July 2009
Bringing Jerry and Al Home
By Elaine Zimmer Davis
Life changed after a Marine Corps casualty officer appeared at my door in a suburban community of Rhode Island during the summer of 1969. My 2-year-old son, Craig—a towheaded toddler with fire in his eyes, whose grin stretched from ear to ear—thought that the man in uniform was his daddy. The Marine captain had the sad duty of notifying me that my husband, a pilot, Captain Jerry A. Zimmer, and his radar intercept officer (RIO), First Lieutenant Albert S. Graf, were killed Aug. 29, 1969, when their F-4B crashed, after the first bombing
run of their mission. Jerry and Al were scrambled from the hot pad of Marine Fighter/Attack Squadron 542 at Da Nang Air Base, in support of a Marine reconnaissance patrol insert in the Que Son Mountains. Their aircraft was hit by what appeared to be a .50-caliber machine gun, hidden in the mountainside. The North Vietnamese Army had hit the “jackpot”—my husband’s call sign—and our plans to meet for a short rest and recuperation leave in a week’s time never happened. Sadly, Al was in country for a short time and left behind a new wife in Georgia. I understood the risks of my husband’s job. Jerry and I had married a week after he graduated from Brown University, which he attended on a Naval Reserve Officers’ Training Corps scholarship. I had accompanied him to The Basic School (TBS 1-67) at Marine Corps Base Quantico, Va., and 18 months of flight school. An accomplished pilot with six months in country, Jerry had become a section leader and was well qualified to be the flight leader of his final mission. I, too, was a believer in the “big sky, little bullet” theory that most young jet pilots lived by in Vietnam. Yet, I also knew it was impossible to dodge a .50-cal. bullet, aimed at a target equipped with 500-pound “Snake Eye” high-drag bombs, and napalm bombs, as well as full of jet fuel. After Jerry’s death, I married a Marine Corps helicopter pilot, Capt Ron D. Davis, who flew UH-1 Huey gunships and “slicks” with Marine Light Helicopter Squadron (HML) 167 at Marble Mountain, just outside the Da Nang Air Base. Ron lived across the street from Craig and me in Tustin, Calif., where we had moved shortly after Jerry’s death. We created a traditional family unit for Craig, and Ron’s and my son, Brett, which is what Jerry would have wanted. Time helped ease the pain, but never erased the memory of losing Jerry. I still talk to his mother once a week, and she is a pillar of strength. Craig and Brett have fond memories of summers on the Zimmer farm with their grandparents in upstate New York. When Craig turned 18, he became his father’s official next of kin and recipient of all casualty correspondence. He received bad news in a report from the Department of Defense in November 1995, outlining results of the Aug. 24, 1993, joint investigation—the forerunner of today’s Joint Prisoner of War/Missing in Action Accounting Command (JPAC). The Zimmer/Graf case was placed in the “No Further Pursuit” category, along with the cases of 567 others who had died in Vietnam. According to the report, investigators had found three Vietnamese witnesses at Que Loc village, who took them close to the crash site, but into a riverbed, which essentially quashed further investigative efforts. However, had investigators known the direction of the flight as we do today, they would have moved up the mountain to the accurate impact site and found wreckage in the debris field.
Once there, Burke realized that the topography of the original coordinates didn’t match the language in the 1993 report;
consequently, they didn’t make it to the site. The original coordinates were reported about 6,000 meters east of the actual crash site. The lack of computerization obscured the official change of coordinates in 1975, from AT985380 to AT933396. Burke investigated further, and his subsequent findings changed the direction of our efforts, literally and figuratively. Knowing that the accident occurred during a recon insert, Burke found the declassified, original 1st Force Recon Company report, dated Sept. 2, 1969. According to the report, Jerry and Al were clearing a zone for a team with the call sign “Sailfish.” The team leader, then-Second Lieutenant Wayne Rollings, and five enlisted Marines and a corpsman arrived at the impact site within an hour of the accident and reported the absence of survivors. Rollings’ report included a patrol overlay map of their insert and extract points and the crash site (AT933399) on the Hiep Duc, Sheet 6640III, 1:50,000 topographic map. After reading the recon report, my husband, Ron, contacted Major General Wayne Rollings, USMC (Ret), who still remembered the incident, since it was the only F-4 crash he had ever witnessed. MajGen Rollings recalled an explosion, just prior to the aircraft hitting the ground. Without a doubt, the recon coordinates were the best boots-on-the-ground confirmation of the exact impact site of the aircraft. Eager to learn more, Ron, a former Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, launched a six-month, personal investigation on behalf of our family, involving