First jump, 1979, out of an old Beaver. Some scruffy guy taught
the first jump course in a shed. They had a vending machine that
had beer in it. I was with the Purdue Skydiving Club. We drove
down early Saturday morning and spent the day in training. Winds
prevented us from making our first jumps, so we all crashed at
someones house. Drank too much and watched them play a game
called "starfire". Got up the next morning and finally got to make
our first jump. Was hooked ever since.
They moved to Frankfort by the early '80s, Slyde took it over
and ran it. There was a guy nicknamed "Splat" as I recall.
Last I heard, Slyde got divorced and left for California, I think
the Ex closed the place.
Kevin O'Connell
> They moved to Frankfort by the early '80s, Slyde took it over
> and ran it. There was a guy nicknamed "Splat" as I recall.
> Last I heard, Slyde got divorced and left for California, I think
> the Ex closed the place.
From your description Slyde was Mark Schlatter; a simple Google search has
Dan Poynter's site stating that he lives in Texas, although the last time I
talked with Mark was at Perris. I have a rather remarkable story about
sleeping on his and Cathy's (sp?) front porch in Frankfort in 1986 while
jumping at P&A for a few days. It all ended up fairly well, but involved the
watchful neighbors at about 3 am, 2 police squad cars with flashing lights,
an ancient goose-down sleeping bag that was coming apart everywhere
simulating a winter's snowfall, and yours truly explaining my presence on
the front lawn to officers with drawn weapons. Mark and Cathy slept through
the whole episode.
I remember the Frankfort DZ for another reason: I was leaving last from a
full 206; Mark helped a low-timer with the exit and the rest of us basically
just built a speed star on them, each trying not to close last. As I
approached the others I noticed something in the air with us, getting
closer, and in the space of a second or less found that despite my
instinctive reaction to avoid the thing, it sped towards me generating the
second-most-intense fear I've ever experienced in freefall as it hit me ...
my shadow on a very thin almost-transparent layer of smoke or haze as we
fell through it.
There was a jumper there that worked at the pickle factory across the
highway, who strongly assured me that I did NOT want to know what went into
the making of pickle-relishes.
That's the last place I knew he was. That was a while ago though.
[snip]
> I remember the Frankfort DZ for another reason: I was leaving last from a
> full 206; Mark helped a low-timer with the exit and the rest of us basically
> just built a speed star on them, each trying not to close last. As I
> approached the others I noticed something in the air with us, getting
> closer, and in the space of a second or less found that despite my
> instinctive reaction to avoid the thing, it sped towards me generating the
> second-most-intense fear I've ever experienced in freefall as it hit me ...
> my shadow on a very thin almost-transparent layer of smoke or haze as we
> fell through it.
Same thing happened to me years later at Deland. Approached a
cloud and my own shadow suddenly was screaming at me. I wasn't
until I punched the cloud that I realized what it was.