The following are excerpts from a forthcoming book – Paratrooper: My Life with the 101st Airborne Division by Michael B. Kitz-Miller. As on reviewer comments “for those elite paratrooper veterans, this book will bring back rich memories.” Paratrooper will be available from Page Publishing Company Spring, 2015. Airborne School at the “Benning School for Boys” When the bus drove into Ft. Benning late fall of 1963, and I saw the big sign indicating the Infantry School with all the individual schools like Airborne, Ranger, Pathfinder and OCS along with so many famous divisions like the 101st and 82nd Airborne Division, I had chills running up and down my spine. I actually had a few tears in my eyes. It was really an emotional experience for me; I think I had come home and this was the start of my next great adventure taking me back to my beloved Northumberland, roaming by myself out in the woods far from our house. For the first time I felt that I was in the real Army, and Benning was really something special. It is truly the "Queen of Battles," not what many call the "Benning School for Boys." You could see the main apparatus they used in training - the 34 foot towers and the massive 250 foot towers with gigantic parachutes, much larger than the ones you actually jump with. Added to all that, all I seem to see are soldiers limping around, in casts and crutches. But then you see someone wearing bloused boots that are spit shined with a "Screaming Eagle" and Ranger patch on their shoulder and you can't wait to earn those yourself. Then my eyes turn elsewhere and see someone with the same 101st or 82nd patch on their right shoulder, meaning they fought with that division in combat. They all deserve a salute, a tribute for their past courage! Any way, it is definitely Rock and Roll time, and this twenty one year old was ready! Well, I hope so. To be honest my stomach was churning a bit. Truth was, I was a tad scared for what lay ahead as well. We all were. All of a sudden the joke about jumping out of a perfectly fine aircraft came to mind. As soon as we disembarked from our bus we were being verbally harassed and dropped for pushups, called the lowest, worst scum they, the cadre had ever seen. It was part of the drill. I was soon to realize their purpose in life was to do everything they could to wash out as many candidates as possible. I would soon discover they were very good at their job. This approach to training was to continue in many of the schools I attended, but I never let it bother me. I was always up to the task, and knew they only wanted the best, and you might even be making your second try at Airborne, but if you couldn't hack the requirements it didn't matter - you were out. I would also find later that this approach changed. When Vietnam kicked in, it seemed like the requirements for jump school were relaxed a bit. They needed to fill the gaps in the airborne divisions that tended to be our first line of defense in war along with the Marines and other similar specialty groups. We were pushed into formation and double timed (called an airborne shuffle, a slow jog taking short steps) to our new barracks. For me it was Class 20 B, 43rd Company (Abn), 4th Student Battalion (TSB). The complete class of enlisted men, non-commissioned officers and officers was 1,000 men. Seems like a lot, but they had the training facilities to handle that many, plus there was an expected attrition rate. I soon discovered our class dwindle in size over the next weeks. Some would leave voluntarily and others because of injury or illness. If the latter two, you got to start all over again when healed. The first week was highly physical. Paratroopers need to be in great shape to withstand actual jumping and landing, as well as perform their mission, which tended to be behind enemy lines, such as on D-Day in WW II. In addition there were airplane mockups where you learned the jump commands that took place in the airplane just prior to jumping, standing in the door, exiting and landing. The latter was pretty much keeping your bended knees together, your arms and head tucked into your chest and a drop and roll onto your shoulders. We performed these exercises over and over again until they were routine. We never walked or marched, rather we ran everywhere and dropped for pushups constantly. It was wearing. At the end of the week we had a PT (Physical Training) test, necessary to pass and advance to week two. I passed with no problems. Week two begins and much of the time is to be spent on the 34 foot tower, which I'm immediately apprehensive about. The tower at 34 feet is much higher than you think. Go up to a third floor office building and look down; it will give you a feel for the height. The tower itself is a small mockup of an airplane door. There is a steel cable that runs from the top down to ground level about fifty yards away; it's similar to a short zip line. The trainee wears a harness of webbing the same as a real parachute; straps around your thighs and around your shoulders converging at the center of your chest with a round buckle, or quick release plate where the four straps converge. It's similar to the straps in your car, but with the four straps inserted into the metal buckle. When