Their favored "weapon" for ensuring conformity and mental alertness was push-ups or squat jumps for every infraction or mistake in training — no matter who committed it — so on any given day, a trainee could find himself doing two hundred or more extra push-ups.
During the first week, Stiner and the others were taught how to perform parachute landing falls from any direction (left front, right front, left side, right side, left rear, right rear). They started by standing on the ground in the sawdust pit and hopping up and then falling in whichever direction they were told to. After they'd mastered this skill from the ground — maybe a hundred or more parachute landing falls (PLFs) — they moved up to a PLF platform, a wooden structure five feet off the ground. They continued falling from there until they were proficient in every kind of PLF.
Each time anyone made a PLF, he had to simulate a "prepared to land" position — that is, he'd reach up and pull down on the two front risers of his (simulated) parachute, with elbows tight to the side, chin tucked to the chest, knees slightly bent, feet and knees held tightly together with toes slightly pointed toward the ground. When he touched the ground, he'd roll in the direction that would most cushion his fall.
After PLFs, they advanced to the "swing landing fall trainer," a circular steel frame suspended by a cable that hangs over a six-foot-high platform. The student, wearing a parachute harness, attached his risers to this frame, then stepped off the platform and began to swing free. The instructor on the ground controlled the swing and determined when and how the student would hit the ground. As often as not, it was when he was in the most awkward position for landing. This device realistically replicated the kinds of falls a jumper was likely to make under actual conditions. Since most injuries occur upon landing, it was vital for the student to master them all.
During the second week, they worked on the thirty-four-foot tower, which provided a rough likeness of the sensation of jumping out of an airplane, except there was no 125-knot wind blast. According to the experts, thirty-four feet is the optimum height for creating the greatest fear: Anyone who falls from that height without a parachute has a chance to survive. Above that height, it's all over anyhow.
On top of the tower was a boxlike structure replicating part of an airplane fuselage. A steel cable extended from inside this "fuselage" at a slight angle downward for approximately 150 feet, and then it was anchored about eight feet off the ground. The student hooked his risers to a pulley that rode on this cable. Upon the command "Stand in the door," the student took a position in the door. Upon the "Go" command, the student leapt up and out, and then immediately assumed a tight body position and began his count. By that time, he had fallen to the length of his risers, approximately eight feet, and could feel the jolt of the cable (in an actual jump he would have fallen approximately 200 to 250 feet by the time his parachute opened). When he felt the jolt, the jumper checked his (imaginary) canopy to make sure it was fully deployed, with no more than four broken suspension lines and no tears larger than his helmet. He did that by comparing his rate of fall with that of the other jumpers in the air; if he was falling faster than they were, he considered activating his reserve parachute.
During descent, the jumper kept a sharp lookout in order to avoid other jumpers, and then began his preparations for landing when he was approximately fifty to a hundred feet above the ground. By this time, he had reached the end of the cable. Once there, he was critiqued by a Black I lat and told to recover and jump again. About fifteen to twenty exits were required from the thirty-four-foot tower before a trainee got a "good to go."
The last two days of the second week, Stiner and his comrades worked on the 250-foot towers. There, a trainee wore a special type of parachute, which was attached to a ring equal to the circumference of an actual parachute canopy. He was then pulled up to an extended arm on the tower. At the top, his parachute was released and he was allowed to float to the ground. He would then land as hard as if he'd jumped from an actual plane.
The third week was devoted to jumping. Also included were instructions on actions inside the aircraft, which were conducted in mock-ups. The Black Hats performed the duties of jumpmasters and would put everyone through the jump commands. These were: "Twenty minutes," meaning: "Do a preliminary check of your own equipment; helmet tight, etc." At ten minutes came "Get ready," meaning: "Unbuckle your seat belt and prepare to stand up." Next came "Outboard personnel, Stand up," meaning: "Jumpers seated closest to the skin of the aircraft stand first." Then "Inboard personnel, stand up," meaning: "All the other jumpers, stand up." Then "Hook up," meaning: "All jumpers hook their snap fastener." This was attached to the end of the static line, and hooked to the anchor line cable. Then "Check equipment," meaning: "Each jumper checks his own equipment, plus the static line of the jumper to his front." Then "Sound off for equipment check." The count started in the rear of the stick (the line of jumpers), with each sounding off loudly, "Okay," and slapping the buttocks of the man in front of him. The count was passed forward by every man in the stick. The last man to receive the count then signaled the jumpmaster, "All okay, jumpmaster." One minute out from the drop zone, the loadmasters (part of the plane's crew) opened the jump doors. The jumpmaster looked out to verify that they were in fact over the drop zone, then looked to the rear of the aircraft to verify that no following planes had dropped below the altitude where his paratroopers would be exiting. Once he had verified that it was safe to jump, he pointed to the first jumper and commanded: "Stand in the door." The jumper shuffled to the door, assumed an exit position, and watched for the green light. When it lit, the jumpmaster commanded, "Go," and slapped him on the buttocks. The jumper exited, and the stick followed at one-second intervals.
This procedure was followed before every jump, and it is still followed by airborne units today, no matter how experienced they are.
All jumps were made from C-119 aircraft (the old twin-tail flying boxcars), and the guys were ready "almost to jump without a parachute," Stiner observes, "to get relief from rolling around in that sawdust pit and doing push-ups all day.
"The first jump was the easiest," he continues, "at least for me. But that 125-knot blast of wind was something that none of us had experienced. On the ground, Black Hats with bullhorns were yelling at the students who weren't doing it right; they gave strong personal critiques of each landing.
"We jumped four times that week, all during daylight. The fifth jump was with equipment, which included our load-bearing equipment and M-1 rifle.
"Saturday was a big day. Graduation! Families and girlfriends were allowed to attend and to assist in pinning on our wings. Everyone in my group graduated, except a few who'd been injured. We all felt very proud and privileged to wear the jump wings.
"Some people claim to love jumping out of airplanes. That may be so. But not me. Though 1 spent most of my career in airborne units and made 189 jumps, practically all at night with combat equipment, I was never crazy about jumping out of airplanes. After I had gained the confidence afforded by Jumpmaster School, however, I got to where jumping didn't bother me.
"Airborne units are unique in the capability they provide — that is, 'forced entry' operations. It's not just the jumping, it's the type of people that comprise the ranks of airborne units which makes the assignment so special."