Word: jumped
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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South American natives throw themselves into masculinity and society from 90 foot platforms with 84 foot vines tied to their feet. In Taunton, Mass., they would jump from planes. Those who jumped and made it would be the heroes, the models and the mentors. Some would jump with aloofness, some would jump to teach, some would jump to die. But all of them, I thought, would have acolytes, attendants and trifles. The wind would wave their scarves, ruffle their jump suits and their hair like no one else's--even dust would look good on them, glistening on their cheeks...
...slowly roll out of their cars, struggle to stand erect and stretch and scratch their heads, stomachs or buttocks. They yawn and speak of last night, of all that beer. A paunchy man, dressed in blue jeans and a dirty white sweat shirt ambles towards us. "You here to jump?" A moment of silence. "Well my, my name is Pete, I'm your rigger," he says. "That means I pack your chutes." Still silence. "Hey, don't look so worried, I didn't drink too much last night," he roars, hoisting himself into the trailer...
...Those of you here for the classes and jump, please enter and sign in please," a dark haired woman says. She passes out three forms, one for the American Sky Jumpers Association, one for the Taunton Sport Parachuting Center, and one for the sake of everyone but the sky jumper and his family, in case of the most unfortunate incident. The latter is an eight paragraph, single sentence document freeing the center, its employees, their relatives, the town of Taunton, and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts from any responsibilities, financial obligations or guilt in the event of "the quickest fall...
Outside the trailer a stocky man says that he's Bruce Maclaughlin, the instructor and jump master that will who will later on be the one who goes up in the plane with us and gives us the push out the door. Maclaughlin is as sharp-eyed and as brusque as a boot camp sergeant. He spreads his legs, arching and throwing his head back yelling, "ARCHTHOUSAND, TWO THOUSAND, THREE THOUSAND, FOUR THOUSAND, FIVE THOUSAND, SIX THOUSAND, LOOK" he looks to his left heel. "LOOK." He looks to a release on his right pelvis, "PULL". He pulls the release. "PUNCH...
Maclaughlin laces his boots, puts on his jump suit, goggles and helmet. As jump master, he oversees the strapping in of the first three he will guide out of the plane. He picks three of us and indifferently directs us toward the suit up area. He kids us although we are grim faced and jokes with his comrades with the same type of wildness that would make him chuckle and shrug when hearing of a chain saw massacre...