I was in my final weeks of aviation electronics school at Millington, Tenn., just outside of Memphis. We were to practice radar equipment aboard an airplane. They had about 12 training stations per plane. Each station had a chest chute hanging at the end of our table. The instructor explained that if an “abandon ship” drill came over our headphones, we were to grab the chute pack, hold it against our chest, and snap one snap. Then, change hands, holding the chute, and snap the other snap. We were to raise our hand when we were ready to go.
When “abandon ship” came over my headphones, I did exactly what we’d been told. As I was snapping my second snap, suddenly the table filled with what I thought was soap suds. A second later, I realized it was silk. Somehow, the palm of my hand had slid the rip cord pins out, and the chute had deployed on my table. Everyone had his hand up but me. I had two arms around a pile of white silk. The instructor explained that the chute was still usable in this condition. “Just jump out and open your arms,” he said. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, it will still inflate.”
I found out later that each flight had a situation set up like this for a training session.