Jacklynn J. Thompson

“Skip”

July 9 1940 – November 20 2025

Jacklynn Thompson passed away on November 20, 2025, after a years-long battle with cancer. She was preceded in death by her husband, Rich, her sister, Gene, and her mother, Madge.

She and Rich were married for more than sixty years, nearly 30 years of that time a career Army couple. They traveled together to postings all around the United States and in Central America and Europe, before returning to their childhood home in Indiana.

She sent her career-infantryman husband off to war twice, and twice welcomed him home again—unscathed, to her great relief. On her own, she kept the household going and the kids fed and educated while he was away.

Thirty years after she entered as a freshman at Washington H.S. in Indianapolis, she finally gained her GED certificate, saying she wanted to finish it before any of her kid's graduated college. She made it. She followed that up with nursing school. After graduation, she subsequently had a more than twenty-year career as a Qualified Medicine Aide and a Licensed Practical Nurse at several nursing homes in Central Indiana.

She enjoyed cooking and camping, golfing and boating, traveling and sightseeing. She was a gamer, and would give anyone a run for their money at canasta or bridge. She had a mean game of Uno or Boggle, and loved Scrabble. She rode many hundreds of miles on the back of husband Rich’s motorcycle, flew in daughter Jenny’s airplane, did a static-line parachute jump (once was enough!), and defied certain death (according to her) by riding the cable car all the way to the top of Germany’s highest mountain, the Zugspitze, and all the way back down again.

She leaves behind children Jenny Thompson, Chris (Jeff) Franciski, Cindy (Mike) Gould, and Carol Payne; plus, grandchildren James (Lynn) Thompson, Nick (Leah) Wilson, Guin (Durwin Talon) Thompson, and David Gould; and great-grandchildren Richard, Isaiah, Samuel, Miriam Jane, Oliver, and Elliott.

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Jackie was born and raised in Indianapolis. She was a year and a half old when the Pearl Harbor attack drew the United States into the second world war. That was also about the time her parents divorced. Jackie and her older sister Gene (short for “Imogene”) were on their own much of the time while their mom, my Grandma Madge, worked the steam tables down at McClarney’s Restaurant. They didn’t have much, but they managed. The girls had decent clothes and enough to eat. They had each other for playmates and their little black dog, Sparky, who was the first in a host of dogs she would surround herself with throughout her life. When Jackie was about ten years old, they even acquired a television, a state-of-the-art model that gave you both colors—black and white.

Little Jackie daydreamed of adventure. She became a huge fan of western films and the new TV shows of the same genre, in particular a cowboy hero called Hopalong Cassidy. Somewhere there is a photo of Jackie, proudly, resplendently costumed from hat to spurs in an authentic Hopalong Cassidy outfit. Black from head to toe, white fringe, silver gun belt buckle, gleaming six-shooter at her side. She put that outfit on, and it was a battle for Madge to ever get her to put on anything else, until it plumb wore out.

Hopalong was an unusual kind of cowboy hero. He was older than average, and although he could take care of business with fists or guns if necessary, his stock in trade was to solve problems with his brain wherever possible. She liked that, but she also liked that he would jump off things onto the bad guys and duke it out, or make a daring escape out of an upper-story window, or the like.

Jackie and Gene mirrored some of that derring-do, once hatching a plan to “escape” out the second-story window while their mom was away. Gene opened the sash and shinnied down, and somehow made it all the way to the ground in one piece. Jackie followed her big sister. She was half in, half out of the window when Madge returned unexpectedly. Decades later, Jackie could still become a little steamed that it was she who got in trouble, and she never even made it out the window!

She longed to emulate her cowboy heroes by learning the guitar. A waitress’ income didn’t really stretch far enough to buy a nice instrument and proper lessons, but there came a real bargain for Hawaiian guitar lessons, guitar included! It was a disappointment to her. It’s hard to do a convincing Gene Autry act when your training has you sounding like Don Ho. The lessons were a washout. There was one thing, however: she did recall a particularly annoying boy in her class.

In later years, Dad would tell a story of how he wanted to play guitar himself, but money was tight, until his mom found a real bargain on Hawaiian guitar lessons … He never mentioned if he noticed the brown-haired, big-eyed girl in the class. She sure noticed him.

Not long after, she started as a freshman at Washington High School on West Washington Street, Indianapolis. Dad was at the same school, a year ahead. They surely bumped into each other at various school functions, but it wasn’t until her junior year that she agreed to a blind double-date with a friend. They went horseback riding. Mom’s date was a perfectly nice guy, but her friend’s date was none other than that annoying kid from the Hawaiian guitar class! And … he kind of caught her eye. He was a cocky fellow, lean and lookin’ all good in his cowboy hat, showing off his horse-riding skills.

Soon they were going on proper dates, just the two of them. Things got serious. Then Jackie got pregnant.

