No ETA

. Did I open low? Did he open high? Whatever the reason, this didn’t look like it was going to work. I couldn’t think of any rules, regulations or right-of-way etiquette governing this situation, but I did know that this was World Class competition and no one, especially a Russian, was going to run me off the target. At about 100 feet off the ground, we were dead (bad choice of word) level and rubbing canopies. At the last minute, the Russian must have thought well, that idiot isn’t going to move so I better. He turned off of the target. I still had a shot at it, but all of this pushing and shoving had really screwed up my approach. I was too high and would have to make a 180 degree turn at the last minute. When I did, I ended up traveling over the target backwards at a very high rate of speed. I should have done a school style PLF (parachute landing fall) but in order to land as close to the target as possible, I threw my feet out in front of me and hit heel first at about 15 miles per hour. I instinctively put my arms behind me to help break the fall. When I stopped rolling and sat up, I was completely wrapped up in my suspension lines. I was in no pain, but had this uneasy feeling that something was out of whack. It was! I couldn’t close my fist or even flex the fingers of my right hand. I looked farther back on my arm and saw that my elbow was dislocated about 2 inches from where it was supposed to be. OUT F—KING STANDING!!! One of the scorers was the first one to reach me and collapse my canopy. That kept me from dragging and causing more damage. To his credit and the credit of all athletes everywhere, the next person to come to my aid was the Russian whom I had run off of the target. Colonel Bill wasn’t far behind. He held onto my arm while they untangled me from the suspension lines and assisted me to the (for lack of a better work) ambulance. In just a few minutes, I found myself in a dilapidated old building that was supposed to be a medical facility. I still wasn’t feeling any pain. Everything was just sort of numb. Before they could reset my elbow, they wanted to take x-rays of the area to make sure nothing was broken. It didn’t take long to take the pictures, but they had to run them into Sofia to have them developed. That took the better part of an hour during which Colonel Bill stayed right by my side. He was a lot more worried and nervous than I was. At one point, he asked if I wanted a cigarette and I said yes. He lit it for me and continued to stand there and smoke it himself. When the doctors finally returned, they asked to talk to Colonel Bill privately. That made me a little nervous! He came back in a few minutes and said “Hang on buddy, this may hurt.” He held onto my shoulder while two big burly bastards started trying to separate me in the room. One was pulling on my upper arm, and the other on my forearm. It didn’t really hurt; I just felt this tremendous release of pressure when it snapped back in place. I could, now, flex my arm and fingers and make a fist. I said, “Aaah, that feels better.” I felt that I could go right out and make my last jump of the event, but the medical staff said “no dice” or the Bulgarian version of that. They put a half cast on the bottom of my arm from the wrist to the shoulder then wrapped it up with gauze. I was finished as far as this meet was concerned, but Colonel Bill had been keeping up with the scores and told me at present, I was in first place for the overall title. There were only three competitors who could beat me; a Russian, a Romanian and the Czechoslovakian, Kaplan. Because of the order of competition it took about three hours agonizing over those jumps. The Russian and the Czech both landed far enough out to leave me in first place. I was feeling pretty confident because the Romanian was not a very good accuracy jumper. He made his landing. The judges measured it. Holy Shit! I was the World Champion. Everyone was pounding me on the back and congratulating me, including some of the iron block countries. My teammates were going bonkers. I was in a state of shock and disbelief. My first World Competition and I had won it! During all of the commotion, someone said “Hold it, what’s this?” Colonel Grieves started in a dead run toward the judges to find out what was going on. The last competitor had landed. Why was a jump plane taking off and who was on it? The judges said that the Czech jumper, Kaplan, had protested that smoke had drifted across the target and obscured his vision. It was an out and out lie. Everyone on the drop zone watched that jump and knew the smoke that had been started to indicate the wind direction had been placed downwind of his approach. It was a communist ploy! Colonel Bill argued that it was not a decision for the judges to make, but that of the International Jury. He protested, strongly, that the AN-2 land, and that evidence be gathered to present to the jury so they could decide if a re-jump was in order. They stated that they had no communication with the aircraft. Another lie! By now, we, and some of the other Western countries were beginning to worry. How do you fight a conspiracy in which all of the conspiring parties have no sense of moral dignity, pride or shame? Win at all cost! We knew that whatever the outcome of Kaplan’s jump, would be the outcome of the Championship. I couldn’t believe that Kaplan would be in on the sham. You might ask then, why couldn’t he just miss the target on purpose? It is not the nature of an athlete, and especially one of Kaplan’s talents, to perform poorly. I knew he would do his best! Colonel Bill continued to argue with the judges while the rest of us waited and watched. It seemed forever for the aircraft to get to altitude. He finally started his jump run. The line was good. He passed across the target and continued up wind. Someone said, “He’s out.” A perfect exit point! I watched as he played the wind to set up his final approach down wind. He hung out just the right amount and began his final approach to the target at about 300 feet. When he made that final turn, I knew he had it; he beat me by 4 centimeters! I can’t express my feeling of frustration. I had one more jump to go but couldn’t make it because of my injury. A Swiss Doctor that was there offered to give me an injection that would give me full use of my arm but couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t damage my elbow further. I said I would take it, but Colonel Bill said no. He said, “I’m not going to let you destroy your arm for this one meet. There will be another time.” The United States committee protested to the F.A.I. Jury and the debate went on for eight hours. There were four Western countries and seven Eastern countries on the Jury. Guess what the vote was? You got it! Seven to four against me. The awards banquet that night wasn’t much fun, but I was as gracious as I could be. I even congratulated Kaplan. He didn’t look very happy or jubilant either. One of the Russian jumpers kept toasting me as the World Champion all night. I appreciated his gesture, but it didn’t help much. The only humorous thing that happened that night was that one of the Russian jumpers fell head over heels in heat for Sherry Buck. He literally chased her around the building from room to room. Every time she ran by us, she would yell, “Stop him.” We would say, “Okay, next time around, we’ll catch him.” Then, when he would pass, he would confirm that he had our approval by giving us a thumb up signal and asking “Okay?” We would give him a thumbs up and yell “Okay!” I never did find out whether he caught her or not. Oh well, wait until ’62.