Page 2/The Battalion/Thursday, February 19, 1987
Opinion
Skydive
What goes up
“How high are
we now?” I asked
him. The plane’s
engine drowned
out most of his re
sponse, but I think
he told me we
were flying at
about 350 feet,
which left about
2,650 feet to
climb.
Three hundred
Mike
Sullivan
fifty feet seemed plenty high enough to
jump.
The land below was beginning to
shape up into neat blocks — products of
careful surveying, I supposed. I
couldn’t have cared less about the indi
viduals who did the surveying, but they
had done a good job. As 1 pondered the
blocks of land, however, I realized that I
did care about the individual surveyors.
They were probably good people with
good families and good intentions and
someday those good people would be
rewarded for their good intentions
and . . .
Something about impending death
tweaks my mind, making me think good
thoughts about people.
I get this bizarre idea that thinking
positively about people will make up for
all the bad things I’ve ever thought
about others, and that the Power-That-
Be will look favorably upon my new
frame of mind when deciding my fate.
The concept is similar to the mur
derer who, on his death bed, says he ac
cepts Jesus Christ as the real thing and,
supposedly, a lifetime of wrong is
righted, allowing him to slip into heaven
at the last minute. (I
can afford to be
cocky now. I have
both feet on the
ground.)
My mind contin
ued to ramble good
things about strang
ers until I could
stand it no longer.
“How high now?”
“About 6d() feet,”
Steve said, holding
up six or so fingers. I
command to climb out onto the plane’s
wheel, and, fighting winds that would
have put Hurricane Alicia to shame, I
grabbed for the bar under the wing.
The next thing I knew, I was dan
gling from the wing of a plane looking
down on creation and humming the ly
rics to “God Bless America.” Then I let
g°-
The sound of the plane’s engine
faded almost instantly as I fell. I felt the
parachute opening as it tugged at my
back — probably the best feeling I’ve
ever felt — and I began to drift through
the sky.
I slowly opened my eyes, looked up at
my parachute and then scanned the
earth for the airport, which was sup
posed to be my landing site. Having
found the airport, I began to relax.
My mind was free of daily worries. I
thought not about homework, class pro
jects, money or filling this page.
I was so carefree and content as I flew
through the sky suspended by my nylon
friend that I wouldn’t have traded
mere bag of seashells for a 4.0 GPR at
mid-term.
I greeted reality, however, as I
watched my landing target go by be
neath my feet. I sailed over a highway
about 300 yards off course and looked
down at such eyesores as telephone
lines, trees, garbage dumps, more trees,
bulls in a field, more trees and a number
of seemingly sharp objects. I never real
ized how pointy everything looks when
trying to find a good place to land. Had
I a bag of seashells at this point, I proba
bly whould have traded it for a safe
landing.
My landing problem was solved for
me, however, when I
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From left, Karl Pallmeyer, Mike Nahas and Mike Sullivan
Photo by Irani French,
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dency t<
must come
Almost every
one said I was
crazy, but I had to
do it.
decided I wasn’t going to ask him again.
I looked over at Karl Pallmeyer and
Mike Nahas sitting toward the back of
the plane in an attempt to draw some
emotional strength from their faces.
I saw the back of Karl’s helmet. I
drew no strength. I looked over at Mike.
He was gazing at a cloud. This was to be
a strictly solo effort.
We reached the desired altitude of
about 3,000 feet, cruised for a bit, and
then, with an evil smile, Steve swung
open the plane door to hell.
Until that moment, I had been under
the impression that things like decapi
tated bodies, dark alleys in New York
City, late-night thriller movies and the
Corps barber shop were scary. The term
was instantly redefined for me.
Looking down at the tiny model-like
buildings, cars, roads and ant-like peo
ple from the wing of an airplane flying
over 100 mph at 3,000 feet is scary.
Contemplating my jump was horrifying.
