Service
My father loved war movies. Maybe it’s because he never went to war.
When my father was 17 in 1945, he was looking to join the armed forces, but his mother said no. In 1945, The minimum age for enlistment was 18, but 17-year-olds were permitted to serve provided they had a signed permission form from their parents or guardians. She already had two sons in the army, my dad’s older brothers Concepcion or Chón and Jose. My uncle Jose, or Shorty Joe as I knew him had served in the Battle of the Bulge and told the story of having to kill a wounded German soldier whose moans were bringing unwanted attention to the platoon. Whether or not my dad knew of that story then is unclear. I suspect that if he had, he may not have wanted to enlist.
Still, he persisted. He did not want to be one of those guys that shirked his duty to his country. America had given his family everything, work, a place in the world and a chance to make things better. In the coal mining town of Dawson, New Mexico, the prospects were excellent for steady work and he could have served his purpose there, digging coal out of the ground for the war effort to keep the steel mills in the east working overtime. There was also a bias against men who did not enlist but rather waited to be called. It wasn’t that the world called to my dad. He genuinely wanted to serve his country.
His mother prayed the rosary every night for the safety of her sons already at war and did not want to add to her worry. Two sons were enough for her family to give. Her soldier boys were the remnants of her first marriage. A third would make no difference. She had been widowed and after she remarried, had buried one infant daughter. That was enough loss for her. Mom would not budge. My dad would need to stay home and help his father take care of the family. That was it. End of discussion. My dad was heartbroken. He wanted to be a man and serve his country. That’s when his father stepped in.
My grandpa Ponce sat his wife down and made it clear to her that if she prevented her son from enlisting, he would resent her for the rest of his life. That ended the matter. Grandma signed the enlistment papers with one proviso. My dad had to finish high school. By the time my dad graduated, the war in Europe was over and so he decided to join the Navy since the fighting was still going on in the South Pacific and the Navy was right in the thick of it.
When my dad enlisted, he was offered two choices, He could commit to a six-year hitch or he could sign on for the duration of the war. My father, patriotic soul that he was, enlisted for the duration and was off to boot camp. Seaman First Class Jesus Ponce reported for duty on July 5th, 1945. He would serve on the USS Heaton and the USS Healy, both Fletcher-class destroyers, and the USS Otterstetter, an Edsall-class destroyer stocking supplies. By September of 1945, the Japanese had surrendered unconditionally and the war was over. From there, they sent my dad to Camp Kilmer in New Jersey and taught him to type. He spent the duration of his service typing out DD-214 discharge papers for soldiers returning from the European theater. In August of 1946, he was discharged from regular service, but instead of quitting, my dad enlisted in the US Naval Reserve serving another 10 years. In that time, he got married and was raising three kids. I was born a month before his final discharge from the USNR.
My dad was always disappointed that he never got to see Europe or the Pacific. He did get to have a drink in Jack Dempsy’s Bar in New York City while on shore leave for a weekend, the highlight of his military experience, but that was the extent of his travels for the rest of his life save for a trip to South America with my mom. I think that he tried to fill that void with movies. On weekends, we’d pile into the station wagon and go to the drive-in movies. My dad would back the car into place with the rear of the car facing the screen. My brother and sister would crawl on top of the car and my little sisters and I would lie in the back of the car between my mom and dad snacking on popcorn and watching movies like The Great Escape or The Guns of Navarone.
I inherited my father’s love of war movies. When he got older, I would rent movies from the local Blockbuster and we’d watch something old or something new like The Hunt for Red October. My father was never happier than when he signed up for satellite television and was able to find an old war movie almost every night of the week. We watched them over and over. The Dirty Dozen, Patton, The Battle of the Bulge, The Sand Pepples, The Green Berets, The Devil’s Brigade, Von Ryan’s Express. Few of these captured what war was really like. That would come later with directors like Oliver Stone and Stanley Kubrick, but for that moment I was sharing my dad’s longing for a time when he was a small part of something bigger.
My dad never saw combat. Was never in any danger. He never left the U.S., but he was always reminded that he had served, that he volunteered because he knew it was the right thing to do. That he gave back to a country that had given him so much. Years later, I would sign up for the draft just as the Vietnam war was ending. I felt a little like my dad. I was given the designation of 4-H for holding. If the war heated up again, I would be drafted and sent overseas. I was never called.
To all of you who served in whatever capacity, during war or in peacetime, thank you. You are leading by example. You are what we need to keep this country strong and free. It is a lot to ask.
Jose Antionio Ponce
Memorial Day-2026
Copyright 2026 by Jose Antonio Ponce