TRIMBLE, JACK R.

Name: Jack R. Trimble

Rank/Branch: O2/United States Air Force, pilot

Unit: 13th TFS

Date of Birth: 1947

Home City of Record: Sumpter SC

Date of Loss: 27 December 1972

Country of Loss: North Vietnam

Loss Coordinates: 203100 North 1053200 East

Status (in 1973): Returnee

Category:

Aircraft/Vehicle/Ground: F4E

Missions: 99 North Vietnam 186 Total

Other Personnel in Incident: Carl Jefcoat, returnee

Source: Compiled by P.O.W. NETWORK from one or more of the following: raw

data from U.S. Government agency sources, correspondence with POW/MIA

families, published sources, interviews.

REMARKS: 730329 RELEASED BY DRV

THIS BIO EDITED BY REQUEST OF JACK TRIMBLE:

SOURCE: WE CAME HOME copyright 1977

Captain and Mrs. Frederic A Wyatt (USNR Ret), Barbara Powers Wyatt, Editor

P.O.W. Publications, 10250 Moorpark St., Toluca Lake, CA 91602

Text is reproduced as found in the original publication (including date and

spelling errors).

UPDATE - 09/95 by the P.O.W. NETWORK, Skidmore, MO

JACK R. TRIMBLE

Lieutenant - United States Air Force

Shot Down: December 27, 1972

Released: March 29, 1973

Lt. Jack R. Trimble was born in 1947. His father was an officer in

the military and, as a result, Jack's childhood years were spent in the

usual gypsy-like movement from base to base. He attended a Military

Academy for high school. In 1965, he enlisted in the Air Force Reserve.

Jack won acongressional appointment to the Air Force Academy. He graduated

and was commissioned on 3 June 1970.

He tried to get a waiver that would allow him to go to pilot training, but

was unsuccessful. So, he set his goal on becoming a weapons system operator

in an F-4 Phantom II with hopes of getting a chance for pilot training at a

later date. In June of l971, Lt. Trimble was awarded his navigator wings and

was assigned to an F-4 replacement training unit at George AFB, California.

He left the United States in March of 1972 for his first operational

assignment at Udorn RTAFB, Thailand.

From April until December of 1972 Lt. Trimble flew 175 combat sorties with

82 of those over North Vietnam. On 27 December 1972, Desoto 03, piloted by

Major Carl Jefcoat and Lt. Jack Trimble was hit by hostile fire of an

unknown origin forcing the crew to bail out over North Vietnam. Several days

later, they were confirmed as POWs. Lt. Trimble and Major Jefcoat were

released on 29 March 1973 along with the fourth and last group of POWs to be

released by the North Vietnamese.

After a period of convalescent leave, Lt. Trimble will attend Squadron

Officer's School at Maxwell AFB. From there, he will be going to pilot

training at Williams AFB, Arizona.

Hundreds of dark almond shaped eyes stared at me. Some showed pity, a few

flickered with hatred, but most showed curiosity and awe. I wondered how my

eyes must look to them. My face must have betrayed the helplessness and fear

that I felt. I was the invader in this North Vietnamese village. A captured

American pilot was an uncommon occurrence. The people kept their distance

even though I was tightly bound and constantly watched by two armed guards.

There were more villagers arriving. I watched the group grow in the waning

twilight. This night was going to be a memorable one, I thought to myself.

Six hours earlier this night did not mean any more to me than any other

night at Udorn, RTAFB. However, a North Vietnamese pilot in a Mig-21 changed

all that in the blink of an eye. I heard shooting in the area where my pilot

had landed so I suspected that he had also been captured. I tried to hide

until nightfall but a farmer and his wife found me, and shortly afterwards I

was taken prisoner by twenty or thirty armed Vietnamese. I stood in the

center of the village listening to the crowd grow louder. I sensed trouble

brewing. I could feel the electric sensation that began to run through them.

More and more of the faces looked angry. The children started throwing small

pebbles at me.

So this was it, I thought to myself. Maybe I was going to die soon at the

hands of a Vietnamese mob. The thought of death was not new. I had learned

to live with it during the nine months of combat. I never considered it as

being reserved for the other guy. Each time that I flew to North Vietnam I

was mentally prepared for something to happen to me. Now I was captured, but

I did not feel that I was going to be killed.

A young man stepped out in front of me and started shouting to the crowd.

Their eyes narrowed and their tight lipped faces watched me. The man turned

to me and sneered. Then he spit in my face. I didn't feel any anger or

revulsion. I just stared back at him and then at the crowd. I was a prisoner

of war and I did not expect to be treated with kindness. My antagonizer drew

back his fist and smashed me across the left side of my jaw. I saw him start

to swing and watched the blow come. When it reached my face, I jerked my

head to the right and deflected most of the blow. He must have hit me harder

than I thought because I could taste blood and my nose began to bleed. I

looked back at the young man and watched his eyes. Much of the jittery

feeling had left the crowd. Another blow fell, only this time it was much

softer-almost as if he was not sure of himself. The crowd did not approve of

my mistreatment and an older man stepped forward and physically stopped the

younger man from striking me again. They argued briefly, and I think the

young man lost much face by hitting me.

The crowd parted and a boy came forward with a tin cup of very hot water.

The guards untied my arms which by now were quite numb. The sun had set and

the temperature was dropping. All I was wearing was my underwear. I wrapped

my hands around the hot cup, sighed deeply, and began to shake and shiver in

the night air.

Later that night I was taken to the Hanoi Hilton where I was interrogated

and placed in an empty cell. A lot of things happened in the following weeks

and months. On the 29th of March 1973, I was released along with the last

known group of American POW's in North Vietnam.

That first night comes back to me often though. I wonder why those villagers

did not mistreat me the way they had so many other captured pilots. Maybe

their government had threatened them if any of us were injured. I prefer to

believe that, even in the sophisticated, depersonalized warfare that

characterized the conflict between our countries, a flicker of human

compassion showed itself. I wonder if those villagers remember the American

pilot who bowed oriental style in thanks when he was given hot tea to drink.

Jack Trimble retired from the United States Air Force as a Lt. Colonel. He

and his wife reside in Tennessee.

Jan 27 1998

Fernando Alexander has some nice things to say about a fellow POW:

Dear Mac,

This past week just got me to thinking. The end to the Madden

testimonial reminded me of the little things done for one another

might have been very meaningful to the recipient. I want to tell you

of my experience while the preformer is still kicking. Jack Trimble

is my hero. Jack was the sneakiest POW I knew. He used to visit

other buildings in the Zoo carrying messages and getting news. He

even snuck into the office of one of the prison administrators,

retrieved some undelivered mail about two years old and delivered it

to the rightful owner. Jack was our code man. He was one of the people

that kept our morale up and sanity in tact. I pass this on in hope

that it will be the first in a long series of accollades for the

living to receive and know that their services were appreciated.