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Anonymous, ’24. Nonfiction / Essay.

The second he ducked around the trees and saw what was below, my grandfather knew he was in trouble. James Reilley was a lieutenant colonel in the army; he spent four years in Vietnam during the war. Luckily, he survived, and when he finished his duty, he went on to work as a paratrooper instructor at Fort Bliss in El Paso, Texas.

He was a large man, a former tight end at William and Mary. I mostly remember him wearing jeans and flannel shirts. His hearty laugh could fill up an entire room. And he was always up for gathering his grandchildren around and telling funny military stories. The one I still remember—he told it all the time, even though we pretended like we were hearing it for the first time—was when he volunteered to test safe landing areas for the paratroopers he was in charge of training.

As he mounted the military transport aircraft, the type of plane paratroopers jumped from, his adrenaline would rush to his head the way the Colorado River surges after a heavy spring rain. It was a perfect day for it: sunny, breezy, and mild. He actually liked these kinds of missions. It was just him, the pilot, and the fluffy white clouds. The steady noise of the plane’s engine calmed his nerves. No matter how many times he prepared to make these jumps, he got revved up. Finding the safest landing spot could be tricky, especially from so high up. Sometimes his eyes play tricks on him. Once he saw a huge log floating down a river, but when the plane got closer, it was the largest black moose he had ever seen.

On this day, my grandfather signaled to the pilot that there was a grassy field below the sides of the cliffs and on the edge of the longleaf pine forest, which looked like a good place to land. The pilot agreed, and my grandfather started to suit up. He carefully checked his bag, ensuring that each strap was securely fastened and every buckle was snug. Any mistakes in this preparation could lead to the parachute not deploying, so even as an expert, he took his preparation very seriously each and every time he jumped. The deafening hum of the plane’s engine drowned out any external sounds, creating a cocoon of anticipation around him. As he approached the open door, the rush of wind hit him, stealing his breath. With a quick nod to the pilot, he jumped. The stomach drop he felt each and every time he jumped was the reason he became a paratroper, out of the many paths he could have taken in the military. He loved roller coasters and cliff jumping for the same reason. As he fell, he twisted, turned, and soaked up the feeling of weightlessness. He turned his back to the ground and looked up into the sky, and for a moment, all his worries disappeared.

He fell towards the ground below as it expanded like a canvas. He scanned the terrain, calculating the trajectory for a perfect landing. The landscape transformed beneath him as he descended, from rocky cliffs to dense clusters of trees. The wind howled in his ears as he neared the intended landing spot. He was slightly off course and realized he was going to have to fly between the tops of a few large pine trees to reach the field. He always tells this part of the story with his body. He reenacts himself pulling on the parachute rope and ducking through the trees, with branches hitting him all over. Just as he barely cleared the last branch, his heart dropped. It wasn’t an open field; it was rock, concealed by bits of moss that gave the illusion of grass from afar. Panic set in as my grandfather struggled to redirect his trajectory. The ground rushed up to meet him, and he braced himself for impact. He landed on his right shoulder and rolled onto his left side.

The moss beneath him saved some of the impact, but the brutal impact of the rock below surely injured him. The once-pristine uniform was now covered in mud, and the flannel shirt clung to him like a second skin. He was covered in cuts and scrapes all over and had blood coming from the shoulder he landed on. He recalls no further injuries than this. He said he looked around for a bit and calmed himself. He let out a good laugh and radioed the pilot to give his location and be rescued. The pilot laughed at his mishap and was on his way to find him to help with his wounds. He was stuck in the woods for 3 hours before they found him. My grandfather is the type of man who would eat anything. In recent years, he has been known to eat turkey bones on Thanksgiving, and once he even walked into my house, grabbed a tomato off the counter, and took a huge bite from it. He recalls this day in the woods, checking his issued book of things people can eat in the woods, a book that all paratroopers were required to keep with them at the time. He read that pine bark was edible and was soon off to begin eating some. It turns out that only a small green section of the inner bark is edible, while everything else is not. My grandfather remembers eating the entire thing, even the bark on the outside, which was covered in dirt.

Hours passed, and his buddies arrived to rescue him. The pilot came over first, chuckling at the scene of his injuries and the pine bark he was chewing on. “Hungry, eh, Jim?” the pilot said to him. The medic on the plane bandaged him and concluded he had just a few minor injuries, which is lucky for landing on a rock. His parachute was also punctured by the trees, which slowed air resistance in the last portion of the fall. My grandfather and the crew had a 30-minute walk down to where the plane landed. As they trugged through the trees, they exchanged jokes and planned where they would all go eat after. They all went out to a burger place nearby and savored the food after a hard day of work. 

My grandfather always inspires me with stories like this. The greatest gift he ever gave to me wasn’t just his tales of bravery but the inspiration to live a life less ordinary. He has countless stories which follow the same format as his paratrooping one. He is off doing something adventurous and not very safe, but he always figures it out in the end. Like the time he was skiing in the Swiss Alps and went off trail, only to get lost and have to survive a night in the cold. Or when he went to the Chicago Bears tryout only to get his two front teeth knocked out. These stories motivate me to not let fear prevent me from doing extraordinary things. My grandfather always says his greatest blessing in life is having “so many great children and grandchildren.” I hope one day I’ll have the same blessing as him and be able to share stories of my own.