Essay

Skip and a jump

By Douglas Lummis

Well, I could tell you a story about skiing.

Back in 1957, I was captain of the U.C. ski team. We had no coach, so I was pretty much in charge. We had a fellow on the team named Skip. Skip was our one-man reserve. In intercollegiate competition there were four events: downhill, slalom, cross-country and jumping. We needed to enter four people in each event. In downhill, slalom and cross-country, Skip was number five. But in the jump, he was number four.

The trouble was, Skip had never done any jumping.

Well, before the racing season began, we had practiced on a small jump: whup you're up, bang you're down. Skip had done OK. But at the first meet of the season, at Reno, the jump was entirely different. From the top, all you could see was the takeoff, and then the valley far below. You couldn't see where you were going to land. For a beginner, it was terrifying.

Skip made a mistake. A week before the meet, he drove to where the jump was, and carried his skis to the top. After a long wait, he walked back down, got into his car, and drove back to the city. All the next week he couldn't sleep.

On Thursday the team, Skip included, drove up to Reno. While the rest of us were busy with the other events, Skip went every day to the jump, carried his skis to the top, stared into the yawning abyss below, and climbed down again.

By Sunday, the day of the event, Skip was a mess.

It was only then that I realized what was going on. I thought, if Skip comes off the jump and breaks a leg, it will heal. But if, after this terrible week, he gives up, that will stay with him for life. Let's get him off that jump, whatever the cost

I gathered the team and told them, "Today, Skip jumps. We are going to stand alongside him to make sure he does. Skip, just climb to the top, put on your skis, put them in the tracks, and gravity will carry you over the jump. We will be watching."

Skip did as he was told. He came off the jump arms akimbo, rolling back so his skis were over his head, eyes popping, screaming like someone thrown off a building. The other team's coaches and competitors stared at me like I was a torturer. I thought, "Oh, my God! What have I done?! Skip! Skip! I'm sorry. You don't have to do it again."

I ran to the bottom of the landing, where Skip was getting up slowly. He was furious. He began picking up his scattered skis, gloves, hat, goggles. He was muttering, "Goddammit! That was the stupidest goddam thing I ever heard of, goddammit!" He climbed to the top of the jump, and jumped again. And again, and again, and again.

He never became a very good jumper. He always came off the jump looking a bit like someone thrown off a building. But he loved it. I think there was never anyone on our team who delighted in jumping as much as Skip did.

Shukan ST: April 20, 2007

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