Historical September 1992 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life.
I mean really dumb things.
But what I did on July 3 may have taken the cake.
I bungee jumped. Down at the VP Fair. Diving from a crane 170 plus feet above the cobblestone.
It was the scariest thing that I’ve ever done in my life. Ever.
But some of those other dumb things that I’ve done were pretty scary too. At least in retrospect What follows are true stories. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.
I remember back when I was 16 or so, just having received my driver’s license.
I hopped in my mom’s red Corvair, picked up my buddy, Bob and we went over to Susie’s house. Susie was my sweetie back in those days. Wanting to show my affection for her, I did what most red-blooded boys would have wanted to do during that era.
I put firecrackers through the mail slot in her parents’ front door, lit them, and ran like crazy.
I wasn’t too far when I heard the sounds from the miniexplosions.
It was great, KABOOM after KABOOM, the sound bouncing off the walls and the stairway to the second floor of the flat where she lived. What fun!
But there is no such thing as a perfect crime, I soon found out. it seemed like a good idea at the time,” was all I could say to her father when he tracked me down a bit later. Bob and I had hightailed it our separate ways after I threw the firecrackers. Cleverly, we had planned to meet at the car. Unfortunately, there weren’t too many red Corvairs in those days, and Susie’s dad knew my car.
As a result, upon hearing the explosions, he ran out, spied the not-too-far away Corvair, and joined us.
The punishment was relatively light: a stern lecture, it seemed like an eternity, about firecrackers and safety hazards and inconveniencing others.
The final straw was that I was no longer able to see Susie.
Another one of my really stupid moves took place not too long afterwards, while I was in college.
There we were one afternoon, all of the guys sitting in the Dean’s office chewing the fat.
The baseball team, the jocks, and me, the would-be jock.
The dean, also the baseball coach, was gone and, as often happened, we were using his office as a kind of rec room. Although I wasn’t good at baseball, I could type well, so it seemed sort of natural while sitting at a desk to pick up a piece of the dean’s stationery and insert it in a typewriter.
It then seemed only reasonable to type something on it.
But what to type? How about this, to my best friend: “Dear Paul, A recent review of your spatial-relations test shows that you did not receive a score which would allow you to remain a student at this college. Effective immediately you can no longer attend here.
Sincerely, the Dean.” The letter looked interesting sitting in the typewriter. Still no harm done and not too stupid, right?
Then I looked over on the desk and saw the dean’s rubber signature stamp. You guessed it.
A REALLY STUPID MOVE now took place.
I pulled out the letter, picked up the stamp — its like slow-motion every time I think about it — and placed the dean’s signature on the bottom of the letter. By now you’re probably thinking, boy Tom, you can’t get any dumber than this! Thanks, but wrong.
I then, without any thought at all, proceeded to put the letter through the college’s postage meter. And then I mailed it Now in my defense, I must say, I assumed that Paul would get the letter and immediately know it was a joke.
After all, he would know that no dean would eject a student in the middle of the year, especially during the Viet Nam draft period. Right? Wrong. Paul got the letter, thought that it was real, and went to the dean.
The dean, of course, not recognizing the letter that he had seemingly signed, went to the jocks and said, in so many words, “Tell the culprit to turn himself in. He’s dogmeat no matter what, but worse dogmeat if I don’t know who it is by 10:00 in the morning.” I quickly turned myself in.
In no time at all found myself at a hearing with the dean, the provost, the chancellor, and the president of the college.
The president opened the meeting by holding the incriminating letter in front of my face and asking, “Why?” (in a rather stern voice, I might add).
I gave what I thought was a reasonable response: it seemed like a good idea at the time.” None of them thought that was an acceptable answer.
The hearing only took an hour or so, but it seemed like an eternity.
We discussed forgery, concern for others, and federal postal violations. Apparently using the postage meter was big-time stuff, a federal offense! Actually, they did most of the discussing and I listened.
The result was that.
I apologized to everyone and remained a student.
But I was banned from the dean’s office forever. So there I was on July 3. John and I had gone to the VP Fair to see the Air Show. I’ve always wondered about bungee jumping, and a part of me has always thought that it would be fun.
But then the rational, reasonable part of me has thought it was a very foolish idea. First we watched the Air Show.
The B•52 was gigantic, its shadow blocking out great portions of the crowd as it lumbered across the riverfront, The Stealth Fighter, on the other hand, looked like something out of a cereal box: small, black plastic, and designed by a Steven Spielberg prop. Afterwards we walked to the bungee jumping area The closer we got, the higher the cranes looked.
They were raising and dropping people every few minutes, and no one had been hurt yet, so it didn’t seem too scary. “What the heck,” I thought, upon learning that you would get a free t-shirt if you jumped and that they had an X-1, “what do I have to lose?” As I was being fitted into the harness, they asked if I wanted to be fastened by the ankles or waist. `What’s the difference?” I asked. “Do you want to drop feet-first or head-first?” they replied!
From 170 plus feet, I figured it didn’t make much difference, and as long as I was going… So I was fastened by the ankles, so I could drop head-first I still wasn’t worried, but then I had to sign a wavier. Make that waivers.
I counted and they had me sign or initial a document in eighteen different places. Regardless of what happened, neither I nor my heirs (I) could claim damages, file a lawsuit, or appear on a tv. talk show.
The next thing I knew I was in the metal basket, being raised up above the VP crowd. Up. Up. Up.
I was actually enjoying the view.
I turned around and noticed that we were above the height of the Eads Bridge, and we were still rising. Neat Then I made my first mistake: I looked down.
The crane stopped and I began to perspire. Heavily. Do you have any idea how high 170 feet is? That’s equivalent to the height of a seventeen story building!
I looked down and thought what in the world have I done this time?
The gate to the basket was opened and the assistant said “Now step forward.” I stepped forward, looked down, gasped, and stepped back. I’m no fool!
The wind blew the basket a bit, and ever so gently we began to sway back and forth. Gently, but firmly, the assistant put his hands on my hips and said, “Just stand still and look straight. ahead. I’ll count to three and give you a gentle push, and you just fall.” I sucked in my breath, what was left of it.
There were thousands watching from the shore below, and afraid as I was of dying, I was even more afraid to come down without jumping.
I nodded yes and took a mini. step forward.
My toes were over the edge of the basket and I balanced on the edge.
I stared straight ahead, my eyes closed.
I began to think about my childhood and my mom…ONE…and all of the things that I’ve not done yet…TWO…I prepared myself for three, and then as I began to stiffen and brace myself, he jumped the gun and pushed.
I was gone. Head-first I began to fall towards the earth.
I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath.
It seemed like an eternity. Almost as long as in the president’s office after the letter writing episode.
But then it happened, I had bottomed out and was being pulled back towards the sky almost as fast as I had fallen.
I opened my eyes and tried to see where I was, but everything was a blur. And then, in no time at all, I was in free-fall, again plummeting towards the earth.
Another eternity. Like the firecracker incident. And then I was rebounding back towards the sky. Back and forth 1 went.
Each time going a bit slower and slightly less far. And finally it was over.
The crane was lowered, I was given my t-shirt and I walked off. Alive. Afterwards, I was home reading the paper when the first wife came in from work.
She asked me how the VP Fair had been. “Fine,” I said, “and, by the way, I bungee jumped.” “You what?” she shrieked and practically fell on the floor.
The first thing she said was, “Thank God I didn’t know you were doing it.” She quickly followed with, “Why in the world would you do something that stupid?” All I could reply was “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, September 1992.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1992_09.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
