You’ve probably heard the name JD Vance a thousand times by now. But before he was a Vice President, a Senator, or even a bestselling author, he was a little boy named James Donald Bowman.
Names matter. In the hills of Ohio and Kentucky, they’re practically destiny. For JD, his first name was a direct link to his father, Donald Ray Bowman. Yet, if you read Hillbilly Elegy or follow the political chatter, that name—and the man behind it—feels more like a ghost than a person.
People love a simple narrative. The "deadbeat dad" who walked out is a classic trope. But the reality of Donald Bowman is a lot messier, a lot more human, and surprisingly central to who JD Vance became.
The Man Who Gave JD His First Name
Donald Bowman wasn't just some guy who vanished into thin air. He was Bev Vance’s second husband. When JD was born in 1984 in Middletown, Ohio, he carried his father’s name: James Donald.
Things fell apart fast. By the time JD was a toddler, Donald was gone.
Now, here is where the story splits. According to JD’s mother and the legendary "Mamaw," Donald was an abusive, neglectful parent who basically abandoned his kids. That’s the version JD grew up with. It’s the version that makes you want to throw a punch.
But years later, when JD actually sat down with his father as a teenager, he heard a different side. Donald claimed he fought for custody. He said he only backed off because the legal war was destroying JD. Honestly, we’ll probably never know the 100% objective truth. Family trauma is a hall of mirrors like that.
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What we do know is that by the time JD was six, his mother was ready to erase Donald Bowman entirely.
The Erasure of Donald
When Bev married her third husband, Bob Hamel, she didn't just give JD a stepfather. She gave him a new identity. She had Bob adopt JD, and in the process, she scrubbed "Donald" from his birth certificate.
JD became James David Hamel.
The "D" now stood for David, an uncle's name. JD famously wrote that "any old D name would have done, so long as it wasn't Donald." It’s a stinging line. It shows just how much resentment was packed into those few syllables. For a long time, Donald Bowman was the man JD was specifically instructed not to be.
The Reconnection: Faith, Rock and Roll, and Friction
Most people think JD and his dad never spoke again. That’s not true.
When JD was a teenager, Donald Bowman re-emerged. He wasn't the monster JD had been led to expect. Instead, he was a quiet, deeply religious man living in a world of Christian evangelism.
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It was weird.
JD was a kid who loved Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and Eric Clapton. He was a classic rebellious teen. Donald, on the other hand, had found a strict, sober path through faith. When they reconnected, Donald didn't exactly embrace his son’s hobbies. He told JD his music taste was basically "of the devil" and suggested he swap Jimmy Page for Christian rock.
You can imagine how that went over.
Despite the friction, Donald’s stability was a shock to JD’s system. At one point, JD even moved in with Donald for a few weeks to escape the chaos of his mother’s latest breakup. He saw a life that was peaceful. Organized. Boring, maybe, but safe.
He didn't stay, though. He went back to Mamaw. But that glimpse of a "redeemed" father—a man who had once been the villain of his childhood but was now a sober, church-going citizen—clearly left a mark on JD’s worldview.
What Happened to Donald Bowman?
While JD was climbing the ranks of the Marine Corps, Yale Law, and eventually Washington D.C., Donald Bowman stayed in Ohio. He lived a life that was almost the polar opposite of the national spotlight.
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He stayed out of the press. He didn't do "tell-all" interviews when his son became famous.
Sadly, Donald Ray Bowman passed away on November 4, 2023. He was 64. He died at home in Hamilton, Ohio, surrounded by his wife and children.
His obituary painted a picture of a man who was a "dear friend" and a devoted member of his community. It’s a quiet ending for a man whose absence—and later presence—shaped one of the most polarizing political figures in modern America.
Why This Matters for 2026 and Beyond
If you want to understand JD Vance’s obsession with the "nuclear family" and his views on fatherhood, you have to look at Donald Bowman.
Vance’s politics are often a reaction to the "revolving door of father figures" he experienced. He saw what happened when a biological father was replaced by a series of stepfathers who didn't stick around.
- The Name Change: JD eventually dropped "Hamel" (his adoptive father's name) and took his grandparents' name, Vance.
- The Identity: He chose a name that represented the people who actually showed up, not the men who were legally assigned to him.
- The Policy: His focus on family stability isn't just a talking point; it's a scar from a childhood where his own name was a moving target.
Donald Bowman was the first man to fail JD, but he was also the first man to show him that people can change. That complexity is often lost in the headlines.
If you're looking for actionable insights from this family history, start by reading the later chapters of Hillbilly Elegy with a fresh eye. Don't just look for the "hillbilly" tropes—look for the moments where JD tries to reconcile with a father who wasn't a villain or a hero, but just a man trying to fix his own life. To dig deeper into the legal and social impacts of multi-parent households in the Rust Belt, check out the latest census data on family structure changes in Ohio over the last decade. It tells a much larger story than just one family.