PARACHUTE JUMPING

internal conflict that he experienced during his first jump. "On the one hand is the fact of its safety: you grasp this easily and firmly with the mind. But on the other hand is the emotion of fear. It is so strong that you might want to call it an instinct. It is not, of course. This fear is very useful, and you have learned it from your earliest days of falling out of your high-chair.

"This fear in us is deep and indispensable--indispensable when we are climbing mountains or looking out windows, and so deep that we react to its promptings instantaneously and without thought.

"The problem and excitement of jumping is to follow mind rather than emotion. Will reason win, or ancient fear? This is the beauty of the sport: it strips off everything incidental and lays bare this one great question."

And when reason wins out, you go through the Moment of Truth. For four frightening seconds, you lose every last bit of control over yourself. And, as you speed toward the earth, you stop introspecting.

As my more imaginative friend describes it, "Some famous wit--was it Dr. Johnson?--said of a sentence of hanging that 'it concentrates the mind wonderfully'. So also jumping--in particular that delirious moment of exit--concentrates consciousness in a blindingly bright, diamond hard point. Mind has triumphed; this is the moment of pure reason.

"All the other concerns of daily life--your job, your sweetheart, your bank-account, your social standing--fall away and are 'put in their place I can guarantee this: if you have no troubles--and I mean any trouble you will totally forget them, at for four seconds."

YOU won't think of your trouble when the canopy opens, either can guarantee that. You'll be too joyed, as I was when I heard the "pop" and felt the firm tug of chute.

A feeling of glorious relief takes you, and then you relax. are alone in the sky, and all is quiet.

You look up, and you feel shouting. And then you look You kick your feet. You steer chute, and head toward the target, you don't really care about hitting spot. Not on your first jump, anyway.

And then, with your feet together and your eyes on the horizon, you the ground. Upon impact, you can lapse and roll.

blissful descent is over. You exhilarated and proud, and it seems worth the worry. The of your happiness equals--at --the amount of your fear before-. And, as my friend declares, feel that "Your perspective is re-. You just don't exaggerate things after you've parachuted." is my conclusion, then, after back on my one and only , that the experience of can get through to you pretty . It can force you in on your---as never before, and it can take away from yourself--for four sec---as never before. It isn't all , nor is it all thrill. Nor does adventure last for only the few of descent from exit to land-

begins with your decision to go certainly, it continues as a sharp for the rest of your life. man can treat the adventure in respect as he wishes, whether that philosophizing, boasting, or reasoning sober about it, for it is, ultimately, an extremely individual experience.

Beyond the basic curiosity, motives . Some jump because they think the good life must have frequent with danger; others do it for reasons in times of . A few do it to prove to themselves--and, perhaps, to others--that they are men. And, of course, there those who just seek the thrill.

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

YOU won't think of your trouble when the canopy opens, either can guarantee that. You'll be too joyed, as I was when I heard the "pop" and felt the firm tug of chute.

A feeling of glorious relief takes you, and then you relax. are alone in the sky, and all is quiet.

You look up, and you feel shouting. And then you look You kick your feet. You steer chute, and head toward the target, you don't really care about hitting spot. Not on your first jump, anyway.

And then, with your feet together and your eyes on the horizon, you the ground. Upon impact, you can lapse and roll.

blissful descent is over. You exhilarated and proud, and it seems worth the worry. The of your happiness equals--at --the amount of your fear before-. And, as my friend declares, feel that "Your perspective is re-. You just don't exaggerate things after you've parachuted." is my conclusion, then, after back on my one and only , that the experience of can get through to you pretty . It can force you in on your---as never before, and it can take away from yourself--for four sec---as never before. It isn't all , nor is it all thrill. Nor does adventure last for only the few of descent from exit to land-

begins with your decision to go certainly, it continues as a sharp for the rest of your life. man can treat the adventure in respect as he wishes, whether that philosophizing, boasting, or reasoning sober about it, for it is, ultimately, an extremely individual experience.

Beyond the basic curiosity, motives . Some jump because they think the good life must have frequent with danger; others do it for reasons in times of . A few do it to prove to themselves--and, perhaps, to others--that they are men. And, of course, there those who just seek the thrill.

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

A feeling of glorious relief takes you, and then you relax. are alone in the sky, and all is quiet.

You look up, and you feel shouting. And then you look You kick your feet. You steer chute, and head toward the target, you don't really care about hitting spot. Not on your first jump, anyway.

