything to rile them.
As the end of her sophomore year approached, she was told by her parents she couldn’t take summer classes because of the cost. The idea of being under her parents’ thumb at the ranch for three months distressed her so much she lost weight and couldn’t sleep. And with her brother Tom now back home from his defense job in California with a deferment to help run the family ranch, it would only be worse. Patty, who was also at the university, suggested she stay with her for the summer, but Mary knew her parents would never allow it. The time had come to take Miss Scoville’s advice and move on. Two weeks before the semester ended she enlisted in the navy. Ordered to report for induction the day after final exams, she had Patty drive her to the ranch for a quick goodbye. Her mother feigned tears, her father sank into one of his famous pouting silences, and Tom flashed a frosty smile in her direction as she eagerly climbed into Patty’s car for the getaway. She left knowing that she wanted very little to do with any of them ever again, suspecting they felt exactly the same way about her.
She turned to look back as they drove away and saw them frozen like wooden statues on the front porch, not waving, just watching. The thought struck her that they were strangers. Characters in some melodrama totally unrelated to her.
Over the next four years, she wrote home only once, after finishing basic training. A letter soon came from her father wishing her good luck in the navy and letting her know everyone at home was praying for her. A week later a copy of the King James version of the Bible arrived with a note from her mother encouraging her to study the Scriptures daily and attend church regularly. She gave the Bible to the base library. As she expected, her brother never wrote, but a year later she received a wedding invitation from his bride-to-be. She replied with a card of congratulations and never heard back.
As her time on active duty grew short, Mary gave serious thought to the navy as a career, but reached the conclusion that she wouldn’t be happy remaining in the enlisted ranks. Only as an officer could she advance, but that required either a college degree or a nursing certificate. She wasn’t keen about becoming a nurse, so finishing her degree seemed the best thing to do. After that, if the navy still held her interest, she’d put in for a direct commission or consider reenlisting for Officer Candidate School.
Minutes away from becoming a civilian and eight weeks away from starting her junior year of college under the GI Bill in Las Cruces at the New Mexico College of Agriculture and Mechanical Arts, Mary felt eagerly adrift. She didn’t know if she’d like Las Cruces, had no idea where she would live when she got there, had yet to
think seriously about selecting a major, and was unsure if she’d enjoy being a lowly college student again without any rank or prestige. All she knew for sure was that it was the start of another new adventure in her life. Once again it was time to never look back.
She finished signing the final paperwork and received her honorable discharge papers that included the citation for the Navy Commendation Ribbon, the Good Conduct Medal, two World War II service medals, and her Pistol Marksmanship Ribbon.
Lt. Mabel Salisbury, the personnel officer and Mary’s good friend, attached a ruptured duck to her uniform lapel, gave her a warm hug, and walked her to the base commander’s car, where the driver waited to take her to the city.
Mary kept smiling and held back tears as she gave Mabel one last hug and a kiss on the cheek. She slipped into the backseat suddenly feeling sad. Leaving the navy was much harder than she imagined it would be. As a teenager, she’d been overjoyed to leave home for college and later wildly excited to drop out of college for the navy. Why was this departure so wrenching?
Maybe it was because of the friends and colleagues she was leaving behind. Or the sad memory of those she’d lost in the war, especially one handsome sailor she’d fallen in love with. Or maybe it was all the fun she’d had exploring San Francisco and California with her navy girlfriends, most of them since leaving the service married and starting families. Or those glorious good times with the soldiers and sailors she’d dated, drinking and dancing late into the night at the city hot spots. And surely some of it came from the satisfaction of doing an important job well enough to gain the recognition and appreciation of her superior officers. The Navy Commendation Ribbon for meritorious service was not an award given lightly, and she was proud to wear it.
She shook off the glum feeling and smiled as the driver entered the ramp to the Bay Bridge, headed for San Francisco. She needed to stop reliving the past and look to a bright future, even if she had no idea what it would bring.
At the Mark Hopkins Hotel on Nob Hill, she checked into her room, tipped the bellhop, and left her canvas duffel bag and small suitcase untouched on the bed. After a quick look out the window at the Coit Tower on Telegraph Hill and Alcatraz Island in the bay, she freshened up in the lovely bathroom she had all to herself with its inviting claw-foot tub. She promised herself a long soak later.
In the lobby she debated taking a taxi to shop for clothes at the Emporium Department Store on Market Street, but instead decided a walk down Powell Street to enjoy the lively city atmosphere would do her good. The mild, sunny afternoon raised her spirits. She enjoyed the glances her uniform attracted from an occasional passerby. With the war over these last two years, women in uniform were once again a rarity.
The noise and bustle of the city felt liberating and she quickened her pace to keep up with the people flowing around her. The squeaking brakes and the clanging bells of passing cable cars added a festive rhythm to the day. Right at that moment she had half a mind to forget New Mexico and stay in San Francisco instead. It was an expensive city, but it had breathtaking views, lovely old neighborhoods, a good university, a great nightlife, and it was teeming with young people—many of them veterans like her. With her secretarial skills, she could surely find part-time work to supplement her GI Bill while she continued her studies.
She crossed busy Market Street to the Emporium. She’d discovered the vast department store on her first weekend liberty from Treasure Island and always poked her nose inside whenever she was in the city, sometimes just to have lunch at the mezzanine café with her girlfriends. With its arched two-story Greek revival entrance bordered by tall pilasters, the soaring, welcoming rotunda, the grand staircase, and the acres of merchandise, it was far beyond anything that existed in Santa Fe or Albuquerque. Sometimes she’d wander the aisles of clothing racks for hours and leave empty-handed. More often she’d come away with an appealing blouse or a stylish dress to wear on dates.
