The Merchant Marines

Section One- Young Joe wants to serve his country.

Section One

The Ford model AA box truck sputtered into the fuel station. Joe was riding in the back with the ice delivery. Pop would always let him come along on his afternoon route. Young Joe would help his father with the ice, and sell cold Coca-Colas on the side. He unloaded and toted the heavy block of ice into the station, carefully lowering it into the ice chest. Then as he was returning to the truck with the empty ice tongs, Joe paused to listen to the radio broadcast. A bulletin was coming across: The great Battle of Midway had been a decisive victory for the US, and the tide of the war was beginning to turn in favor of the American Forces. Joe clenched his fist in solidarity.

“Hey Joe, how about one of those cold Coca-Cola's huh?” Jack said as he replaced the fuel nozzle onto the pump.

“Just a minute, Jack,” Joe said. “Did you hear that? We’re really sticking it to those sons-of-bitches now.”

“Yeah I’ve heard it a dozen times already. Come on buddy, I’m parched.”

“Alright keep your shirt on Jack, I’m coming.” Joe tossed the large tongs into the back of the truck and grabbed the tray of Coca-Colas. He handed his friend the cold bottle and placed the nickel in his pocket, saying, “I’d give anything to join up.”

Jack took his pocket knife out, popped the top off the bottle, and drained it in two swallows. It didn’t even have a chance to sweat in the blistering Georgia heat before it was empty.

“Whew, a guy can get used to that. Thanks Joey ole pal,” he said as he handed the empty bottle back to him. That’s how Joe made a profit. He sold the cold Coca-Colas for the same five-cents that he bought them for, but would receive two-cents back for each returned bottle. Jack continued, “I signed up yesterday. I’ll ship out next week!”

He was almost two years older than Joe, and had just turned eighteen. Joe wouldn’t turn seventeen until March. The government lowered the draft age from twenty-one to eighteen the year before, and Joe had heard talk of it dropping again to seventeen. He could only hope.

“The damn thing will be over before I’m liable to get a chance to go,” Joe said. “I would do anything if I could go with you Jack.” The old truck grunted back to life, so Joe hopped up onto the tailgate before it pulled off.

Jack shouted, “See ya at The Falls later?” as the truck began to pull out of the lot.

“Maybe around dark!” Joe hollered back through the dust.

For the rest of the afternoon Joe daydreamed about the war. The thought of shipping off to serve his country, his fellow Americans, had been all he could think of for the past seven months. He wanted nothing more than to make those Japanese pay for what they’d done. How could he just sit by and watch while so many of his friends went off to fight? Some of them were even in his class. Take Jack for instance, yes he was almost two years older than him, but they walked to school together. He even sat right next to Jack in class! It wasn’t fair, and he was determined to do something about it. But what? Unless the US government lowered the age of enlistment, it would be 1944 before he could join.

After his father’s first shift was done and the ice company’s truck was again parked in the warehouse lot Joe walked the two miles home. His dad still had another shift to work in the warehouse. Working double-shifts everyday, Pop was rarely home. So Joe, being the oldest of five boys, was often the man of the house. His younger brothers were out in the front yard playing “war” when Joe walked up the front steps. Bubba, the youngest of the five boys ran to Joe and latched onto his right leg, so Joe had to drag him along as he walked through the front door. His little brothers looked up to him, which made him feel even worse that he couldn't serve his country yet. His father was too old now and had a bad back. He had served in the army in the First World War. But after the war Pop had been a logger, and a stump rolled over on him that crushed his back.

“Alright little buddy,” Joe said as he peeled Bubba from his leg. “Go on back outside. I’ve got chores to do.” Bubba scampered back out the front door.

He heard his mother calling from the back of the house: “Joe? Joey is that you?”

“Yes mama,” he said, meeting her on the back porch. She was leaning over a washboard with denim in her hands. A big dirty pile still sat on her left waiting to be washed.

“I’ll need some more wood cut for the stove before supper,” she said as she pushed and pulled the denim across the washboard.

“Yes mama. I’ll cut a cord, but I won’t be here for supper. I’m going to meet Jack and the boys at The Falls later tonight.”

“Okay, well see that you get a piece of cake before you go off then. I just pulled it out of the oven, it’s in the window seal cooling.”

“Yes mama. Thank you,” Joe said, and decided he’d have a piece of cake before he went to work on the woodpile. The sour-cream pound cake was still warm, and melted in his mouth with each bite. After he finished a rather large hunk of cake, Joe imagined he was chopping through an enemy barricade for the next two hours. The sun was setting over the tops of the pine trees as he split the last of the pile. He filled up the wood box inside and told his brothers to go wash up for supper before leaving for The Falls.

Thanks for reading! This is the first of four sections, and I intend to publish them twice a week. Look for Section Two on Sunday. I’d love to hear what you think in the comments.

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