Florene Mae (Rusty) Hall was born at home in the small central Oregon town of Bend, January 17, 1925 to Lorenzo Hall and Grace Alberta Nelson. She was four when the stock market fell. "Black Thursday" ushered the United States into the depression that kept it's men, women, and children under a cloud for many years.
The youngest of six children, Rusty grew up under the umbrella of brothers and sisters. Her two older brothers, Don and Vern looked out for her. Her three sisters, Melba [Mel], Iona [Onie], and Thelma watched Rusty grow up.
The Hall family moved around a lot. Rusty's sister, Mel remembered it well. "The second time we moved there [to Bend] was when Florene was born. We came from Baker with Dad, Mother, Onie, Don, Melba, Thelma, and Bunkie(Vern) and then we went back to Baker- probably, because my dad didn't have a job."
Hardship was the reason for many of the moves, remembered Mel, "We never had any money. I was fifteen before we even had a radio."
Despite their father's nomadic nature, Lorenzo was strict with the girls and made them wear long dresses. Rusty remembered Lorenzo's Model A with a rumble seat. Lorenzo was a bootlegger. He made and sold whiskey, illegally. He also worked at the pool hall, playing cards. Rusty reiterated, "He didn't like to work." Mel remembered her father abandoning the family repeatedly, "He left us alone most of the time," remembered Mel.
Lorenzo had left his father's home when he was thirteen. He never knew his real mother, Jamima, since he was only three weeks old when she died. Her death was attributed to her building rock fences too soon after giving birth to Lorenzo. She was in her early twenties when she died.
Rusty's and Mel's mother, Grace Alberta Nelson was born in Baker, Oregon.
As a mother, Grace would never allow Rusty to do any work. "She finally let me start ironing my own clothes," Rusty remembered. Grace bragged when Rusty started doing so. The baby in the family, Rusty wasn't even allowed in the kitchen. "So I learned all that after I got married," said Rusty.
Lorenzo met the mother of his children when she was waiting tables at the Geyser Grand hotel. Grace was a lanky 5'10, and caught his eye. Lorenzo often sang in the theaters.
In 1933 President Franklin Roosevelt was inaugurated, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself," were the ambitious words said to set America's depression recovery into motion. Rusty was eight years old. Two years later, the family moved again- this time south to Klamath Falls.
In 1938, Walt Disney released the first feature length cartoon, "Snow White," in black in white. The theme song, "Someday my Prince Will Come." was an immediate hit.
Rusty remembered, "All the kids in school brought money and the teacher brought us to a matinee." The picture show in that day was between five and ten cents. One of Rusty's friends bought her a little Snow White bag.
Rusty was a petite teenager. She always wore flattering skirts and dresses. Mel often made her dresses. Mel described her youngest sister, Rusty as cute and full of life, "She liked to dance."
Mel, Rusty and the whole family often visited Moore park, but often hung out in their own back yard. "We went to movies because they had six movie theatres in town," remembered Mel.
Despite a few interests, her brothers were the main men in Rusty's life until she met a young Italian man named Walter Ambrogetti. She met Walt at a skating ring uptown in Klamath Falls. "Walt was a good skater, boy, he could really skate beautifully," Rusty explained . Walt was a graduate of Klamath Union High School. Maybe she knew the moment that she laid eyes on the tall, dark haired, handsome Italian boy with a curved nose and a knowing look, that they would be married.
Rusty's classic looks and red hair drew attention to her-- attention that she normally hated but was glad for when she met him.
Rusty was living with her sister, Mel when she met Walter. Mel remembered liking him very much, "He always called her, Red."
They went out for eight months before he proposed. Rusty was seventeen.
Walking down the steps from the Justice of the Peace, they looked like the two most hopeful kids, full of dreams in pre-war America.
Walt taught her almost everything- from cooking to tending a home. His parents had come over from Italy and spoke little English. Walt must have been bilinqual, although Rusty never heard him speak Italian. When Rusty met Waltís mom, Rose, she had divorced Grandpa Ambrogetti and was remarried to a man named Oscar Pederson.
