Prologue:
“Life depends on a single thread,” the motto of the Caterpillar Club honoring the debt owed to the silkworm. The caterpillar, a worm that produced the silk used to make early parachutes viable as lifesaving devices. To escape the inability of an airplane to continue flying, for whatever reason, be it structural failure or the result of an instrument of war is the standard requirement for recognition. The successful exit of a failed flying machine by using a canopy made of silk awarded you automatic membership into the club. Early notable members included such aviation stalwarts as General James Doolittle, Charles Lindbergh and astronaut John Glenn. Since its inception there are to date over 34,000 members.
Iggy
When five years old Ignacio Lopez was bitten in the face by his dog Tippy. It happened one morning while Iggy and his puppy played fetch with a tennis ball in the backyard. Not a terrible wound but it required a series of rabies shots to be injected into his tummy. His father, for Iggy’s bravery in the presence of a rather large needle, bought him a present on the day of his final injection. The toy, popular in the period during the Second World War, was a parachutist. A little cardboard man attached by strings to a round silk canopy stuffed into a small round cardboard tube. Blowing into the tube launched the little man high into the air, on its way down the silk would blossom into a parachute and slowly float back to earth. Iggy, delighted with his new toy, imagined himself of becoming a parachute guy, just like his little cardboard man. Be it misfortunate or not Iggy’s fate in life had unknowingly been decided because his puppy had innocently bitten him in the face. A course drawn during the sunrise of a young boy’s life happens more frequently than you might imagine.
Born May 5th, on a day now celebrated as “Cinco de Mayo,” Iggy’s family would name him after the famous Mexican General, Ignacio Zaragoza. Who, on the same day in 1862, immortalized himself by defeating the French forces at the Battle of Puebla.
Ignacio, a slight child, was the last born of a large family that lived in the suburbs of East Los Angeles. His mother, having exhausted in him all of what remained of her life-giving abilities, did not survive the birth of her eighteenth child. Born a year prior to the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, Ignacio would watch as his older siblings left home to join the countries war effort. The Lopez family not only provided the nation with soldiers, it also offered both a Priest and a Nun in service to their Catholic Church. It was the commitment to their faith, they reasoned, that all of the brothers returned home safe at wars end to share their adventures in faraway places. Iggy would remain steadfast in his dream to one day jump from an airplane and become a parachute man.
A family with eighteen children, as you might expect, required a lot of resources to feed and clothe everyone. Even with help from their church and though they worked hard, Iggy’s extended family came up short. Intermittently, the Lopez children were farmed off to relatives; brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles, even an orphanage or two. Iggy fortunately, ended up in the Catholic orphanage where his sister, Sister Patricia Lopez, served in the local order. The Nuns were both strict and demanding of those in their charge while providing both nourishment and moral guidance. Iggy would thrive in the atmosphere of the orphanage. At some point, during his growing years, a brief desire to become a priest had surfaced. But, a different angel on his shoulder would encourage otherwise; the little cardboard man and the silk parachute would end up winning out. While in his mid-teens, still at a young age, Iggy decided to leave his comfortable nest and fashioned a plan to leave. In search of silk the Army was the only place he knew he could find it.
Not long after his sixteenth Birthday Iggy committed a rare sin… he lied. Few people want to jump from a perfectly good airplane but Iggy always believed one day he would. Iggy couldn’t escape his early yearning and fascination with the little parachute man. He did not tell the truth about his age and enlisted himself into the Army with every intention of becoming a paratrooper.
After finishing basic training, he applied for the Armies Jump School. His application was approved and assigned a date with his destiny. The youthful soldier, impressed his superiors, marching through the Army Jump School as if he owned it. Ground Week… nothing to it. Tower Week the same and Jump Week was another walk in the park. “Clear, Sergeant Airborne, Not Clear, Sergeant Airborne,” were the mantras shouted in clear understanding of yes-or-no procedural orders given by his Black Hat instructors. After completing five live jumps from an airplane he became eligible for graduation. An older brother Juan, a veteran, and his slightly older sister Alejandra, attended the ceremony at the south end of Eubanks Field. It was there they pinned on his well-earned Parachutist Wings. Iggy Lopez was seventeen years old.
As an Airborne Infantryman Iggy’s service to his country occurred in non-wartime years between the Korean and Vietnam Wars. There would be no battle ribbons in his future. He loved jumping but didn’t enjoy so much being in the Army itself. The required jumps to maintain proficiency were too far and few between. His military career was short lived because he wanted to jump when he wanted to jump, not just on Uncle Sam’s terms. Iggy was Honorably Discharged at the end of his enlistment obligation taking on life as a civilian. But, the pursuit and need to jump out of airplanes would remain a driving force. Iggy was twenty-year-old.