you punch the buckle as you would after landing a parachute jump, the straps release along with the parachute attached. In this case there is no parachute, just the straps. For the 34 foot tower jump your real reserve chute is attached in the front about where your belly button is located, to two metal D rings at your side. The purpose of the exercise is to simulate an actual exit from the airplane and the feel of the downward fall from the airplane. What it does not simulate is the prop blast from the powerful engines of a real airplane that propels you backward, nor gravity dropping the parachutist. It would be a back and down motion. In a real jump from an airplane as powerful as a C-130 the force is about 3-Gs. And, of course for military jumps the exit doors are actually at the back of the plane, one on each side. From the tower there is enough speed and fall to give you a feel of when a chute would open and the incredible jerk, especially in the groin area. If you have not tightened your straps sufficiently you can really hurt yourself. You should get the picture: tight straps but not over your important body parts. The cadre are also watching your exit to see it is accurate with head tucked in, knees together and bent slightly. Frankly, on my first jump from the tower I was a tad scared. We had obviously seen others go and not hurt themselves. I still remember an old adage for such activity - "trust your equipment," but until you've done it a lot, it's still a bit scary. My turn. I make two jumps. The first not bad, but it plain jerks the hell out of me and the speed coming down was much faster than I expected. I also did the standard count of "one thousand", "two thousand," "three thousand," "four thousand." No "Geronimo" any more, but at the end of the count your parachute should be fully deployed. Not the best exit on my part, so, with straps off I'm jogged back to the tower for my second jump and more pushups while waiting my next try. It's impossible to do anything perfect enough to not receive pushups. If my first exit was average, the second was absolutely terrible, and I seriously injured myself for the first time in the Army. I had not tightened my leg straps nearly enough. The jerk hurt like hell. I thought I might have injured my private parts permanently and might never be able to have sex for the rest of my life. Because the straps were loose the release plate pulled upward, gashed my chin in a major way and I obviously bit down and took a nice chunk out of my tongue. I bled all over the front of my fatigues, but the injury was not enough for stitches. But, strangely it's fun for me, and we get to do it all week and a little next week. Even with the pain, I still loved the exercises. Why was I so happy? Adventures are always fun. Unfortunately, the weather was taking a turn for the worse. Serious cold weather was coming in. For Georgia this was not normal. The next day I'm still woozy from the bloody jump. My tongue is swollen and sore, my head aches, my jaw aches, my throat is sore, I can barely talk, and I have an upset stomach. Good thing it was Friday because I'm a complete wreck. No sick call, though. If I lose four hours training time in one week I get to return to "Go" and start all over again. No "Get out of jail card" here; they recycle you. And, no one wants to go through this hell more than once. Next up the 250 foot tower. The tower holds four parachutes which are much larger than normal. With the enlarged size it allows for more air within the parachute, thus allowing you to come down more slowly. And, they have the ground all around the area plowed, making it less likely for someone to get hurt. I'm actually amazed at the whole training. I've become less afraid of each new piece of equipment, such as the tower. You're simply attached and hauled up to maximum height of 250 feet, then with a clank you're released. They simply want to see that you can keep clear of the tower by feeling the direction of the wind then climbing the risers (the straps attaching the individual to the actual parachute) to push you in the right direction. It is all very cool and I had a blast. I passed that phase with ease. I'm ready to go back up for a re-do. But, now I've got other problems. I'm as sick as I've ever been in my life. It is much more than a cold. A terrible hacking cough. I know I have a temperature, but no way am I going on sick call. Strange. The cadre sense that I'm sick, but fighting it. The old bursitis has come back in my wrist and every time I get down for PT or called to do pushups it feels like my wrist is going to break. I'm still waiting for a little money from home for the Christmas leave, and not sure about Susan, my fiancé. She's talking about my going up to Gettysburg College for the holidays. She finally made the "Choir" and their going in early for practices before this year's tour, which will be Europe. It gets better. Now we have to make first and second choices about where to be stationed after jump school. I'm not positive we actually have a choice. Mine appear to be the 503rd or 504th Airborne in Germany or the 101st Airborne Division (Screaming Eagles) in Ft. Campbell, Kentucky. I'm still not sure about OCS. Does it make sense