Steve looked me in the eyes and
yelled, “Swing out!” I stuck my feet
through the plane’s door. He gave the
felt a cluster of tree-
tops scratching at my
shoes. Abandoning
everything I had
learned in the six-
hour skydiving class
about the “banana”
landing position —
which is supposed to
reduce the impact of
a hard landing — I
immediately as
sumed my old
I’ve always be
lieved a columnist
should experience
all he can. At least
that was a good
justification for
my skydiving es
capade last week
end. The experi-
Karl
Pallmeyer
standby crash formation, the fetus posi
tion, and ate tree bark.
ences before, during and after my jump
really have given me a new outlook on
several things.
Most of Friday night was spent learn
ing the ups and downs of skydiving. I
learned what to do if everything went
right or if some things went wrong. The
chances of something going wrong are
slim, but there were a couple of bad
omens.
Racing motocross as a teenager had
rudely introduced me to many a tree
trunk, but this was the first time I had
ever found myself entangled in a tree 40
feet off the ground.
But endless summers in my youth
spent climbing trees served me well as I
was able to climb down the tree unhurt.
So here I am, alive and well after
hours of fearful anticipation, minutes of
sheer terror at 3,000 feet and seconds of
panic at 40 feet — all for three or so
blissful minutes in the sky. And I ask
myself, what made me do it? I can only
respond that I can hardly wait to do it
again.
Mike Sullivan is a senior journalism
major and the Opinion Page editor for
The Battalion.
The first bad omen came when Sam
White, the instructor, told us the chutes
were packed by a guy who was in the
Corps and on the Traditions Council.
Considering the nature of some of our
columns, Sullivan and I didn’t enjoy
hearing that bit of news.
The second bad omen came while
practicing the “banana” landing posi
tion — the best way to hit the ground to
avoid injury if you come in too fast to
land on your feet. While trying my
hand at the “banana,” I banged my
head against the mat with enough force
to spend the next few minutes counting
stars. My first skydiving injury and I
hadn’t even left the ground.
After class Friday night, I dropped
by a party thrown by some fellow jour
nalists. I didn’t stay too long because I
had to get up the next morning for the
jump and I was getting tired of all my
friends arguing about who would get
my records, videotapes, books, com
puter and cat after I had to be scraped
off the ground.
I went back to the airfield Saturday
ready to complete my training. We
practiced jumping and emergency pro
cedures. We finished all the ground
work and waited around until the
clouds lifted enough for us to jump. Af
ter a couple of hours and a dozen calls
to the weatherman, we were given the
go-ahead. We decided the first three to
jump would be Sullivan, Mike Nahas,
who had jumped before, and me. 1
would be the second guy out of the
plane, right after Sullivan.
The plane climed to about 3,000 feet
and Sullivan bailed out. When I saw his
chute open, 1 felt better about the whole
thing. I crawled into position and the
jumpmaster hooked my static line to the
pilot’s seat. I waited for the door to l>e
opened.
The door was opened and I was told
“feet out.” Panic began to set in. The
wind was blowing so hard 1 could almost
feel my high-top Kaepas being blown all
the way to Kansas. I didn’t understand
how I was going to “swing out” into the
wind until the pilot cut the engines and
the wind died down to mere hurricane
force. Once I grabbed the strut, 1 real
ized I could hang like this for the next
100 years if necessary.
I was given the command to “arch,”
and I let go. I didn’t think about much
until my chute opened a few seconds
(years) later.
The risers attaching me to my chute
were twisted, but no problem. I remem
bered my training, grabbed the risers,
pulled and twisted my body until every
thing was untwisted. Everything was
cool, and I was ready to enjoy a nice ride
back down to the ground.
As I was floating in the air, thousands
of feet above the world, I felt great. I
gave out a yell that could be heard all
the way to Sommerville. The feeling you
get while skydiving is better than sex —I
guess.