Using his GI Bill benefits Iggy Sanchez made his way through a technical course and settled into a career in medical services. He became an x-ray technician in both the industrial and medical fields. But, he did not wander far from his love of jumping from airplanes. The former paratrooper and now x-ray technician settled in East Moriches, NY, out near the south shore of Long Island just north of the Montauk Highway. Skydiving was popular at the local airport. It was there he would discover a group of people, much like himself, having passions for jumping out of airplanes; “hitting the silk” as they liked to call it.
It was there Iggy enshrined himself to the locals by agreeing to buy an airplane for the sole purpose of jumping out of it. Customized, it was to be decked out for the Silk Blossom Bombers, the local jump club. Now that he owned an airplane Iggy faced a new challenge… he needed to learn how to fly it, which of course he did. To accommodate club jumpers, the narrow aircraft exit was redesigned by removing doors and attaching a jump platform under the overhead wing on right strut. He also installed a hitch for towing banners which would prove lucrative later.
As a hospital technician Iggy, still a bachelor, could arrange his work schedule as he pleased. Working late evening shifts was his preference allowing him to fly jumpers and tow banners during the day. He had an idyllic lifestyle that went on for several years. Until that is, a new nurse arrived on scene, the late-night emergency ward’s head nurse. The emergency ward was the playground for an x-ray tech… it was where all of the action took place. The nurse was pleasing to look at and Iggy looked, bless his little heart… it was all over for him. Iggy, a bachelor with an airplane and a full time good paying job, not to mention a newly acquired black Corvette had no idea he would become the target of her affections.
The beginning of the relationship went something like this: Iggy was testing a new type of film the hospital had acquired which hadn’t been put into use as yet. The films development process would be faster and X-ray results would be available much quicker. Iggy wanted to do an experimental run and approached the new nurse(Samantha) about being a practice patient. He asked if she wouldn’t mind him taking an X-ray of her hand. Sam agreed but then suggested, “why not do a chest X-ray instead.”
As beginning relationships go Sam and Iggy’s was short. One evening, at about the six-month interval, Iggy found himself flying high over Yankee Stadium towing a banner that read “Samantha Will You Marry Me?” He had provided her and a friend tickets to the game so he knew full well where she would be seated.
His marriage to Samantha faltered, a relationship that was doomed from the start, because she was not a jumper and after a few years of marriage discovered she was allergic to silk. The existence of silk allergens in their home caused her to be asthmatic. Extensive laboratory evaluation later revealed the source; her symptoms resolved in three months following discontinuation of her exposure to silk products.
Ignacio continued to jump as he wished. There are no records of how many jumps were in his logbook he had enjoyed a long life suspended beneath the canopy. Though his marriage was brief, it provided him a daughter. As the story goes and much to his surprise, after separating herself from the silk exposure, Samantha and child one day quietly disappeared. They left for California, Iggy never saw them again. There was never a full explanation. Iggy, sadly, whenever he jumped and wherever he journeyed always carried a picture of his daughter with him, referring to her as his little blossom.
Iggy’s final jump occurred on his 75th Birthday, a bright and sunny afternoon in early May. It was a big party kind of day with great plans for the local community of jumpers. Seventy-five members would participate and Iggy would be the last. After which, the band would begin playing and the Bar-B-Q and Clambake would commence. The party may well last all night.
If Only. If Only Iggy survived the jump. He didn’t.
Iggy had coined a saying around the club. It was a derivation of a poem whose source is unknown to this author. The poems message was, “Bury me upside down, so the world can kiss my ass.” Iggy’s version went like this, please “Bury Me in Silk - Upside Down” with all the same sentiment and the world can now kiss my derriere. His pronouncement always gathered a few chuckles.
Iggy’s group would be the last to jump. A 360 degree circle around the field was planned and Iggy would be the last out with the band set to begin playing “Hail to the Chief” as if he were president for the day.
Upwind and approaching the drop zone Iggy took his position out on the strut, as the band below began to play he let go the grip. The chute blossomed fully and Iggy began his slow descent to perpetuity. Not long after his chute abruptly arrested the fall Iggy suffered what might be known as an acute heart failure… had he been anywhere else his chances of surviving possibly would have been better. However, being unconscious and unable to control his descent to the airfield, it was obvious to the party below something was amiss. As Iggy passed well overhead, drifting briskly to the west, the band stopped playing and friends ran for their cars. Iggy was found about a mile away suspended from above, his chute tangled, hanging in a tree, his head nodding ever so slightly wearing a sly smile on his face. His boots were on.
Iggy’s party, much like his life, came to an abrupt halt.
