The Great Parachute Jump

Edwin H. Cooper, writer of human interest stories and articles, has been published in many Texas magazines and newspapers, and prior to his death was active in numerous civic and school organizations. His book, 40 Years at Aggieland, was published in 2013.

Dogfights, as they were called, between United States Army Air Force planes and those of the enemy during World War II were dutifully recorded on Movie-Tone News and in war movies shown on the silver screen. Though U.S. pilots occasionally were outgunned, the pilots nearly always ejected from their flaming craft and parachuted to safety onto land or sea below. To stimulate interest in early Christmas shopping the San Marcos Chamber of Commerce capitalized on the war-time popularity of parachuting. At a well-advertised moment, a fully dressed Santa Claus would hang onto the wing of a single engine airplane droning slowly over the court house square as the crowd gathered below. Suddenly, Santa would release his grip and thrill the crowd with his descent onto the vacant lot where carnivals were held, a block off the court house square. This jump officially launched the Christmas Season. Because of war-time heroics and Santa Claus himself, handlaunched miniature parachuting became the obsession of young folk all over town. Our only options were simulated jumps with whatever materials were at hand, mainly handkerchiefs, string and weights of every description. Rocks, nuts, bolts, spark plugs, for example. We tried everything we could tie onto. The home-made parachutes fell short of perfection. Sometimes the ‘chutes wouldn’t open. Others would open and drip like lead bricks. Some flitted away with the wind like disoriented butterflies. Always there seemed to be a weight problem. Deep research of the dictionary led to the inspiration for the great parachute jump: “parachute, a cloth contrivance shaped like an umbrella when expanded, and used to retard the falling speed of a person or thing dropping from an airplane. The key word was umbrella.” Mother’s giant beach umbrella was taken from storage and found to be in excellent condition. It fit exactly the dictionary description of a parachute, and it was ready made for action. With the help of a stepladder, I mounted the corrugated iron roof of our garage, dragging the beach umbrella along with me to the peak, some 14 feet above the gravel driveway. With the umbrella opened and held firmly by two sweaty hands, the gravel landing area looked hard and a long way off. But I was convinced that the perfect parachute would cause me to waft lightly through the air, much as a sycamore leaf in the gentle fall breeze. I jumped while screaming Geronimo! As you are supposed to. The descent was very rapid and no wafting occurred whatever. Instantly after landfall, the metal tipped umbrella pole pounded heavily atop my large toe on the right foot. While attempting to scream in pain my chin clamped down on my bended knee, causing a severe bite to the tongue. And, my-oh-my, did I see stars as I lay in crumpled, painful defeat. The only good part of the great parachute jump was that there were no witnesses to my humiliation. So I had time to properly develop the story. This episode brought about my retirement from the dangerous field of parachuting. It enabled me to spend a great deal more time helping G.B. Rush build his homemade canvas glider and launching track up on the top of Adobe Cliff, overlooking the football practice field where we would land.