After a little while, I noticed the air-
port where 1 was supposed tokift
directly under me and moviii;fc
fast. 1 nstead of simply yellingfoiiHL s t j u
should have watched where
Brioir long, 1 was looking yfirst-tim
mgs. telephone lines, roads,tree;Hr as
and other things 1 didn't wanuff S ras
t , . ahniKTs
coming closer and closer tonie ,)
i/ed 1 was going to land six::^R u tes
hoped l would clear the patcyp Final I
below me and land in the field donrot
yond. No such luck. 1 landed, V 11
Would l<
the trees — three feet in front
ticularly nasty mesquite tree.
As 1 was coming in for a
had one thing in my head-
should have been thinking BAMl
landed, sort of, on my feetantil
My knee hurt quite a bit, bull ill
immediately so the skydivingf
wouldn’t worry about me. l l
they might be mad that I hungl
their expensive chutes in a itl
when they arrived at my landii
only a couple of minutes after ll
ground, I saw that their main I
was making sure 1 was alrigltg
kind of embarrassed to land soil
the airport until I learned (hail
had landed in a tree about I’l
further away.
1 hobbled back to the airpoj
my story to all who would listen
bination of ego and the t
perience kept me from a
hurt.
By the time I got back ho»
ever, I realized I was hurt and
the doctor. I had pulledsomelf
The doctor wrapped my knee®
me some boring drugs and
crutches.
For the next two weeks 1*
ing another experience—t
ence of being handicapped,
soon as my leg heals, I’m goii
another jump. And this dint
perfect.
JThe
eiced is
of the ‘
Coulter
Karl Pallmeyer is a journM
uate and a columnist for The"
The Battalion
(USPS 045 360)
Member of
Texas Press Association
Southwest Journalism Conference
The Battalion Editorial Board
Loren Steffy, Editor
Marybeth Rohsner, Managing Editor
Mike Sullivan, Opinion Page Editor
Jens Koepke, City Editor
Jeanne Isenberg, Sue Krenek, News Editors
Homer Jacobs, Sports Editor
Tom Ownbey, Photo Editor
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Mail Call
Facts support themselves
Friendly campus
EDITOR:
EDITOR:
In response to The Battalion’s Feb. 12 edition of “At
Ease” with the theme “Looking for Love:”After reading
the article “Smart Sex,” I was quite amazed at the number
of sexually active students here at Texas A&M. It is also
disturbing to find that The Battalion gives indirect
support of sexual activity by allowing the article to
advertise the use of contraceptives. Putting that aside, let
me address the issue of the high percentage of sexually
active students.
Monday evening, Feb. 9, two friends and Lwert
studying in our normal spot in the library an
the whole place became extremely noisy,
study for about half an hour at the same noise
I commented to my friend saying, “This is ridiculoj
guy at the table in front of me had the nerve to turt
around and say quite rudely, “Hey, if you want ton
home!” And he and all of his friends continued tot®;
even louder.
It is entirely natural to want to have sex before
marriage, but acting upon that urge could destroy the
future relationship you will have with your wife/husband
because you must carry the guilt of already having had sex
(Hebrews 13:4). I believe that God created sex so that a
man and his wife can enjoy it and be as close together as
two can possibly be (Genesis 2 :24). And, if you find
yourself in a close situation with a woman or a man,
accordingly, just remember that God “. . . will not allow
you to be tempted beyond that which you are able, but
with the temptation will provide the way of escape also,
that you may be able to endure it.” But you must believe in
God first (iCorinthians 10:13, John 3:16).
Rob Huff ’90
I thought the library was a place to study—n
socialize. And for those of you who don’t know,!
group study sections on the 3rd and 4th floors.
As for the guy who made the comment, I hope"
accomplished something by it. Maybe you actual!'
impressed your friends.
Stephanie Everest ’89
accompanied by two signatures
Letters to the editor should not exceed 300 words in length. Tht d'
serves the right to edit letters for style and length, hut will mh> v
maintain the author’s intent. Each letter must be signed and musli^
sification, address and telephone number of the writer.
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