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Boys and girls, you can read about Southern Parachute Center's very own Bodacious Thunder Chicken on my website at www.marconpublishing.com Look for the "Here. Hold my beer. Watch this!" button. The story is there. Enjoy. Blue skies, Mike Marcon C3917

I just released my latest book, "Toss the Feathers." It's got flying and jumping and eating cheeseburgers and everything in it. Kidding. That makes it sound silly. What its really got in it is "high quality fiction" about flying, jumping and eating cheeseburgers. And more. Provocatively more. To get an inside view of what readers think, I've created a "Reviewer's Circle" whereby, each month, I send out a limited number of free copies to those who would like to read it and tell me (and the rest of the known world) what they think, good, bad or indifferent. You can check that out at marconpublishing.com if you are interested at all in flying, jumping and eating cheeseburgers. Click on "Join the Reviewer's Circle" for details. Blue skies, Mike

If you've ever been curious if he's still kicking, it appears he is. For those that don't know, Leon owned Southern Parachute Center in Louisiana in the 60's and 70's. Definitely a pioneer. Location unknown, but he put up a Facebook page sometime in the last year: https://www.facebook.com/leon.tribeofriche

I had not seen this until tonight, but it is spot on. But secretly, I do love the whine of a turbine as well. But I'm old and entitled like whatever the hell I wish. Mike Marcon

I got a T7A, OD, of course, that's only been in storage for about 45 years. It's in perfect shape and will let you down soft as a feather. I'll sell it you really cheap. Before you jump it, can I interest you in some nice cheap Jersey real estate? Muhahahaha!

Okay. Okay. Okay. I'm getting the message. Here's something to read whilst I work on the next thing: www.grumpypantsblog.com GrumpyPants is just a little something I've been piddling with while waiting on the book muse to strike. If you've never tackled a book, and I've written a few others, you must know that writing them is a huge pain in the ass: endless rereads, agonizing edits, being polite and patient with those that read early drafts and make pre-publishing suggestions when you would rather just get drunk, etc,etc. So, Twardo, I wait for the muse to smack the shit out of me and then maybe I'll write "Red Beans & Ripcords, Part Two." Just have to make sure I'm in the right "place" first.

This thread is a huge disappointment. I opened it fully expecting to be regaled with a story about one drunk taking a shit in another drunk's helmet. Instead, what do I see? An entire thread written by neophyte fucking Mister Cleans. Jesus jumping Christ people.

Twardo, great write up! When I read about guys like Eddie buying it, I have to smile a little because they are the ones who go their own way, loving it, and have no trouble having a good time while they are alive and then flipping the bird at the Reaper knowing they didn't waste a minute worrying about the small shit. The bit about the fifty dollar bike reminds me of another airshow great, Charlie Kulp aka The Flying Farmer of Bealton, Virginia. If you don't know of him, that would be surprising. Goggle him. Charlie and Eddie had much in common. One really cold winter night I invited Charlie and his girlfriend over to the house for dinner. When they got there, I shoved a beer in their hands and they made a bee line for the wood stove to stand there rubbing their frozen butts. I asked Charlie if he had had heat in his car? His girlfriend replied, somewhat pissed off, that "Hell, the little gnome doesn't have a floorboard in his car. Turns out he had done an airshow down south somewhere when the weather took a shit and he couldn't fly the Cub back to Virginia. So he went off and bought a junker for $100 and drove it back leaving his Cub to pick up another day. Shit, Charlie could take the wings off of a Cub and load it on a special trailer all by himself when he thought he wasn't going to be able to fly back. Be he misjudged the weather that time. We haven't lost people like Eddie. They live in our hearts and they stand cracking jokes and drinking beer at a special mystical bar up there somewhere. Oh! By the by, fuck the know-it-all SME's. They don't know dick.

