Our squad of men at Fort Benning was led by a 26-year-old ex-soldier that had re-enlisted to go to Vietnam. All of us younger than him realized that maybe just maybe, this wasn’t what we wanted to do. On our arrival to the barracks, he had all of us put our hands together, proclaiming no one would quit, no one would drop out, period.

Standing in cold and rain looking at the 250’ tower, knowing it will soon be mine to conquer. The tower idea is more like a mind game than an obstacle. For someone that had never really flown in a plane but once, with my father, for 30 minutes, it was a challenge to think that I would jump out.

The speech upon the start of jump school had many drop out when given the chance to do at that moment in time. The speech reminded us that many want have jump wings pinned when the class of 49 was over. The endless running, the cold and training itself, was more then many men could endure.

Here I am in C-119 ready to take off,for my very first jump.luck would have it, I am sitting next to the door and will be the first man out on my side of the plane. These planes are world war two vintage, and as it rolls down the runway to take off, the rivets holding the aircraft together are popping out like bullets. (later on, I was told that the rivets were too small for the holes anymore, so they re-riveted every so many flights)

My jumpmaster screams stand up, hook up static lines , stand in the door speaking to me. The wind blowing and the ground looks miles away i am wondering if I am truly ready to jump, when the jumpmaster we are to far to right ,we are going to make another pass,just hold on. The plane turns such that i am in the door facing the ground face down, my fear is growing, as my insides wonders how do you get out of this situation.

The drop zone (DZ) is fast approaching. The jumpmaster can sense the fear, I guess; he winks as he gives me the jump signal, and out I go. My chute opened,it was a beautiful sight, in fact i stopped paying any attention to the ground until the last second, they tell you not to look at the ground to react when your feet touch. I was to busy looking at the chute, my peek at the ground caused me to stiffen up upon hitting the ground, I sprain my right foot so bad I couldn’t walk.

The men in my squad, especially the older soldier, helped me back to the barracks. I honestly thought that my jumping time was over. The boot had to be cut off, and once released, it swelled twice the size. The officer told them to take me to the post-hospital, but the older soldier told him they had it. They put ice on my foot every 30 minutes and heat every thirty minutes; I could sleep with heat; the cold was pure punishment. This went on all night. The following day couldn’t put any weight on my foot at all, someone got some type of numbing cream, and I was able to put my size eight into a size 11 and get laced up. Slowly I could walk a little, and they never let me stop; even at breakfast, they made me an egg sandwich, and I walked. My second jump and third went without a hitch; my fourth was terrible; my foot, by this time, was almost unbearable. The older soldier told me we almost made it; you must go to sick call and miss this last jump; you are hurting too bad. I can still feel my emotions of myself in answering him that morning; I will jump today if I never jump again. I did jump; wings were pinned to my chest. The older soldier that re-join to go to Vietnam ,did go, was wounded shortly after arriving, and was sent to the 82nd airborne as I was leaving the 82nd headed to the 101st airborne,for my year Vietnam vacation.