Geronimo!
Lt. Col. John Crandall, USA-Ret., lives in Hungry Horse, Mont., and still jumps at the chance to try new things.

From mid-1968 to mid-1969, I was a member of an advisory team to the Vietnamese National Military Academy. As such, I had the opportunity to jump with the academy cadets when they took their airborne qualification training. I was a gung ho junior major at the time and thought Vietnamese parachute wings would go well with the American wings I had earned 10 years earlier. It was a chance I didn’t want to miss.

Another member of the advisory team joined me in taking this opportunity, but before my friend and I were allowed to jump with the academy cadets, we were required to attend one day of refresher training at the Vietnamese airborne school, just outside of Saigon. An experienced parachutist with 88 jumps to his credit, my fellow advisor could have been conducting rather than participating in the course, but nevertheless, we went along with the program.

One of the training devices found in many military airborne schools and used in our refresher course is the tower. Designed to teach the proper technique for exiting an aircraft, the 34-foot tower is a wooden structure with a room at the top that is accessed via an external ladder. Before jumping, trainees are hooked into a harness exactly like the one on a military parachute, complete with a reserve parachute attached to the front. The trainee stands in the doorway, and the harness is hooked to a steel cable that runs from the tower down to a pole. Between the doorway and the pole, however, is a 12- to 14-foot-tall berm, where two other trainees stand ready to catch the jumpers as they slide down the cable. Once they have stopped the jumper, he or she is unhooked from the cable, and the next jumper is sent from the tower with the command “Go!”.

When it was my turn to jump from the tower, I climbed the ladder to the little room, strapped on the harness, and stood in the door. At the time, I was about 6 feet 5 inches tall and, adorned in jungle fatigues, combat boots, a helmet, and other gear, weighed about 240 pounds. Looking down from the tower, I could see the two Vietnamese teenagers—boys who were about 5 feet 5 inches tall and maybe 100 pounds—waiting to catch me on the berm.

When I heard the command “Go!”, I jumped from the doorway and began my ride down the cable, gaining speed as I went. The two young cadets on top of the berm bravely stood their ground as what must have seemed like a gigantic creature came flying at them. Their eyes grew bigger and bigger, and before they knew it, I was there. The two young men each grabbed onto a leg and hung on tightly as I flew over the berm without even slowing down.

When I finally reached the end of the cable, the cadets dropped onto the level ground, both thankful they were still able to move. The harness settled back along the cable until the cadets, who had climbed back up on the berm, could reach and release me from the harness.

I moved out of their way as quickly as I could so the two young men could prepare for the next jumper. Then, in horror, they looked back at the tower. Standing in the doorway, and matching me in size, was my fellow American advisor, stepping forward to take his turn.