And then, with your feet together and your eyes on the horizon, you the ground. Upon impact, you can lapse and roll.

blissful descent is over. You exhilarated and proud, and it seems worth the worry. The of your happiness equals--at --the amount of your fear before-. And, as my friend declares, feel that "Your perspective is re-. You just don't exaggerate things after you've parachuted." is my conclusion, then, after back on my one and only , that the experience of can get through to you pretty . It can force you in on your---as never before, and it can take away from yourself--for four sec---as never before. It isn't all , nor is it all thrill. Nor does adventure last for only the few of descent from exit to land-

begins with your decision to go certainly, it continues as a sharp for the rest of your life. man can treat the adventure in respect as he wishes, whether that philosophizing, boasting, or reasoning sober about it, for it is, ultimately, an extremely individual experience.

Beyond the basic curiosity, motives . Some jump because they think the good life must have frequent with danger; others do it for reasons in times of . A few do it to prove to themselves--and, perhaps, to others--that they are men. And, of course, there those who just seek the thrill.

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

You look up, and you feel shouting. And then you look You kick your feet. You steer chute, and head toward the target, you don't really care about hitting spot. Not on your first jump, anyway.

And then, with your feet together and your eyes on the horizon, you the ground. Upon impact, you can lapse and roll.

blissful descent is over. You exhilarated and proud, and it seems worth the worry. The of your happiness equals--at --the amount of your fear before-. And, as my friend declares, feel that "Your perspective is re-. You just don't exaggerate things after you've parachuted." is my conclusion, then, after back on my one and only , that the experience of can get through to you pretty . It can force you in on your---as never before, and it can take away from yourself--for four sec---as never before. It isn't all , nor is it all thrill. Nor does adventure last for only the few of descent from exit to land-

begins with your decision to go certainly, it continues as a sharp for the rest of your life. man can treat the adventure in respect as he wishes, whether that philosophizing, boasting, or reasoning sober about it, for it is, ultimately, an extremely individual experience.

Beyond the basic curiosity, motives . Some jump because they think the good life must have frequent with danger; others do it for reasons in times of . A few do it to prove to themselves--and, perhaps, to others--that they are men. And, of course, there those who just seek the thrill.

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

And then, with your feet together and your eyes on the horizon, you the ground. Upon impact, you can lapse and roll.

blissful descent is over. You exhilarated and proud, and it seems worth the worry. The of your happiness equals--at --the amount of your fear before-. And, as my friend declares, feel that "Your perspective is re-. You just don't exaggerate things after you've parachuted." is my conclusion, then, after back on my one and only , that the experience of can get through to you pretty . It can force you in on your---as never before, and it can take away from yourself--for four sec---as never before. It isn't all , nor is it all thrill. Nor does adventure last for only the few of descent from exit to land-

begins with your decision to go certainly, it continues as a sharp for the rest of your life. man can treat the adventure in respect as he wishes, whether that philosophizing, boasting, or reasoning sober about it, for it is, ultimately, an extremely individual experience.

Beyond the basic curiosity, motives . Some jump because they think the good life must have frequent with danger; others do it for reasons in times of . A few do it to prove to themselves--and, perhaps, to others--that they are men. And, of course, there those who just seek the thrill.

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

blissful descent is over. You exhilarated and proud, and it seems worth the worry. The of your happiness equals--at --the amount of your fear before-. And, as my friend declares, feel that "Your perspective is re-. You just don't exaggerate things after you've parachuted." is my conclusion, then, after back on my one and only , that the experience of can get through to you pretty . It can force you in on your---as never before, and it can take away from yourself--for four sec---as never before. It isn't all , nor is it all thrill. Nor does adventure last for only the few of descent from exit to land-

begins with your decision to go certainly, it continues as a sharp for the rest of your life. man can treat the adventure in respect as he wishes, whether that philosophizing, boasting, or reasoning sober about it, for it is, ultimately, an extremely individual experience.

Beyond the basic curiosity, motives . Some jump because they think the good life must have frequent with danger; others do it for reasons in times of . A few do it to prove to themselves--and, perhaps, to others--that they are men. And, of course, there those who just seek the thrill.

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

begins with your decision to go certainly, it continues as a sharp for the rest of your life. man can treat the adventure in respect as he wishes, whether that philosophizing, boasting, or reasoning sober about it, for it is, ultimately, an extremely individual experience.