The Silk Blossom Bombers Jump Club, in honor of their mentor, decided on a final farewell to their hero and friend. Ignacio Lopez had earned a more proper sendoff… a more worthy final farewell than that of his final jump. That party never got started.
The jump club, after few days of mourning, decided Iggy’s final request would be honored; buried in silk, upside down, so the world could kiss his you know what. Dressed in his jumpsuit and chute harness they placed him lying face down in a wooden coffin wrapped completely in his silk parachute. As an Army veteran the lid of his simple wooden coffin was wrapped with an American Flag.
They planned to take Iggy around the field one more time land and let the party begin once again. Iggy would be the celebrity at his own wake, and most certainly the honored guest.
On a brisk, somewhat chilly, mid-May Saturday morning Iggy’s wooden box was gingerly secured onto the floor of his airplane and readied for his last flight, the prelude for the party. As the box was being tied down three of Iggy’s closest friends arrived with their chutes, having decided over a few beers they would ride along and do a jump in his honor. It would be cramped but they had a plan. The friends each carried with them a single flare; one red, one blue and one white. It was their intention to join up in a triangle lighting the flares then spiraling downward. At the last moment they intended to separate and deploy their chutes while the airplane landed in behind them. It was then the party would begin in earnest.
The airplane with all aboard lined up on the north runway and into a steady headwind began its takeoff roll. The plan was to climb to nine thousand feet where the jumpers would deploy and join up in formation, light the flares during the free fall, then spiral downward till reaching a safe altitude. Once the flares were exhausted they would simultaneously deploy their chutes and land on the airport.
The event was going according to plan lazily climbing to near nine thousand feet as the jumpers readied themselves for the jump. While doing so, the tie down straps on Iggy’s boxed coffin were loosened ever so slightly to make more room for the jumpers to straddle the box as they moved forward, thus, sliding the box closer toward the enlarged cabin door. As the friends of Iggy climbed out onto the wing struts platform, the pilot skidded slightly to the right to accommodate as a group jumping free, to ensure their not hitting the horizontal stabilizer on the tail. In so doing a sizable vacuum was created by the ninety mile an hour slipstream of air rushing past the opening. Unfortunately, the suction rested free the flag draped top of the coffin and out the door it flew. It struck the leading edge of the horizontal stabilizer creating a huge dent while jamming and disabling the elevator and vertical flight controls. Along with sucking out the coffins top, the loosely wrapped parachute trailed out as well pulling Iggy, still fastened in his harness, with it. The lines of his chute got caught up in crease created by the coffins top. This immediate drag on the aircraft caused the aircraft to pitch up and stall which fortunately set free the chute and Iggy. Now, once again, the likes of Iggy began floating slowly downward in his all too familiar path. The chute, regrettably, with the aid of a north wind carried Iggy out several miles well past his planned airport destination. His final landing was to be in the ocean waters south of Long Island, something he had never done. Iggy’s remains, fortunately, would be recovered, picked up by the Coast Guard a few hours later.
The pilot of Iggy’s aircraft was in the end the hero-of-the-day. His ability to wrestle the disabled aircraft back to earth is a story of its own well worthy of the praise and recognition he received. That story is for another day. The recovery itself, of both Iggy and his aircraft, is excuse enough to party so they did.
The Capstone, the crowning achievement for Iggy’s career as a jumper, even though he earned no medals for his service to country as a paratrooper, was his newest posthumously awarded qualification: Membership in “The Caterpillar Club,” formed in 1922, says any person who jumped from a disabled aircraft with a parachute is eligible. As mentioned earlier notable members include: General James Doolittle, Charles Lindbergh and astronaut John Glen.
A similar organization, “The Goldfish Club,” whose membership eligibility requires escaping an aircraft by parachuting into the water awarded Iggy the same honors. This club has more than 9,000 members. Iggy is now in good company but not all were buried upside down.
Epilogue
Even though Iggy’s health situation could have been better when he left the aircraft, and even though he left involuntary, he no doubt would have survived had his heart been beating. Chances are he would have made it to shore after landing in the ocean as well. We conclude Ignacio Lopez, former Army Paratrooper, has earned the rights to memberships in these elite Clubs and so be it.
Bibliography: On 20 October 1922, Lieutenant Harold R. Harris, chief of the McCook Field Flying Station, jumped from a disabled Loening W-2A monoplane fighter. Shortly after, two reporters from the Dayton Herald, realizing that there would be more jumps in future, suggested that a club should be formed. Harris became the first member and from that time forward any person who jumped from a disabled aircraft with a parachute became a member of the Caterpillar Club. Other famous members include General James Doolittle, Charles Lindbergh and (retired) astronaut John Glenn.