or just an issue of prestige? If I go to Germany with overseas pay, jump pay and if I get advanced to corporal, I'd probably make as much as a plain vanilla 2nd Lieutenant. Plus, I'd get a chance for all the art, music, culture and traveling in Europe for two and a half years. It was also playing on my mind that if I want to make the service a career, I'd finish my education first then go back to OCS, then Ranger School and/or Pathfinder School, etc. I want to share my thoughts with my parents and girlfriend. A body in my current condition is not helping matters. Tomorrow is the last day and week of ground training which makes me happy, but I'm as sick as I've ever been in my life. I think I'm dying but will not, absolutely will not go on sick call, when I'm just a day or two from leaving for Christmas leave. To not return to Benning in time, and have to start all over again is not an option either. No Way! Tomorrow comes with the requirement of making five perfect jumps off the 34 foot tower. All of my qualifying jumps are perfect giving me a total of seven qualifying jumps. I've passed. In my company there actually close to fifty guys that have none! None! Very few soldiers have seven. I'm feeling better already. Looking forward to home for a couple weeks and help from our family doctor. I've been living on aspirin for probably a week. I'm positive the cadre know I'm hurting, but none of them have approached me or done anything. Not sure why. Honor Graduate is on the back of my mind, but I’m skeptical about the possibilities. After all I’m competing against hundreds of others. To top things off the area has had the coldest record in history. We actually had one guy in the company that had a finger that froze to his steel pot (helmet) at morning formation. Then they want you to take off your tee shirt. Something about its freezing cold, you exercise and sweat so the tee shirt actually makes you colder. That has to be some kind of oxymoron. Some of the things they require in the service don't make a lot of sense. So, out of one thousand trainees we're down to six hundred. There's a chance we may be able to make a couple of our qualifying jumps before I leave for home, but it depends on the weather. It's already been so cold they've closed down jump school for a day or two for the first time in the history of the school. But, there are things worse than cold weather. Weather is still bad, so no first jumps until the first of the year and the money from home comes just in time for me and a bunch of other good souls I've been with for almost six months to jump on buses for our homes. I'm finally on the bus for Salisbury and god almighty I'm sick. I am actually not sure I'm going to make it home. I've coughed so much I feel like I've ripped my throat. After many transfers the Carolina Trailways pulls into the bus terminal at home and I literally fall into my father's arms as I get off the bus. I'm immediately taken to Alberta Polin, our family doctor. Bronchial Pneumonia and a temperature they couldn't read. I was burning with fever. My worst nightmare was I wouldn't make it back to Ft. Benning in time for jump week. But good doctoring from Alberta and a lot of drugs and I was brought back to the living and able to take the bus trip back to Airborne School. I think I had spent the whole leave at home in bed. Back at Ft. Benning I and my airborne friends get ready to make our first jumps. We would be jumping out of C-123 airplanes, the precursor to the famous Hercules C-130. They looked the same except the C-123 was smaller and slower, only had two engines and probably didn't hold more than fifty paratroopers. Obviously two "sticks," meaning a row of troops on each side of the plane with a steel cable to hook up your static line. Your parachute has a 15 foot static line that attaches to the cable and as you exited the airplane your chute is pulled out of its pack. Weight and gravity snapped the bag that held the parachute. When the parachute was filled with air it opened. In the airplane you could see the static line attached to each pack, one for each paratrooper on each of the two exit doors. I had a big surprise waiting for me when all 600 of us formed up in a large hanger for our first of five jumps. They announced to everyone the three soldiers that had been chosen as candidates for Honor Graduate. To my surprise my name was announced. I went forward in front of everyone and was presented with a white helmet with my trainee number on it. I think it was number 518 but I can't really remember. I was a candidate for Honor Graduate. My hard work and diligence had paid off. Not giving up when I was sick as a dog, had probably been noticed. My seven perfect qualifying tower jumps had also helped. Along with myself was an officer and the other I think, was either a Specialist E-4 or Sergeant E-5 (I was a Private E-2) up for Honor Graduate. One of three out of an original class of one thousand, not bad folks. The white helmet was to identify us both inside the plane and to all the cadre on the ground watching each of our five qualifying jumps as we descended. So we "chute up," enter our planes and take off. A very short flight to get us at an altitude of one thousand to twelve hundred