“How do I look, Mildred?” Alberta fluffed her hair and stood on tiptoe next to her bed at the shipyard.
“Just lovely, sweetie.” Mildred pulled her hand. “Come on. Time to go. I want to beat the boys.”
When the girls arrived at the St. Julien restaurant in San Francisco, Alberta scooted into the half-circle cushioned burgundy seat surrounding a round wooden table to wait for her blind date. Had she done the right thing? Mildred had twisted her arm, that’s for sure.
When two sailors meandered toward them, Mildred elbowed her. “That’s them. My boyfriend, Robbie, is on the left. The other one, umm, the other one must be your date.”
Alberta gulped. She rubbed her damp palms on her skirt beneath the table. She whispered, “He’s so handsome. What’s his name?”
“Walter.”
I’m passionate about family stories and preserving them, one at a time, for the next generations. I tap into my imagination for how events may have happened. Sheer fun for me. Moments I never actually witnessed come alive in vivid color in my movie mind.
As a baby boomer, I grew up with parents who occasionally shared relics about the Great Depression and World War II. Truth be told, I wish I’d asked more questions. At the time, I had no idea historians would one day crown their resilience as the Greatest Generation. But now, I esteem their stories more than ever.
My parents’ WWII romance narrative is unique. A whirlwind romance if I’ve ever heard one. For some background, my mother, Alberta Thomas, hitchhiked from Indiana with her best friend, Mildred Brown, to California after high school to serve the WWII effort. Her friends had scattered. Boys had joined various military branches faster than sparks flying from a fire. Many of her girlfriends had joined the female military counterparts.
But my mother’s adventurous spirit took her on a different path. She set off across the country with her thumb up, along with Mildred, to hitch rides to eventually arrive at Mare Island Shipyard. Of course, hitchhiking during the early 1940s was much safer, and even somewhat common for women without cars. Upon arrival at the shipyard, she converted to a Rosie the Riveter with her welding assignments.
In the meantime, my father, Walter Troyan, served as a young gunner on the USS Denver in the South Pacific, enlisting at age seventeen. When a torpedo severely struck his ship, the vessel traveled to Mare Island Shipyard for major repairs which lasted from January to May 1944.
Although the sailors were still required to work during the overhaul time, they were granted a 30-day liberty leave. The 50,000 civilians working at Mare Island, mostly women, also had some time off from their six-day workweek. Sailors itching for dates with female employees was not uncommon.
Robbie, my father’s shipmate, had already linked up with a new girlfriend, Mildred. He convinced my father to go on a blind date to meet Mildred’s girlfriend, Alberta. My father thought, why not? Still a teenager, he’d already witnessed more battles and carnage than he ever imagined.
My parents fell in love instantly at the restaurant where they met. Between their working shifts, more dates followed, sometimes with my father’s shipmate, Eddie Page, and his wife Emma. At the Japanese Tea Garden in San Francisco, my mother eagerly accepted his proposal, barely a month later, when he slipped a diamond ring on her finger. Within days, my father’s parents hosted their engagement party from their home in Santa Rosa.
Before his ship left Mare Island to reenter the war, the couple squeezed in a few more dates, cementing their commitment. From May 1944 to November 1945, they exchanged letters for the remainder of WWII. Wasting no time, they married on December 2, 1945, just eleven days after my father stepped off the ship. We’ve all heard the expression, love at first sight. It was for them. Their unwavering commitment, staying married until their deaths, remains an inspiring example to me.
Do any of you have any special love stories from your parents? Grandparents? Your own? I’d love to hear about it. Open in your browser and scroll below to make a comment. I reply to all comments. As always, feel free to forward this to a friend. And—be sure to let me know if you have a family story you’d like me to share. You may contact me at: beckyvanvleet9@gmail.com
Walter and Alberta on their honeymoon in Norfolk, Virginia, where my father continued his Navy duties
