I grew up in Southern California during the Vietnam War, just a few miles from Marine Corps Air Station El Toro. On our quiet street in Tustin, the majority of our neighbors were Marine officers, and the majority of those were Marine Aviators. Our family always liked our Marine neighbors; the kids had interesting stories of faraway, exotic places like Japan or South Carolina, their moms generally spoke with cool Southern accents and used expressions we native Californians had never heard before, like, "Y'all are some cute lil' boogers!" And of course the fathers exuded the (usually) quiet bravura common to most Marines, and especially the aviators. (Early on, I learned NEVER to call them "Marine pilots"...They were Marine AVIATORS!) To this junior high school guy, these warriors were the essence of awesome. My dad, a World War Two Army Air Force veteran and former National Guard infantry officer, seemed to gravitate to the Marines, and treated them with great respect.
Of all of those Marine officers who were neighbors, the one who made the greatest impression on my entire family was Glenn Jacks. Captain Jacks was one of those people who everyone in the neighborhood instantly liked. The same was true of his wife and two children. This was a family that just seemed to brighten up Chirping Sparrow Way by their presence. They'd always show up to the barbecues, curbside fireworks displays, and block parties, and Captain Jacks would draw folks in with his infectious grin and slow drawl.
When Captain Jacks got orders for Vietnam, it didn't seem that momentous to the non-Marine families; we'd never had anyone go over there and not come back. The war was on TV most nights, presented by Walter Cronkite, but it wasn't REAL. Until October, 1967, anyway. Not too long before, the neighborhood celebrated the news of Captain Jacks' promotion. (I'll never forget his young daughter announcing proudly, "My daddy's a MAJOR!" to everyone she encountered for almost an entire week.) One afternoon, I came home from school to find my mother sitting on the couch, sobbing. She looked up and said quietly, "Glenn Jacks' airplane crashed in Vietnam, and he's dead." I was stunned. How could a man who was so full of energy and confidence, who had only just left about a month ago be dead?
Soon, we all got to see what a Marine Corps Family is made of. Mrs. Jacks didn't hide; she met with her neighbors and friends one by one, and told us how her husband and his crewman had taken off to fly a mission. When the jet engines failed, Major Jacks stayed with the aircraft to fly it away from the village where it would have crashed had he ejected. He and his crewman crashed into a mountain, killing them both. They didn't make a big deal about his heroism, as if this sort of act was to be expected of a Marine Aviator.
October, 1967 is when my concept of war changed from words and photos in history books, and grainy black and white television pictures, to an actual human face. Every Memorial Day since then, I have taken a moment to remember the bravery, sacrifice, and personality of Major Glenn Jacks, USMC, and that of his family. I shall not forget them, and their service to our nation.
My name is Hayley Jacks Gurney. Glenn is my heavenly grandfather. My dad had this article article to me this morning. He was the youngest son of Glenn and Joan Jacks. Thank you for such a beautiful writing! I can't wait for my Aunt Wendy to read this. Joan was pregnant with Wendy when he crashed! The little girl you wrote of is my Aunt Vicki, who I know will read this and be blessed with that sweet memory! My uncle Gregory "Glenn" was the oldest child and I know will too read with sweet memories but I bet most importantly, pride! Thank you again! God bless you!
ReplyDeleteHayley, thank you so much for your kind words! I hoped someone from the Jacks family would see this tribute, and know how much your grandfather was admired and respected. Please express my deepest regards to all, and my very best to you!
DeleteMy name is Hayley Jacks Gurney. Glenn is my heavenly grandfather. My dad had this article article to me this morning. He was the youngest son of Glenn and Joan Jacks. Thank you for such a beautiful writing! I can't wait for my Aunt Wendy to read this. Joan was pregnant with Wendy when he crashed! The little girl you wrote of is my Aunt Vicki, who I know will read this and be blessed with that sweet memory! My uncle Gregory "Glenn" was the oldest child and I know will too read with sweet memories but I bet most importantly, pride! Thank you again! God bless you!
ReplyDeleteney said...
ReplyDeleteMy name is Hayley Jacks Gurney. Glenn is my heavenly grandfather. My dad had this article article to me this morning. He was the youngest son of Glenn and Joan Jacks. Thank you for such a beautiful writing! I can't wait for my Aunt Wendy to read this. Joan was pregnant with Wendy when he crashed! The little girl you wrote of is my Aunt Vicki, who I know will read this and be blessed with that sweet memory! My uncle Gregory "Glenn" was the oldest child and I know will too read with sweet memories but I bet most importantly, pride! Thank you again! God bless you!
My name is Hayley Jacks Gurney. Glenn is my heavenly grandfather. My dad had this article article to me this morning. He was the youngest son of Glenn and Joan Jacks. Thank you for such a beautiful writing! I can't wait for my Aunt Wendy to read this. Joan was pregnant with Wendy when he crashed! The little girl you wrote of is my Aunt Vicki, who I know will read this and be blessed with that sweet memory! My uncle Gregory "Glenn" was the oldest child and I know will too read with sweet memories but I bet most importantly, pride! Thank you again! God bless you!