Newlyweds, Rusty and Walt moved to nearby Sprague River. They went out a lot when they were married, "If I hadn't had the right clothes on when we'd go to Ashland, he'd go skating and I'd watch," said Rusty.
About every night they'd go to Ashland to eat and see a movie. In the morning she could sleep in and he'd have to go to work. Like most young Oregonian men in the Forties, he worked in the woods.
If the couple went out on the weekends, they'd stop at the fruit stands and get goodie sacks of corn and tomatoes. He'd cook corn and make Rusty's favorite: tomato sandwiches. "He was just so loving," she recalled, "He was awfully good to me. Every night after we married, I slept in his arms. It seemed like it would be awkward for a man."
He had a lot of nicknames for her. "He called me, Squirts most of the time . . . and Honey and Darling, cause I was small, but then I gained [weight]."
That year, Rusty told Walt that she was pregnant. Mel remembered her excitement over Rusty's pregnancy. "We just got ready for the baby together."
Small in stature, Rusty carried to term.
September 2, 1942, the year that Frank Sinatra was turned away from the service over a punctured eardrum, Little Mary Elisabeth Ambrogetti was born. Weighing 6 pounds and one ounce, Mary was tiny with black hair and dark eyes.
Sadly, she lived only a month and twenty-nine days before succumbing to Pneumonia in a house that was drafty. "It about broke my heart," remembered Mel, "She was like my own."
Rusty found out that Walt was going to war that next summer. They moved back to Klamath Falls and bought a house. Rusty remembered being frightened, "I'd be all by myself and he'd be gone." She was nineteen.
Walt was in training and she moved to Souix City, Iowa to be with him. "That's when she got (little) Walter," remembered Mel.
Walter's father passed away. He stayed a short time then had to go back to training. She stayed behind after a tearful goodbye. He went back to Iowa alone. Rusty remembered, "He wasn't there very long before they sent him to England, the air base there." With a hint of concern, Rusty sent word to Walter that she was pregnant again. "I was in Bend staying with mom and dad. That was September." Her father, Lorenzo had cancer and his health was failing.
In Cambridge, England where Walt was stationed, displaced from everything he had ever known, it is hard to tell if Walt's sense of duty curbed his fear of the unknown. It is certain that he felt a sense of comradery with the men who were high-school age.
Walt rose before it was light outside. He dressed hastily, as they all did, in his uniform. On missions, Walt carried in his pocket an 8x10 folded piece paper with the American flag painted in cold reds, blues, and stark white. The message on the paper was written in every possible language: "I am an American pilot whose plane had been destroyed and I am not able to speak your language. I am an enemy of the Japanese. The government of my company will recompense you [for my safe return]." Walt kept a service journal with Rusty's photo in it. She wrote to him religiously.
Getting the mail wasn't always easy. Rusty had a dog that was "...kind of mad at the mailman all the time," she remembered, "So the mailman wouldn't bring the mail." She had learned that the service was looking for dogs. Rusty wrote to them and asked if they'd take the dog. He was accepted, but not before he became so troublesome that the dog had to be put down.
Like so many wives of servicemen, she'd gotten in the habit of checking the mail daily. Reading his letters, time froze momentarily. They were together once again when she got Walt's letters, "My love," he began his last letter to her, "I received two letters from you. Darling I love you and I have been writing when I have had time. And there never was a minute when I wasn't thinking of you. I'm sorry that I can't sit down and write more than I do. Honey you know that I would if it were possible. If things go the way I hope they do, I'll be seeing you in a few months. . . Darling don't worry, and keep hoping."
October fifth, only weeks after Lorenzo, Rusty's father, had succumbed to cancer, the telegram came in the mail. It was a thin envelope from Western Union. Rusty was sitting down when the doorbell rang. Grace went to the door. There stood a friend's brother, letter in hand. Grace took the letter with shaking hands. She turned and handed the letter to her pregnant daughter. Rusty's heart sank. "I kind of knew," said Rusty, "I just started crying and walking the floor."
