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Additional Text for the 7/4/04 Alumni Sandstorm 
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>>From: George "Pappy" Swan ('59)

Below are my after thoughts on a day of skydiving many years ago:
 
Skydiving
The "in verse" of Sky Falling
 
By 
G. Andrew Swan
 
Sitting in the airplane
Peering all around
At 5,000 feet
Up above the ground
 
Wondering what he was doing
Away up there
Trying to look cool
And choking back the fear
 
From goggled helmets
Eyes are peering
Over the motors roaring
No chance of hearing
 
He scoots his legs
Across the floor
When the jumpmaster motions
Him to the door
 
Its his first freefall
So this is for real
He carefully puts
His foot on the wheel
 
There, in the slipstream
And the engine sound
A tiny red +
 Way down on the ground
 
Out of the airplane
His throat is a lump
Afraid he might fall
Even though he will jump
 
It comes his time
And he's gone with a yell
Damned if he hasn't just
Slipped and fell
 
He will never know
How he was able
To keep himself falling
Somewhat stable
 
When it came time to pull
He was headed straight down
Seemingly intent on boring
A hole in the ground
 
Falling straight down
He knew it was trouble
The chute opened with a jerk
And bent him half double
 
Hanging there waiting
For the ground to hit
He couldn't help but wonder
If he was cut out for this stuff?
  
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Sky Falling
By G. Andrew Swan
  
The year was 1963. The location was over the airport at
Carson City, Nevada. The old DeHavilland Beaver lumbered
through the sky about 5,000 feet above the ground level.
Inside, the pilot sat in the only seat. Beside and behind
him, men in brightly colored jump suits and parachute packs
huddled. Eyes peered intently from goggled helmets.

One of the skydivers had left the plane seconds before and
appeared to glide in a prone freefall momentarily before
pulling the D-ring handle of the ripcord. Those still in the
plane had all leaned over to watch out of the open door,
tracking the jumper until his candy striped chute blossomed.
There he hung above the earth below, suspended under the
bright orange and white canopy.

Now it was Andy's turn. The jump master and pointed at him
and motioned toward the open door. Andy scooted his legs
over to the left side of the airplane where the door had
been removed. Nearing the door opening, he was now more
aware of the slipstream tugging at his jump suit and the
sound of the engine became a deafening roar.

Andy very cautiously placed his right foot on the wheel.
Even though the pilot had assured him the brakes would be
locked so the wheel could not turn, he still tested it. It
held. It was reassuring. His right hand grasping the special
handle mounted on the front door post, he slid his left hand
out along the wing strut. He was set. His left leg dangling
in space, he looked down and ahead at the ground. He
recognized a number of landmarks, the runways of the
airport, hangers, the little lake lake, and Carson City,
itself. Most importantly, he saw the tiny red + of the drop
zone target.

Suddenly, a crazy feeling swept over him. He was afraid, yes
afraid he might fall. Yet, in a few seconds he was going to
jump anyway. Andy glanced to his right at the jump master,
who was leaning out of the doorway, watching the target on
the ground and directing the pilot with hand signals. The
pilot, in leather jacket, baseball cap and mirrored glasses,
looked so unconcerned.

Andy was shocked back to the reality of the situation when
he happened to look down and saw the D-ring handle of the
rip cord hanging out of its pocket on his left chest strap.
What should he do? He could show the jump master, and crawl
back into the airplane and tuck the handle back into the
pocket and then do it all over again. That would mean the
plane would have to go around again. But, ironically, before
they took off, he had been talking to an older guy, a former
Army Paratrooper, on the ground who had described the exact
same experience. 

"To hell with it," Andy thought, "If he can do it, so can I.
And, these Air Force guys that we're jumping with, though
more experienced, are always kidding us Marines, damned if
I’ll give them another excuse." Then the jump master pointed
a finger at him and mouthed the word, "Go!" But any sound
was lost and carried away in the wind-washed roar of the
motor. Andy kicked his dangling leg up behind him. Then, in
a fashion very unbecoming to the scrutiny of the more
experienced skydivers sitting in the airplane and intently
watching him, his other foot slipped off the wheel. But they
were most impressed when he left as they heard him yell,
"Geronimo!" When, in reality had they only known, he was
screaming, "I don't wanna go!" 

Andy felt the bottom drop out of everything. The air rushed
over him and the fear welled up in him. Somehow he managed a
halfway stable body position as he fell, belly down and
spread-eagled. He managed to remember to count, "One
thousand-one, One thousand-two, one thousand-three." Then he
reached against the pressure of the air rushing over him for
the D-ring. "What?" It wasn't there. His hand searched
again, then frantically clawed, but found no D-ring handle.
How was he supposed to pull the rip cord?

Faintly, at first, then loudly, he became aware of a rattle
on the side of his helmet. "That's it! The guy said it
happened to him." He swiped at his head and snared the D-
ring. With a grateful yank, he pulled the ripcord.

Through all of his flailing about, his body had nosed over
into a head-down position as he fell. The joyful exertion of
finding the life-giving handle and pulling it with his right
hand caused a spiral motion of his body to begin. "Uh Oh,"
Upside down, corkscrewing, and looking back between his
legs, Andy realized he was not in a good position for the
chute to open as he watched the pilot chute pulling the
sleeve from the long folds of the canopy.

WHOP! A harsh jerk followed as the chute cracked opened and
bringing him to a sudden halt as his legs were snapped
around, bending him at the waist until his knees hit his
goggles and helmet. The chest buckle of the parachute
harness smacked into his mouth. "Humpf!" he grunted into his
crotch because by now his knees were next to his ears.

Then all was still. Andy hung oscillating in his rigging,
slowly unwinding under the canopy. Pulling his arm out of a
twist in the riser strap, he felt his face. Still there. His
gloved hand came away bloody from his mouth but his teeth
seemed to be OK. Hanging there, somewhat dazed, he noticed
the blood dripping onto his yellow jumpsuit and boots. As
the ground gradually rose to meet him, he wondered, "Am I
really cut out for this stuff?"

Then, gradually, because seconds had seemed like minutes, he
collected his wits and looked up. "Good canopy! I'm alive.
Life is beautiful. Damn, that was fun. Watching the little
figures on the ground pointing and waving to him, he
thought, 'Wonder if I can go up again after I get down
there?"
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