a network of 200-plus Marines, linked through the Internet. Ron spoke with key Marines who were contemporaries of Jerry and Al and who had firsthand knowledge of Jerry and Al’s final flight: Colonel Jack Gagen, USMC (Ret), wingman; Brigadier General Mike Wholley, USMC (Ret), the second F-4 flight leader; MajGen Rollings; and Tactical Air Control Airborne pilot, Capt Jim Rider, USMC (Ret), who was controlling the air strike. Ron also received technical support and advice from more than 25 Marine Corps retirees, familiar with aircraft and air-ground tactics of that era. Armed with the new coordinates, Ron booked a trip to Vietnam in January 2009, with our sons, to test the validity of our combined efforts. The highlight of the trip was supposed to be a hike to Jerry and Al’s crash site. Unfortunately, they ran into a roadblock of Vietnamese bureaucracy within a mile and a half of the site and never got there. As next of kin, Craig attempted to negotiate for several hours with various Vietnamese authorities, ending up at the Foreign Visitor Liaison Office in Tam Ky, the provincial capital of Quang Nam Province. His efforts were to no avail. Concurrently, I had been planning a trip to the crash site as well, but had broken my leg five months prior and struggled with the healing process. Yet, once I knew that the guys did not get to the crash site, I locked in my flight reservations to Vietnam and hired Ron’s in-country guide from a Vietnam tourism company, Doug Reese, a former Army captain/Vietnam veteran, and the company’s Vietnamese translator. Because the case had been dormant for so many years, I began to feel that my upcoming trip might be a last-ditch effort to convince JPAC to reopen the case. As a former international travel writer, I was not concerned about traveling alone to Vietnam. But shortly before I was scheduled to leave, Lieutenant Colonel Gene Mares, USMC (Ret) called me at home in San Diego and said he wanted to go along. “I need to do this,” said Gene, who had known Jerry since the eighth grade and was best man at our wedding. Even more significant, during Gene’s first Vietnam tour, he was Jerry’s hootch-mate and RIO but left country about a month before the accident. I hadn’t seen Gene for almost 25 years, but we were still like brother and sister. Soon, we were on our way to Vietnam to meet our contacts, which included Mr. Du (pronounced, “Zoo”), a former Viet Cong (VC) village leader, 59, who claimed to have visited the crash site within days of the accident and would take us there. After arriving in Da Nang/Hoi An in March, we gave ourselves a half day of rest and left early the next morning for Mr. Du’s village of Son Vien—a 1½-hour drive along rural, mountainous roads. I had seen photos of Mr. Du, so I recognized him. We immediately began hiking to the site. Mr. Du led the way, past burial sites, rice paddies and open pastures—a teaser for the real stuff. The group also included his friend, Mr. Bay (pronounced “By”), a slightly younger Vietnamese farmer; his eldest son, Cuong; Doug; Gene and me. Mr. Du carried a shopping bag in his hand and a worn denim bag on his shoulder, while Gene and I had backpacks. We encountered oppressive, 100-degree heat and rugged hiking conditions. The mountain trail was carved out of narrow, dried streambeds, embedded with spiked rocks in clay-like soil. Periodically, I would look ahead, and Mr. Du would disappear behind the tall eel grass. The Vietnamese were like gazelles, while Gene and Doug struggled on the narrow trails. I thought about Rollings and his recon patrol, hiking along these same trails and possibly encountering a different Mr. Du than we saw that day. We had gone less than a third of the distance when the pain in my leg became torturous. I was slowing everyone down and finally told them to go on without me. Gene’s face dropped, knowing how much I wanted to visit Jerry’s crash site. Doug accompanied me down the mountain, and a few hours later, the hikers returned, dripping with sweat. Mr. Du invited us into his home so that he and Gene could douse themselves with water to lower their body temperatures. While sitting in the living room, we met some of Mr. Du’s family. Without a translator, communication was difficult, but it became apparent that Mr. Du had led Gene to the area that matched our recently discovered coordinates. After years of thinking that the impact had occurred in a riverbed, subsequently eroding all evidence, Gene and I shared a bittersweet moment, knowing that we had found Jerry and Al’s real crash site. Mr. Du sensed our subdued celebration. He presented me with several small aircraft parts, still caked with dried mud that he and Gene had picked up at the site. I was astounded to be sitting in the living room of a former VC leader, holding parts that probably came from Jerry and Al’s aircraft, four decades ago. In the back of my mind, I thought, “Let these parts belong to an F-4. Please, Lord.” We all drove back to Hoi An, including Mr. Du and Mr. Bay. Since our interpreter would be present, I wanted to test Mr. Du’s memory of the crash and learn as much as I could about the