Well, Usetawuz, I wouldn't feel too, too bad. Spider had 83 wonderful years, was surrounded by GKs, old and new, family, and I suppose, Nancy. I'm 69 and if I get the kind of time left that Bobby had, I'll feel lucky. Side note: I used to marvel at the pull Bobby had at Ft. Bragg, getting choice assignments and all until I found out that as 1st. Sgt. of the 440th Army Band, he would march the whole bunch up to main post and play the commanding general's favorites outside his window. The general? Westmoreland. Heh! Of course, I did the same kind of sucking up as the manager of the Fort Polk Sport Parachute Club in 1969. Ah...those were the days. Like Bobby, I was, in addition to being the manager, pilot and instructor, the bartender.

It is with sadness that I report the passing of Bobby "Spider" Wrenn on April 9, 2014, after a short bout with cancer. Bobby was one of my first instructors and jumpmasters at XVIII Sport Parachute Club, Ft. Bragg, 1962. Bobby was also a Golden Knight on two tours, as I recall. At this time, funeral arrangements are incomplete according to published reports. I'm sure the GKs will be heavily involved. Spider was a highly regarded jumper and member of the team. Blue skies, Bobby. Open me a PBR when I get there. (Spider was also the club bartender when nobody else was around.)

This article is sorely, sorely lacking. It omits many female pioneers such as Susie Joerns, Bonney Hickey and many others during the 1960s, 1970s time periods. This IS NOT the "History of Women in Skydiving." Get real, young lady. Mike Marcon, C3917

About 5 + years ago, I posted on here that the CrossBow rig was designed by Dan abbott, Ludlow Clements & Perry Stevens. Dan Abbott ( known as 26 Ft Conical on here ) seriously corrected me. Dan was the sole designer of the CrossBow rig. The 3-pin w/side closure, w/zipper on the opposite side, came from Dan's earlier design, The Tracker. The Tracker was a conventional rig ( back mounted main & front mounted reserve ) that also used a 3-pin closure w/zipper on the other side. JerryBaumchen http://www.dropzone.com/cgi-bin/forum/gforum.cgi?post=4552493;search_string=Dan%20Abbott;#4552493 Thanks for the correction. Jack had other accomplishments to his credit other than being Susy's husband. Ha! Boy, do have stories about Bonnie Hickey and Susy coming to Hammond to train for the Nationals. I think it was '67 or '68. Anyway, somewhere around here, I have a picture of the result of a three pin Crossbow hanging up on me. When it hung, I hit the blast handle and opened my reserve. Could actually make out rivets in the hanger's tin roof below me when the reserve opened about 500'. About then the main, a PC, fell out of the its container and proceeded to try to deploy. Fun day. Hard landing, only hard one ever, on a conical. Good times!

I'm desperately trying to remember the guy's name that I made that trade with. I remember the name Mike. He later went on to be a wig with USPA. Maybe it'll come to me. I also had one of the first Cross Bows, a 3 pin that loved to hang up the middle pin on opening. If I remember right, Jack Joerns had a hand in the design of it. The two pin containers were gtg. Hundreds of jumps on one of those.

If I'm correct, in the first pic, the rig in the middle row, far left, is a Style Master. I had one in 1969. Traded a stereo for it.

RIP, Bob! Mike Marcon

Does anybody know of his whereabouts or current situation? Please e-mail me at [email protected] if you have info. I was Leon's pilot and jumpmaster for a number of years during the 60's.

Lucedale, Mississippi in the 60's. Set a state altitude record there in 1965. 13,500 feet in 1965. Hahahaha! Went out the baggage door of a unpressurized Cessna 310 (I think) with a guy named Rusty Salley. Had gotten knee walking drunk the night before. I had like 5 jumps prior. Wonder I ain't dead. Of course my home DZ where I logged over 1200 jumps, Hammond, Louisiana. The DZ closed due to local politics and moved to Covington, LA. It's just a weed patch now.Quote

Indiantown had the finest grass runway I ever landed on!

