Likely the first thing anyone noticed upon first meeting John Trimbach was that he was a big guy with flaming red hair (though less of that as time went on). He was built like a lineman for good reason—he was a lineman.
A standout letterman in both football and track at North Attleboro High School in Mass., John got a full freight football scholarship to The College of the Holy Cross in Worcester, Mass., where he was a distinguished defensive tackle and four year starter.
Those were the days when Holy Cross was a regional powerhouse, played a tough national title contender schedule and held their own. Big Red, as he was known back then, was inducted into the Attleboro Football Hall of Fame during his first year of eligibility.
I first met Trim in the mid 1970s when he was a rookie salesman for Eastco, a Boston-area brown-and-white goods distributor that featured RCA among a bevy of other lines. I was the audio buyer for a Boston-based department store called Lechmere. Not only was I responsible for stereo components but I had to handle the rapidly declining category of stereo consoles which even back then were being kicked to the curbs in front of households all across America.
As low man at the bottom of the food chain, John was stuck in the RCA console area at Eastco’s open house. I most remember his infectious enthusiasm even for a category that time was passing by. He could, as they say, sell ice to Eskimos.
Fast forward to 1989. I found myself getting hired by a high-powered Northeast rep firm that at the time was standing in very tall cotton. One of the folks who interviewed me was John who was then heading up the company’s office products division. He was great to work with. That constant optimism was still there. We’d go as a group to interview for lines and upon leaving John would make a baseball umpire’s “safe” sign and announce either “It’s in the bag,” or “Done deal. We got it.” He was usually right; we were an impressive group.
And those were his words on everything—all the time. So much so that the rest of us in the company made “Trimbach” into a verb, meaning “to make flamboyant yet somewhat unsubstantiated statements.” So, “Did you just Timbach me?” meant, “Are you blowing smoke up my skirt?” It was all in good fun.
My favorite John Trimbach story came near the end of the rep firm’s existence. No more high cotton … the rent in a too-fancy-for-a-rep-firm office building was months behind and paychecks were bouncing, but John was undaunted. He was at his desk negotiating for a helicopter to pick up an influential buyer and take that buyer to a Rolling Stones concert while a delivery guy from Poland Springs was repossessing our water cooler for nonpayment. The irony wasn’t lost on any of us.
The rep firm did indeed break up and we all went our separate ways. I’d see John on the road or at shows and he never changed. I always walked away smiling and I’ll always have those memories.
The town of North Attleboro, John’s lifetime home, lowered the flags to half staff last week in honor of his volunteer work as president of Pop Warner Football and advisory committee member for the Parks and Recreation Department, among others.
John left us too soon at just 61 after a battle with pancreatic cancer. He is survived by his high school sweetheart Michele, daughters Amy, Ashley and Abigail and three grandchildren.
Donations may be made to John Trimbach Scholarship Fund, c/o Bristol County Savings Bank, 96 Commonwealth Ave., Attleboro Falls, MA 02763.