Frugal with money, with each promotion Mary had saved most of her pay increases, and now she intended to spend some of it. She started in ladies’ fashions, trying on and buying an assortment of skirts, dresses, tops, and slacks before moving on to the shoe department, where she picked out several pairs that went nicely with her new wardrobe. In the lingerie department she bought three new pairs of nylons, and mostly practical underpants and bras but couldn’t resist purchasing several lacy sets to wear when she got dressed up to go out. She finished in the leather-goods section, impulsively adding a shoulder purse that went perfectly with her luggage.
A taxi took her and her pile of bags and boxes back to the Mark Hopkins, where she generously tipped the smiling cabdriver who unloaded everything, as well as the eager bellhop who carted it all to her room. She hurried out of her uniform, tossed it over the bed railing, and spent the next hour in front of the mirror trying on her new outfits. It was cocktail hour when she finished. She paused in front of the mirror before leaving for the hotel’s famous Top of the Mark bar and lounge that provided a panoramic view of the city.
She was pleased with her new look. The pleated, tan skirt cinched at the waist by a wide brown belt went nicely with the white, high-collar blouse and the dressy brown pumps. The skirt ended just below her knees, showing just the right amount of leg, and the belt gave an appealing accent to her hips and tiny waist. At the door, she smiled at the huge pile of clothing, boxes, and shopping bags that littered the bed. It certainly didn’t look like former chief petty officer Mary Ralston’s spit-and-polish billet on Treasure Island.
At the Top of the Mark she sat in a comfortable upholstered club chair close to the bar with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pacific Ocean beyond and ordered a martini. She didn’t want to think about the night in 1944 when she’d sat at the bar with Petty Officer Second Class Brian Sullivan and helped him celebrate his impending departure to Pearl Harbor, where he’d join the fleet. For a year—almost the entire time they’d been lovers—Brian, a six-foot, brown-eyed rancher’s son from Montana, had been trying to get into combat. That night, they drank to his safekeeping, made plans to get married when the war was over, and decided to blow their savings and spend their honeymoon in a suite at the hotel. After dinner they returned to their room, and with the curtains open to a view of the Golden Gate lit by a full moon, they made love and fell asleep, spent and exhausted.
A hospital corpsman, Brian died in combat on Iwo Jima in March 1945. If he’d survived the war, they’d be married, probably with a baby, and either living on his family’s Montana sheep ranch or in student housing in Bozeman while she worked and he finished his degree in animal science at Montana State University.
She still had all his letters and snapshots of their weekends together touring up and down the California coast. It especially broke her heart to look at the photos from the short trip they took to Seattle for his sister’s wedding to a marine pilot. Brian’s whole family had assembled for the nuptials, and Mary had instantaneously fallen in love with all of them. His parents, sister, and kid brother were warmhearted, happy, outgoing, and affectionate. It was as if she’d met the man and family of her dreams all in one.
When the waiter asked if she’d like another drink, she shook her head, paid the bill, and returned to her room. Fighting off sadness, she filled the tub, wiggled out of her clothes as the bathroom filled with steam, and sank into the deliciously hot water. In the morning she would be on a train to Los Angeles, where she’d stay with her best pal from the navy, Erma Fergurson, who was married and living in Hollywood with an ex-soldier named Hank Evans, who was trying to break into show business and using his GI Bill to take acting classes and voice lessons. Although Erma had hoped to study art after leaving the navy, she was supporting Hank by working as a waitress at an expensive steak house. Mary couldn’t wait to see her.
She soaked until the water in the tub turned chilly and spent the next hour packing for her departure and setting out her clothes for the morning. Suddenl
y she was exhausted. She arranged her cosmetics on the small shelf below the bathroom mirror, brushed her teeth, snuggled into the luxuriously big bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
11
After a scenic train journey down the California coast, Mary arrived at Union Station in the growing dusk of a warm Los Angeles summer evening. Erma had agreed to meet her at the station, and she was surprised to not find her waiting. It wasn’t like Erma to be forgetful or late. Mary called, got no answer at her home, and, concerned something bad might have happened to her friend, made arrangements to have most of her luggage shipped ahead to Las Cruces and hailed a cab to take her to Erma’s as quickly as possible.
The cabbie got her there in a hurry and pulled to the curb in front of an old two-story Queen Anne house on a hill tucked behind Hollywood Boulevard. It had a full gable roof with delicate spindle work, and had been divided into apartments—two upstairs and two down. Only one light was visible from a front upstairs window.
Mary paid the cabbie, grabbed her small suitcase containing essentials and an overnight change of clothes, rushed up the walkway, and rang the bell in the foyer to Erma’s first-floor apartment. There was no answer. She rang repeatedly before trying the apartment across the hall, again with no success. Upstairs, only one resident was home, an elderly man who smelled of cigars and whiskey. He gruffly said he didn’t know his neighbors and didn’t care to before closing the door in Mary’s face.
She sat on the front porch step in the deepening darkness, the sounds of traffic on Hollywood Boulevard wafting up the hill, and considered what to do. Since she had no other way to contact Erma or her husband, she decided to stay put for a while in the hope one or the other would appear. Soon she heard footsteps approaching on the sidewalk and, thinking it might be Erma, she got to her feet only to be disappointed when an older woman, stocky and winded, walked by.
The Last Ranch Page 13