Got to tell you guys, Tandem jumps are for pussies. No shit. Mike

There is an old story, and I think, somewhere, some film, of Carlos body blocking Skippy Menino(sp?) as he plummeted towards the ground under a total streamer and malfunctioned reserve and breaking Skippy's fall before he (Skippy) hit the ground. Skippy supposedly lived. I had heard this story many times back in the 60's but had no proof to substantiate it. Good story though. Mike Marcon

This thread is actually kind of humorous. We didn't know any different with our Rube Goldberg-esque equipment and we did pretty damn good. I could turn a cross series in seven seconds. But we were so archaic with our gear and all, it's a wonder we didn't just fall out the sky like bricks to a certain death. Hahahahaha!

Sorry to hear it. I've known him since 1962. Hope he went peacefully.

I was seventeen years old, a snot-nosed Private having just finished basic training and jump school only a few months prior, when I walked into the XVIII Airborne Corps Sport Parachute Club, located in a wing of the old Fort Bragg hospital. I remember taking a stool at the dimly lit bar. Looking at the bar length mirror, I recall a neon Old Milwaukee sign behind the bartender. Over in the corner seated in front of a brightly lit Rock-Ola juke box were Gene Paul Thacker, ‘Spider’ Wrenn, ‘Sqeak’ Charette and, I think, Dave Rodriguez. I didn’t know it at the moment, but these were all the first Golden Knights also known as Sky Gods. On the juke box was playing Dave Brubeck and ‘Blue Rondo A La Turk.’ Shortly it played Brubeck’s ‘Take Five.’ Little did I know how profoundly that music and those men would affect the outcome of my life. I learned how to sky dive there. Forty hours of classroom drills, PLFs (parachute landing falls) and hours of packing round canopies were the norm then -- mostly at night because we all had duty during the day. Then I was assigned Specialist Five Russell as my jumpmaster. He could be found spit shining his Corcoran jump boots every Saturday morning sitting on the club’s steps waiting on the key holder to open up. He was what you would call a ‘lifer,’ in the military for 20 plus years. Now Russell was bit of an asshole. Come the day of my first skydive, Russell packed my rig himself and in the process included five pounds of flour, 30 or so beer cans and an untold amount of gravel. When son-of-a-bitch opened, I was sure I was dead. It was this smoky explosion followed by a hard rain of rocks and Pabst Blue Ribbon cans -- scared the fuck out of me. But sky diving had me in its tentacles and wouldn’t release its grip for many years to come. The men sitting in front of the juke box would become role models and heroes to me. The first civilian aircraft I jumped was the club’s Cessna 195 which had a small fold-away step that was basically underneath the fuselage and was little help during exits. Of course I was a bit nervous about the thing anyway having never been above combat jump altitudes. This jump would take place at 2’500 agl (above ground level) and was as close to the stratosphere as I’d ever been. Went off okay. I tumbled out the aircraft and somehow my rig opened cleanly. The jumper on the next pass went whistling by me at the speed of sound and finally got his reserve out at probably less than three hundred feet. I thought his ass was toast. I landed, dutifully did what passed for a plf then ran into the woods and took the world’s longest piss. The drop zone was Sicily at Bragg and I should have my ashes spread there when I die. God knows I’ve left enough skin there on various occasions. Ahead would be thousands of jumps, hundreds and hundreds of students trained, and more good times than I can actually remember. When I do croak, the only thing I want anyone to remember is that I was jumper first, a pilot second and everything else third and so-on. I don’t know if I would have written this except that I just bought a new Brubeck CD and Blue Rondo A La Turk was the lead track and listening to it, the sight of Golden Knights seated in front of that Rock-Ola in my memories always brings my jump career back in tight, loving focus. Mike Marcon

I made a bunch of jumps on the "Sky Hook." It was also sprayed with silicone and emitted a little cloud of white silicone dust/smoke when it opened. It was slow and big but I had a lot of fun jumping it. Back then, I would jump anything that was packed and ready. That included T-10's, C-9's and anything I thought would open and wouldn't kill me. Wasn't particular until I got my first PC. Mike Marcon

Was just reading a thread about the Dells and his name was mentioned. Is he still with us and if so where. Does he frequent the board? Mike Marcon