Beyond the basic curiosity, motives . Some jump because they think the good life must have frequent with danger; others do it for reasons in times of . A few do it to prove to themselves--and, perhaps, to others--that they are men. And, of course, there those who just seek the thrill.

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

Beyond the basic curiosity, motives . Some jump because they think the good life must have frequent with danger; others do it for reasons in times of . A few do it to prove to themselves--and, perhaps, to others--that they are men. And, of course, there those who just seek the thrill.

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

The experienced jumpers seem to the only bunch of guys who assume by-products of the "crisis", and concentrate on the various skills such free-fall position (before the parachute opens) and landing on target. For this reason, they seem to be the only people who see it as a sport.

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

That they concentrate on technique other than trauma does not mean that they are oblivious to the element hazard, however. They, like the beginners, know that accidents can happen.

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

WHAT about the danger? How safe is sport parachuting? Like in airplanes or even in cars, it's 100 per cent foolproof, though the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor your coming out alive.

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."

The man who convinced me of the statistical advantage and therefore talked me into jumping is Nick Soutter, a junior from Dedham who lives in Adams House. He has done more to promote sport parachuting at Harvard than all other skydivers at the College have done since 1957, when the Crimson won this country's first intercollegiate parachute tournament.

(Sport parachuting was brought to this country from France in 1956 by Jacques Istel.)

Here are some of the things that Soutter pointed out to me: You jump with an emergency parachute on your chest which you deploy in case of a malfunction in the main canopy. On your first five jumps, in accordance with Parachute Club of America regulations, you use a static line, which means that your rip cord is pulled for you as soon as you leave the plane.

There have been over 5,000 sport parachute jumps made at Mansfield--and at least that many at Orange--resulting in no fatalities whatsoever. Last year there were 60,000 jumps made in this country, resulting in six fatalities--none of which were attributable to parachute malfunction (a suicide, two drownings, two "freezes" on non-static-line jumps, and one electrocution resulting from a landing in high wires).

In the seven years of jumping in Massachusetts, one of this country's leading parachute centers, there has been only one death--the birthday cake drowning of last September off Plum Island.

Soutter, a New England safety officer licensed by the P.C.A., told me that he has taken 489 students through static-line jumps--in none of which did the main canopy fail. And he showed me how a parachute works, how the several tough, elastic bands throw the pack open when the rip cord is pulled, and how, at the same instant, the pilot chute (a miniature parachute that pulls the main canopy out) hurtles almost 20 feet into the air by the force of its own compressed spring system.

It was all very convincing. So I jumped from a Cessna 182 at 2500 feet with a 28-foot "skydiver" parachute over the Mansfield airport grounds. Mansfield is the headquarters for the Cambridge Parachute Club, the oldest club of its type in the country, having been formed in 1957.

Soutter is the only Harvard undergraduate serving as an executive memer of the C.P.C., which includes many students from other New England colleges. He heads up a group of about ten Harvard students who jump regularly as members of the C.P.C. at Mansfield, the traditional headquarters for Crimson teams. Presently, this group is preparing to represent Harvard in the national intercollegiates, to be held at Orange in May.

Orange, the other big jumping center in this state, will be the site of the sixth International Parachute Tournament this August. Over a 26-day period, close to 20 different countries will compete for the title. It will mark the first time that the internationals have been held in this country. The usual crowds of hundreds of thousands are expected to attend, as they have at the past five championships abroad.

SPORT parachuting in this country has boomed over the past few years, as it has throughout the world. Jumping centers are specially popular in California and Arizona, as well as in Massachusetts.

But like most modern sports such as sports car racing, motorcycling, or skindiving, parachuting is not inexpensive. At Mansfield, for example, a first jump costs $25, the following two $15, and the next two $10--a total of $75 for the five static-line student jumps that qualify a person for free-fall jumps and membership in the C.P.C. The cost of each subsequent free-fall jump averages only about $3, however.

That sport parachuting has caught on at Harvard can be seen by the fact that an increasing number of students are jumping to enhance their "variety of experience", and by the fact that at least one member of the faculty has started to jump.

Take, for example, Samuel H. Beer, professor of government, who began parachuting last July at the age of 50. With six static-line jumps to his record--plus one broken ankle--Beer has got the bug.

But he, like every other person who has jumped, warns, "By all means, don't try it unless you are absolutely convinced that you'll make it."