The envelope was a thing of weight-- something tangeable. It was all that remained of her sweet husband. Her body felt light. This envelope left her and her child's destiny uncertain.
Words like "noble" and "duty" rang in her mind, sounding more like an excuse than praise. They hadn't had enough time. She held her mother, who had just lost her husband weeks before. The women wept together. Each tear fell, dropping like meaningless words into a bottomless bucket. Deep. . . Regret. . . Killed. . . Action. . . . September. . . Walter. . . Darling . . . Walter.
Rusty left her mother's grasp to go next door. She had to tell her mother-in-law, Rose.
Walter Ambrogetti died September 17th 1944, the year that Frank Sinatra and Hildegarde sang the popular song, "I'll be seeing you." Rusty was four months pregnant.
The weeks that followed were a blur. Local news talked of a terrible train wreck on Klamath Lake only miles away.
"We just waited, waited for more news," she said. "Every day something new would come," she remembered, "Letters from the big shots, the president. The plane exploded. [They]. . .sent me the wings, course I already had wings that Walt bought me to wear.
The Christmas of that year was indeed a sad one, but Walt had one more gift for her. Four days before Valentines day, their son was born. "I had (little) Walt in February, February 10th. He was a good healthy baby," remembered Rusty, "Momma made sure that I ate right, and I got plenty of sleep. She wouldn't let me do anything." When Walt was a little older, they moved back to their house in Klamath Falls.
It was there, in February 1946, that a letter arrived, "I am writing you with reference to your husband, Corporal Walter J. Ambrogetti who was reported by the Adjutant General as having been killed in action on 17 September 1944."
This was the last of a procession of letters. In the corner of the letter was a stamp of a man holding a rifle, looking more like pioneer than a soldier. The letter read, "Information has been received indicating that Corporal Ambrogetti was a crew member on a B-17 (Flying Fortress) bomber which was leaving its base at Alconbury, England on a bombing mission to Germany on 17 September 1944. The report reveals that Corporal Ambrogetti's air-craft was loaded with fragmentation bombs which were to be released on gun installations on the Siegfried line. However, the plane crashed and exploded during take-off at the end of the runway on the main road leading to Weldon, England. Eight of the crew members were killed instantly and the ball turret gunner, Seargeant Joseph L. Page Jr., lived only a few hours."
President Roosevelt signed the letter. This was all Rusty would ever know.
Lorenzo had been buried at the Pilot Butte Cemetary, in Bend where Rusty's best friend was buried. Whereas, Don and Vern were able to get emergency leave to go to the funeral for Lorenzo, the family wasn't able to have a service for Walt.
Tough times were cushioned by the comforts of a large family. Rusty had her brother, Vern and his wife, Nadine to help. Her mother had lost her husband and she had lost hers. They helped each other along. "It always helps to have your family and loved ones around," Rusty remembered.
Suddenly, a single mother, Rusty had to find work. Rusty got a job at the South Sixth St. potato dehydrating plant for veteran rations. She worked nights. "Most of the times, I'd have to get a taxi and in the morning I walked home." The dehydrating plant closed down after the war.
Rusty worked in a theater. Picture shows were the most popular entertainment since becoming "talkies," a term for movies with sound, in 1929.
Rusty's last job was pumping gas at a service station."You had to have coupons to get gas, because gas was rationed because of the war. Everything was rationed because of the war." At that time , Rusty didn't know that the Eagle's Veteran Services were looking for little Little Walt to interview and photograph him.
Rusty would recieve only one more thing in the mail. It was a long slender box. Inside of the box, resting on gold felt sat Walter Ambrogetti's Purple Heart. Three stars hovered above the president's profile in precious metal. Below the award, Walter's service wings were embedded. The detail on the wings had been permanently altered by fire- the element that took Walt's young life.
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