I learned to skydive at the Sheridan, Oregon, jump school one Saturday morning in May, 1975. The "school" was in the morning and consisted of a briefing about parachutes, jumping and what to do in the most common emergencies. The most useful portion was learning how to do a Parachute Landing Fall (PLF). We did every combination of forward, backward, left and right fall possible. First, on the ground and then off a platform. It was tiring but gave us the confidence to dare to get into the plane. Then, that afternoon, we jumped.

I was badly hung over and had drank nothing since about 7:15 am that morning. Still, I suddenly had a full bladder. Then, when we were strapping on our 'chutes, the instructor gave us an invaluable piece of advise: don't let your testicles get between the leg straps and your thighs!

We were then instructed in how to bend over, slide each leg strap between the appropriate testicle and it's adjoining thigh and tighten up the strap. The thought of the 'chute straightening me up and racking me when the 'chute opened caused me (and every other guy) to put on a show for the women! (Consider, if you will, how one goes about ensuring that a strap is between thigh and a very sensitive, pain-nerve laden organ.)

The last thing we did before getting into the plane was to attach the static line to a close loop on the plane's floor and then do our best to pull the hook off! We couldn't budge it, of course and that was the point of the exercise. We had to believe that this line would stay attached to the aircraft and pull the ripcord.

I was scared when I got in the plane. I was facing backwards, next to the pilot and there was no door. When we got to jump attitude, the pilot pulled back power. I was so terrified that I could barely force myself to move. I stepped out onto a small step, slid my hands along the strut connecting the plane body to the wing, go into position and kicked my feet up. The sensation of freefall was horrible. The jerk of the opening 'chute minor, not at all like what the movies show. Seeing the 'chute open above my head was a wonderful sight I knew I would survive and the release from fear was wonderful.

It was a real rush!

Steering the 'chute proved to be fairly easy. There was a man turning an arrow on the ground; the purpose of this arrow was to tell us which direction to point into. I enjoyed the view. Perhaps the strangest thing was that I didn't have any depth perception until I was about 30 to 50 feet above the ground The ground simply looked like a painting that was expanding. Then, when about the aforementioned 30 to 50 feet above the ground, everything changed! The ground suddenly rushed up towards me and I knew I was about to crash into it!

I landed standing up and after about ten seconds, realized that I hadn't done a PLF (parachute landing fall). So, I immediately did an absolutely unnecessary left forward PLF.

The school was in a dangerous location; more about this later. Better image of jumpzone

My second jump, a month later, was worst. (BTW, it also was on a Shaterday and I was also hung over again; there was something about thinking of doing a 'jump the next morning that naturally lead to me having another beer the night before...)

The week before, a woman had had a bad 'chute. She had used her emergency 'chute and made it OK. (The emergency 'chute makes you fall faster and doesn't have control lines. Use is contra-indicated!) I was in "my position": sitting by the open door next to the pilot. I was knee-to-knee with the "bad 'chute survivor". The jumpmaster was directly behind the pilot. All the way up, he kept talking about all the things that could go wrong and what to do. By the time it came for me to jump, I was truly terrified!

I forced myself to slide out onto the wing. Then, I simply could not force myself to kick off. The pilot started getting worked, gunned the engine and blew me off the plane. I can still see my fingers slide off the wing strut in spite of the death grip I had! (Hey, if you think this is funny or cowardly, you try it!)

The 'chute opened but I noticed that the lines were twisted, like a piece of string, for about 10 feet above my head. They had not told us what to do. I thought about using the emergency 'chute but realized it could make the situation worst. After all, it looked like a normal 'chute but for the "twine effect" and I wasn't about to screw things up by putting another 'chute just below it. Thinking quickly, I realized that I might be able to unwind the lines by spinning myself in the proper direction. I did this and everything was fine after that! (I later told a friend, who'd graduated from Army jump school about this. He said it was one of the subjects he was taught. Lucky him!)

I landed well, did a good PLF and hauled my gear back. Kathie (then my girlfriend) and the ground crew were talking about "the jumper who wouldn't leave the plane..."

My life insurance agent told me to quit. I did; my liver thanked me.

This was learning to skydive the old fashioned way: just you making a gut check in the door. You weren't in a "stick" and trotting out the door. There was no drill instructor to scream you into leaving the plane! There was none of this wimp crap of strapping yourself to an instructor and being carried out into the sky! It was all about fear and acting in spite of that fear! It was certainly the bravest thing I've ever done.

If this picture wasn't taken of me in the car, after the second jump, it should have been! It was taken that summer.

The spring of 1996, we visited this jump school. Rather, we visited what was left of the jump school. All that was left was the remnants of the two buildings. The grass air strip looked like a marshland. My inlaws told us that the school had had too many fatal or serious accidents. There were some natural hazards near the jump site: a lumberyard behind the jump school, farmland fenced in with barbed wire on the other side of the air strip and high tension lines on the other side of the road leading into the school. Three major hazards within a quarter mile of the school! Finally, the city and state had discovered that the school owner did not have the proper permits for running this school. He was forced out of business. My relatives in Oregon talked about the owner facing criminal charges and wrongful death suites. (I'm only passing on what I've been told.) However, I wrote the mayor of Sheridan, Oregon for details about this school but haven't gotten a reply. (They couldn't be ashamed of the school, could they???)

Picture of the parachute packing shed and training area. The PLF practice area is to the right and behind the shed.

This is an interesting view. You see the aforementioned parachute packing shed, the platform we did PLFs from and a mobile trailer. This trailer contained the office. In the foreground is a water puddle; just one of many, many!

So, what do you think of this little tale?