site, aircraft parts and anything else. Before dinner, however, Gene and I discussed his time at the crash site. An avid skier, Gene was in good shape but admitted that the hike was treacherous. As they got closer to the secondary impact site, his Vietnamese companions actually prevented him from sliding off a 150-foot cliff. This was near the spot where the fuselage ended up, according to Mr. Du, which we assumed separated from the aircraft at the impact site above. While at the site, Mr. Du began gathering dirt from a “hole,” within the crater where he said that villagers had buried remains many years ago. Mr. Du filled several small plastic bags with dirt and labeled each to represent a part of the body—Gene noted that he was very methodical in his actions. Next, he removed several paper objects from the shopping bag. Gene realized that Mr. Du and Mr. Bay were preparing a Buddhist burial ceremony for Jerry, complete with incense, candles, rice wine, kimono, food, slippers, umbrella and other objects for the afterlife—the bags of dirt were placed appropriately on the kimono, to represent the head, arms, legs and torso. The ceremony was solemn, and Gene said he was overcome with emotion at one point. Before they left the site, Mr. Du burned all the paper goods, gathering the smoke within his arms to symbolize that he was bringing Jerry’s spirit to me. At dinner that evening, I sat next to Mr. Du, but the seat to my right was empty. Suddenly, Mr. Du jumped up and put a place setting there for Jerry’s spirit. He then brought the denim bag, containing the bags of dirt from the hole at the crash site, and placed it there too. I was a little stunned and tried to remain calm, but all I could think of was that Jerry’s remains were sitting next to me; however, I was told that the dirt was representative and meant for “me to take Jerry home.” We continued to eat, and food was placed in Jerry’s bowl, and Mr. Du emphasized the importance of continuing this ritual for seven days. The next day, Gene and I flew to Hanoi for a briefing with JPAC’s Lieutenant Colonel Todd Emoto, USA, Commander, Detachment 2, and Major Ed Nevgloski, USMC, Deputy Commander, whose two-year tours involve coordinating recovery efforts for Vietnam War POWs/MIAs. Although both are dedicated JPAC officers, Nevgloski takes a special interest in Marine families, and I felt our case was in good hands when Gene and I left Hanoi. When our trip came to an end, it was apparent that Gene and I had accomplished our goals. We had found the crash site and felt confident that remains were buried within the crater. Yet, I still had lingering doubts of our ability to convince JPAC headquarters in Hawaii—the decision makers—to reopen Jerry and Al’s case. I felt that our odds would increase if experts were able to confirm that the parts were from an F-4 aircraft. Ron immediately contacted recently retired Col Earl “Pearl” Wederbrook, who was the former commanding officer of Marine Aircraft Group 11 at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar in San Diego. In turn, Wederbrook called his friend, Col Bruce W. Neuberger, Commanding Officer, Naval Air Technical Data and Engineering Service Command (NATEC), headquartered at Naval Air Station North Island, San Diego. Col Neuberger sent an e-mail to his staff of “Old Phantom Phixers,” with Ron’s photos of the parts attached, and the NATEC team identified five of the six parts found at the crash site as belonging to an F-4 Phantom II—the sixth part was not unique to an F-4. Bingo! The amazing Marine Corps brotherhood came through again. We were ecstatic and decided it was time to present our case to JPAC. With Ron leading the effort, we put together a 16-page PowerPoint presentation and 21-page narrative, outlining the facts that would warrant reopening the Zimmer/ Graf case. In May, a call from JPAC confirmed they are reopening Jerry and Al’s case and plan to send an investigative team to the site this summer. The team will interview Mr. Du, and he will take them to the crash site. No matter the outcome, JPAC is doing the job right and trying to bring Jerry and Al home—this means everything to me. Editor’s note: Elaine Zimmer Davis is editor of a monthly yachting publication in San Diego and has been a professional writer, specializing in travel, business and sports, for 25 years. |
Searching for information about an F-4 Phantom II crash that happened 40 years ago might seem odd to some people but probably not to Marines. While trying to pinpoint my first husband’s crash site in Vietnam, our family unexpectedly learned that his remains might be recoverable, too, despite the long-held theory that everything was destroyed in the crash.
Al’s widow, Marianne Graf Thomas, now a restaurateur in Georgia, and I spoke for the first time ever last year. She was traveling to Vietnam with a U.S. military tour company. The guide, Battlefield Tour’s First Sergeant Bob Burke, USMC (Ret), a career “grunt,” had the original 1969 coordinates from the Marine Corps, plus a copy of the 1993 investigative summary, and felt confident that he could get Marianne to Al and Jerry’s crash site.
