Judge — October 1933 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Judge IGH WAT SAID “Jitters, this morning I am downcast, full of self-analysis, and as cheerful as a pants presser at a Nudist camp. You see, in the heat of my cups last spring I bet that Brooklyn would win the World’s Series and the simple minded burgh- ers have xx-ed me. Which wouldn’t be so bad except the bet was that I either push a peanut with my nose around Columbus Circle, in a coon- skin coat and a straw hat or make a parachute jump. Which should I choose?” “Well, sir” said my philosophic pants layer out “it’s merely a choice of deaths. You either die of shame or of dropsy. The latter seems more heroic.” “The latter then it shall be, Jitters. You have never steered me wrong. Only be sure to be there and get under me with a mattress.” Jitters agreed and that was how it started. Full of life, tremors and insurance, I dropped into (not by parachute) the Chamberlin Flying Service in the Times Bldg. and I said:—“I want to make a parachute jump.” “Sorry, sir,” said the pert young miss there. “We're not hiring jump- ers at present.” I said indignantly “I am not seek- ing work, I am anti-work. I want to pay.” She withered me with a leering eye, and pressed a buzzer. A bronzed guy who had wings written all over him appeared and the pert young miss whispered something to him. He took it quite calmly—just marking me as a simple minded moron trying to be a cretin—and ad- vised me to see Joe Crane, at Roosevelt Flying Field, L. I. Joe Crane turned out to.be a tall bronzed chap who had been a coal miner, taken up jumping in the Army, made 500 jumps and had become National Spot Jumper, that is jumper at the bull’s eye of a target. He was married but wouldn’t let his wife: jump. He was willing to let me make a jump and it would cost $50. I winced a little and said “All right—let’s go.” He said “O no. Follow me. You don’t jump yet. You learn to jump first.” Picturing a series of grad- uated practise jumps begin- ning with leaping off a kitchen chair with an opened handkerchief spread over head and working my way gradually up to jumping off the roof with an opened um- brella, I followed Joe upstairs to a room with a lot of opened parachutes hanging from the walls, Joe said “Fold.” I said “What?” He said “Those parachutes.” I said “But I want to jump not to learn to bea folder.” He said “Do as I say.” T turned out that the first thing for the beginner to do is to know his parachute. This is best learned by practising folding them—hard work requiring eleven operations. So I folded parachutes and listened to Joe telling how he had been the first to wear white flannels in jumping and all the other jumpers had copied him—the old copy cats! Also, I learned that a parachute is as beautifully made as a watch. It is compact, made of the finest silk, about the texture of a silk scarf and inner workings that move like beer down a stevedore’s throat. I also found a little blood on one of the chutes—fellow had hit a tree instead of the field. As for the rest of my training I'll hustle by it. My heart wasn’t always in it and at times I found my atten- tion wandering to thoughts about peanuts and whether a little grease on one would make it push easier. However, the night before the jump came and just as I was thinking of leaving for Europe a party of my friends—including the winner of the bet—arrived with a big floral wreath and a bucket for tears to be shed on the morrow. I didn’t appreciate their jokes very much all of which had a Frank E. Campbell flavor. When they went, singing the Prince- ton Undertaker Song, they left mea lot of things which I might use while on the way down. Among this ab- surd paraphernalia was a copy of “Bottoms Up” and Channing Pol- lock’s “The Fool.” These I was to read while going down. There was also some knitting for me to do if I (Page 24, please) comicbooks.com eae eet Cag Ce es i eg 6 bo eA ws