ReplyDeleteI received my very first blog yesterday. I sat down this morning, opened it, and read it from start to finish, without saying a word, perhaps a tear or two dripped down my face, otherwise I was motionless. My wife, Susie looked on. She said “isn’t it amazing”. I said it is unbelievable! How could a young boy in junior high or high school remember something like this. How could it have had such an impact that he still remembers it today. I am certain once I know who you are, I will remember you. Your words instantly transported me back to that happy time. Those sun filled days on Chirping Sparrow were certainly fond memories. Your comments are a great reminder that we are all surrounded by unassuming heroes. Whether they are soldiers, police officers, firemen, or a whole host of other professionals who risk their lives for the benefit of others. We know we need them, they know they are willing to do what it takes, regardless of the price, and they step up, time after time to do what they know is required of them. Perhaps this is the reason for their subtle swagger. It is a good reminder to cherish the good people in our lives. Your comments on my parents is beyond gracious. It is very kind that you remember them, and that you appreciate their sacrifice. During that time, many people reached out to help all of us. Our neighbor Lee Smith took me to my first Angels baseball game, Mr. Nelson hit fly balls to Bart and me until dark, every night! So many were trying their best to help with the hole in our lives. I will never forget it. Several Marine Corps officers watched over mom her for the entirety of her life, and many of the neighbors remained mom’s friends even though we moved to the other side of the country. I saw first hand other heroes that stepped up to help. It was and continues to be a great lesson in how to live my life. Thank you for taking the time to put your memory and thoughts down in words. I will always be grateful for it. Glenn G. Jacks “Greg”
ReplyDeleteDear Glenn,
DeleteBreaking anonymity here, I'm Dave Hall. We lived across the street from your family, and you and I used to play catch in the street. Although my family moved to Mission Viejo shortly after you lost your father, I never forgot you all. As a cavalry second lieutenant serving in Germany in the mid-70s, I soldiered with a lot of Vietnam War combat veterans who told stories of the heroism they'd witnessed on the battlefields. I occasionally would mention your father's sacrifice, and share the impact it had on my own decision to serve.
Warriors who give their all are never forgotten. Neither are their families, who shared the pain and pride of losing a husband and father. Thank you so much for reaching out, and should you ever find yourself in Western Washington, I would be honored to meet up with you again.
Respectfully Yours,
Dave Hall ( dhall058@aol.com)
Dave,
ReplyDeleteI remember you and your sister well. If we are in western Washington I will get a hold of you. Thanks again for your kind words.
Glenn
Glenn and Dave,
ReplyDeleteMy name is Jim Burns. I maintain a memorial page on marines.togetherweserved.com in honor of Major Jacks.
It would be an honor to include any memories you would care to share on his page.
Jim Burns
jburns3239@aol.com
ps - I am in the Vancouver, WA area.
Thank you, Jim!
DeleteJim,
ReplyDeleteI’ve read this blog post many times since we first discovered it. I’ve never commented on it. The feelings and emotions are all encompassing and sometimes just too much. I realize I can never truly put into words all that my heart and mind holds regarding the subject of my father, and my mother, for that matter.
My name is Wendy Glynn Jacks Gigliotti, and I am Glenn’s youngest daughter. My mom, Joan, was six months pregnant with me when Dad’s Phantom F4 engines failed just after take off on that fateful day, October 19, 1967. He left behind my mother, Joan, his son, Glenn (11 years old), daughter, Vickie (9 years old), son, Michael (4 year old) and me (the unborn baby).
His death should have never occurred in this way, as the company who made these jets knew of this inherent problem with the engines and failed to fix it. Sadly, it changed our lives forever.
Each time I read your post it brings me to tears. I knew my mother very well, and she was that of which you describe. Truly the strongest person I have ever known. Great character and integrity and a strength to do what had to be done.
I also always felt I knew my father. My mother spoke of him always and let us know what he’d have said regarding something and how he’d have handled something.
My mom, Joan, was tough. A small and beautiful, petite, southern woman from Mississippi. When she lost the love of her life she bucked up and kept it together.
I am now myself a mom to two children. How she did it I will never know. She told me several times that after Dad was killed she told her obstetrician, “I will NOT have this baby THIS year. THIS has been a BAD year, and THIS baby will NOT be born in this year”. And God love her because she was right. I was born January 15, 1968, fifteen days into a new year and a new beginning,
I am extremely thankful to have your letter to simply confirm from an outside view what I have always known. I am thankful that you took the time and the energy to write this blog. I hope you will get this reply I’m writing as I realize it has been five years since we first discovered your blog. I thank you again for taking the time to memorialize my dad in this beautiful and touching way.
He is gone from this world now, and my mom has since joined him in Heaven. But one day I will get to meet him in person. I know I will recognize that voice of which you spoke. I heard him speaking in a dream I had as a child. Only once, but I will never forget it.
Thank you again and God bless you Jim.
God bless ALL the men and women who serve, and those who have sacrificed the ultimate. The world is never quite the same when they are gone.
Sincerely,
Wendy
Dear Wendy,
DeleteThank you so much for your beautiful story. While it has been many years since I first wrote this blog post, your father and his sacrifice remain in my heart. I'm currently writing a novel loosely based on my deployment to Iraq 10 years ago, and will mention Major Jacks and your family as a lasting tribute. As I mentioned to your oldest brother, if you should ever find yourself in the Tacoma, Washington area, I will be honored to meet you.
Very Respectfully,
Dave Hall, aka "The Fighting Leprechaun"