The news wasn’t received happily back at home. Jackie had a hard time from her mom, and it took many years to mend those fences, although they were mended, over time. Rich did right by her, and they were married. Jackie went to live with his folks while he, after graduating, enlisted in the Army to find the means to support a wife and baby.

Before two years was past, she left with baby in tow to join Rich in the Canal Zone, Panama, her first experience of being thousands of miles from home, just her and her tiny family. More such experiences followed, always to the same pattern: Dad would get orders, and would go to the destination first, to arrange housing. Then Mom would follow, kids in tow. Over time, as dad gained in rank, the housing would improve, and the number of kids would grow, and movers would be involved. Mom became expert at the logistics of moving. Expeditionary forces could learn a thing or two from her.

After Panama, there was a time in Augusta Georgia, followed by almost three years in Germany. The tightly-knit little community of Americans abroad there in Augsburg Barracks led Jackie to a number of lifelong friendships, particularly that of Carol James and Helen Holsapple.

A couple years followed in South Carolina, where Dad trained new soldiers to go to war, and then orders came for him to go to war himself. While in South Carolina, there was a visit from Dad’s brother Bob and his new wife, Judy. Mom and Judy were the best of friends almost from the beginning and their friendship lasted for decades. During Dad’s first year in Vietnam, Bob and Judy were our upstairs neighbors. A better support structure could not be found for a young mother with four fractious kids and the nagging knowledge that she could become, at any moment, a widow.

After postings to Pennsylvania and Missouri, with another year-long combat tour for Dad in between, it was back to Germany, this time as a senior enlisted couple. Mom was president of the NCO Wives’ Club and its charitable efforts, and enjoyed being in charge for a change. She also took advantage of the fantastic tourism opportunities that were, frankly, everywhere in Central Europe.

Their last years in the Army were spent on assignment in southern Indiana, based in Bloomington. There was plenty of boating and camping on weekends, and family was close enough for copious visiting back and forth.

Through all this, Jackie became restless. She had worked many jobs in the course of all these postings, many of them quite menial. She cleaned hotel rooms and worked retail counters. She waitressed and sewed in a garment mill. She ran a department in the local PX, all while being a room mother and a scout mother and you name it. But she was attracted to nursing work, fascinated by all things medical. She watched surgical videos for pleasure. She read anatomy textbooks for fun.

She liked to tell how Dad wasn’t really in favor of nurse training for her—but never mind, she was bound and determined. The shoe dropped one day as we were driving past the local park, there in Bloomington. Two men were there, one flat on the ground. The other looked up at us, beseechingly, as we drove past. “We have to stop” said mom, and we stopped.

The man on the ground was having a seizure. His lips were turning blue. We got his head back, and his airway cleared. He lay there for a couple minutes, head in mom’s lap, recovering his breath and getting back to consciousness, and on her face, the most blissful look. Her call had come.

She made it though nursing school and had a two-decade career as a licensed Practical Nurse in several nursing homes. Her longest stint was at Hoosier Village on the south side of Indy. Her mother and sister ended up as patients there, and Jackie cared for them along with other beloved patients such as Orpah Pangborne and the one they called “Ducky” because of how she walked.

Jackie and Rich bought a house on the west side of Indianapolis, and remained there for nearly thirty years. Kids and grandkids celebrated many birthdays, Christmases, and holidays there.

When she was about 50, constant pain forced her to have a knee replacement, and it was tough. Excruciating, even. She rehabilitated in spite of the difficulty, thanks in large part to Dad, who resolutely was kind, compassionate, encouraging, and implacable: the exercises have got to be done. It was just about the best they ever worked together.

Finally, after years, her other knee needed replacing. It was easy to become more sedentary; the chair was comfy and there were Westerns on TV. Jackie and Rich had a nice easy retired existence, and they were content. But Rich’s heart gave him increasing problems, and he went in for a routine bypass. He didn’t come out again.

Mom’s final years were the first time in her life when she got to be the decider, to say how things would be and would not be. She missed Dad, undoubtedly, but she sure enjoyed being the decision-maker! She fell and broke her hip, and that hospital visit revealed the cancer that had invaded her breast. She underwent chemo treatments for several years, and tolerated them well for the most part. She never tired of regaling her nursing staff with tales of her own nursing days. “Nurses make the worst patients”, she would tell them, by way of warning them that she intended to be difficult. (She never really was all that difficult) The nurses never let on if they’d heard all the stories five times already. (they had)

She liked what she liked, and was unconcerned if people didn’t understand how anyone can watch the same thing, read the same thing, listen to the same thing time after time after time. She would just smile and put “Hamilton” on repeat once again.

Her last year of life, she was in an assisted living place on Allisonville Road. It is a pleasant place, and she liked it there, always praising the staff and facility. She had everything she needed: a cute little studio apartment, good food, and nice people looking in on her and making sure she got it. When they checked in on her, as they frequently do, they would typically find her in her comfy chair, heat turned up, an old western blaring on the TV.

Sometimes they might catch her watching Hopalong Cassidy!