Parachuting Spring 1961

 

I graduated University that spring and decided to take a summer course while I figured out what to do about military service.  Being a graduate student allowed me to eat at the faculty dining area.  I met this cute Chemistry graduate student over lunch one day.  This woman was into skydiving and I didn't even know what it was.  "Meet me on the faculty dining patio at noon Friday," she said when I proposed to come along on her next jump. 

I was there (I was horny).  It is comical to look back now, in view of today's strict rules.  They asked us to stand on top of the six-foot cement walls around the patio.  "Now jump, and as you land on your bended knees, roll forward putting your body-weight onto your right shoulder and roll forward."  I executed this maneuver three times and they passed me into the "ready" battalion for first jumps.

It was a group of dedicated zealots and I was beginning to forget my friend, who was with her favorite girlfriend.  I met them all, the following Sunday out in the middle of nowhere in Northwest Tucson.  We were in a mail and photography plane, the distinguishing characteristic of which was a hole in the back of the plane's floor for the camera equipment.  This plane was a bi-plane and they asked me to crawl out, when we got to five thousand feet and grab a hold of the struts between the wings.  The signal for the crawl-out time was by a finger-pointing motion and the hands pushing out.  This was because the noise was deafening and you really couldn't hear what anybody said, even when they shouted.

Once out there, they had cautioned me, there would be a rush of air and I must hang on with my hands and let my feet dangle in the wind.  The speed was about 100 MPH and I would dangle straight out parallel to the airplane.  When they gave me the "Thumbs Up," I was to let go, to free fall for a while.  I had to pass the "wash" of the plane and I had to be far enough out on the wing that I wouldn't hit the plane's tail when I let go.  I had no idea what to expect, so I just did as they instructed and it all went as planned.

 

This first jump, they tied my rip cord to the airplane in case I panicked or passed out and couldn't pull it myself.  That doesn't mean we didn't need to know how.  I had two chutes strapped on, a big one on my back and a belly pack on my front.  That was in case the back pack either didn't open or failed to deploy properly.  I only had two seconds of free-fall before the rip cord pulled, but I loved it.  It's an ultimate thrill ride rush and I can understand today's kids loving to bungie jump.  The same moments of thrill, but safer.

Once the parachute deployed, all sense of speed and motion ceased, I was floating, or more like suspended up in the air.  I studied the ground, but it was not getting closer.  Not until I got to about 1,000 feet from land.  The 3,500 feet of descent up until that moment took about three to four minutes.  I had totally spaced out for that time and then suddenly, the ground was rapidly approaching.  The last minute was hectic.  I had to try and use my chute cords to guide myself to the designated landing site.  I was trying to remember everything about how to hit the ground and what to do when I did.  There was no, "wait a minute" option.

I executed the fall perfectly with a proper roll.  They all congratulated me, and I was ready to go up again.  “I’ll do a proper free-fall.  No need to tie the rip cord to the plane.”  I assured them, “I didn't panic or pass out and would be just fine.”  "You'll have to wait until next week, I'm afraid," they said.  "With this little plane, we can only take three at a time, so everyone only gets one jump today."  We went out for pizza afterward and drank beer.  The experienced people told old war stories.

I went out three more times that summer and did do free-falls.  We were always in a different airplane.  Once we went up in a B-25 and a storm was coming in, fierce winds and rain came on us suddenly.  We were going to go to 10,000 feet but the Jumpmaster and the pilot agreed that the wind would blow the parachutes unpredictably and they'd have a challenging time finding us to pick us up with the jump truck.  Coming in was one of the roughest rides I've ever had and scariest too.  The FAA had not checked out the pilot in this plane and the pilot wasn't sure how to manage it in the strong crosswinds at the landing strip.  I've experienced rough landings before.  I wasn't scared in those landings.  The B-25 pilot made me scared because he kept nervously saying he wasn't sure about this.  We would lurch up and down, the wings tilting left and right, tossed about like a rowboat in the ocean.  It was my last jump day for the summer.  I was going into the Army.

I came back the following summer on my way to Germany.  I went up once with the old crew.  I was so scared of jumping that day.  I hit the ground like a rock, all stiff-legged, crumpling into a ball.  I wasn't scared of the jumping part, but of breaking my leg on landing.  I had heard so many stories in the past year while in the Army, about people pulling their rip cords too late, at 500 feet or less.  It sounded like skiing to me.  That was my last jump ever.