"When we passed over a certain spot on the ground, Lieutenant Walkers, the jumpmaster, said, "Number One, stand up!" The first man stood on his feet. Walters looked him over, then gave the command, "Hook up!" "Number One" snapped the static line attached to his parachute to the steel anchor cable running down the center of the transport. Next came the command, "Stand in the door!" The student obeyed; for a few tense seconds he stood there ready for the leap into space. Then Lieutenant Walters said "Go!" Out went the tyro on his first trip to mother earth. The rest of us watched him gradually lose altitude and disappear far to the rear of the plane. Before I knew it, Numbers Two, Three, Four, Five and Six had gone. Then came Number Seven. "Captain Raff, stand up!" yelled Lieutenant Walters. "Hook up." I hooked up. "Stand in the door!" There I stood, looking out at the earth moving slowly by 1500 feet below. My hands lightly touched the metal fuselage, ready to make the push off. The propeller wash (we call it the "prop blast") came through the door in intermittent gusts. Thus, on the threshold of a new world, I waited for the fatal "go." I felt a tap on my right leg. Walters was saying, "Go! Go!" and out I went. Deep down a submerged voice seemed to be counting, "one thousand, two thousand, thr-" but before I could finish "three thousand" there was a jerking on my shoulders and I knew the chute had opened. It was a peculiar pain, strangely exhilarating. In spite of frequent shoulder bruises from the opening jar the real joy of having that chute open knows no bounds!"