feet to jump. A couple of minutes before the green light would come on we're standing, hooking up, checking our own equipment and the person in front of you, pushing together as we move closer to the exit door. I'm actually not nervous, scared, nothing. I think the training is so tough and demanding, doing appropriate exercises over and over and over again makes everything seems automatic. By the time I hit the door, which is a matter of seconds, I'm out and tuck into my exit position, make my four thousand count and the chute opens with a huge jerk that goes through my whole body that made me wonder if I had hurt anything important. But, now I've exited and I'm fine. I'm oscillating (swinging) back and forth, but that slows down. Since I was back in the stick I couldn't see what the world looks like at from a thousand feet or more. I loved it, seeing all my brother paratroopers around me, the view, everything. Also a dumb move because I was not paying attention to the direction I was drifting, and as I got closer to the ground where I was likely to land. I should mention we were still using the same parachutes they used in the Second World War, which were designed to get you down as fast as possible and stay alive. So the relic I was using gave you minimal control of your direction. You literally have to climb the risers to allow any change in direction. Yet another reason they expect paratroopers to be in such good physical shape. The parachutes you see today are more either more rectangular or similar to the mushroom shape, but have a large air vent with toggles to let you control your direction. Well, it wasn't good. In my euphoria I was not doing what I was supposed to be doing, and had not noticed a ditch running through the DZ (Drop Zone). And, I was oscillating again. As I was about to land, I swung forward but still just short of the ground and top of the ditch. Then I swung back and my upper back, neck and head slammed back against a nice sized rock. Ouch! Real bad ouch! I hit my release plate, the straps popped off and I pulled in my chute to place in the jump bag to haul it back to our assembly position. Standing over me is a sergeant with a scowl on his face. There were words used not necessary here, and he continued to chew me out that it was probably the worst jump he had ever seen by someone that was supposed to be an Honor Graduate candidate. Now I not only hurt, but I feel I just blew my chances of Honor Grad with that rookie landing. By the time I get back to our company barracks I'm really hurting. As an aside I will mention I probably had a compression fracture. Years later that would be confirmed when back problems started showing up. During the course of the time I served as a paratrooper, and a total of 50 jumps I probably had at least two such fractures. Not because of poor performance, but due to high winds, extremely hard landings, typical during extremely cold weather. In this instance I was clearly lucky to have a special buddy who was just a couple bunks down from me. He said because his mother had so many back problems, he had been given a little training by a chiropractor to help his mom and save money. He thought he might be able to work on my back and neck a bit to relieve some of the pain. It seemed to work. That, and the fact I was young, just going into my twenty third year I felt much better, healing quickly. We made two jumps the next day and one the following day. They went well and I made terrific landings. Maybe I still have a shot at this. Of course, I don't know what the other two candidates had done. One jump to go and I'll have my "jump wings," see if I made Honor Grad and one step closer to OCS. We're jumping Lee Drop Zone for our last jump. It is the smallest at Benning and the problem is to get everyone out of the plane as fast as possible or we'll have people landing in trees. Serious problem. Any way we fly around a bit and the jump master notices my white helmet and says I need to be first in the door. That got my attention. I would stand in the door, looking down and now know what it is really all about. Strangely the situation calmed me down. It was very cool. Looking ahead, the DZ looked like a postage stamp. The jumps lights on the side of the door turned from red to green and I was out in a flash. Unfortunately, the pilot hit the green light too late, and not paying attention to the smoke pots on the ground to see which way the wind was blowing. We had the last troopers out of the door ending up in the trees. Even as first out I came very close to hitting the forward trees myself. But, that was number five and I was now a full blown paratrooper. We had graduation the next day in the large airplane hangar. We were in formation and all of us had our "blood wings" pinned on individually. I was not chosen Honor Grad. It was not the officer either, but it was the fellow that was either a Specialist E-4 or Sgt. E-5. I was proud of my achievements at jump school. Out of the original 1,000 in my class 600 graduated, and I had tied for second place in the rankings. I’ve made my choice of duty station and pretty pleased with it. So, next stop Ft. Campbell, Kentucky and the 101st Airborne Division. Home of the famous Screaming Eagles!