Smokejumpers of the late 50s

The rookie class or '57 was made up of 25 young men, mostly just out of high school from a diverse background of hometowns ranging from Winthrop and Omak to Wenatchee and Seattle.

One of the rituals of rookie smokejumpers was the opportunity to meet Shirley.  Here is my story about Shirley.

Title: The Summer of ’57:  Becoming a Man

During the hot and dry days during the summer of 1957, smokejumper were waiting for the lightning storms. Of course, if not lightning storms, we were interested in women. This particular week, things were slow around the base until the word was out that Shirley was coming home for a week.  The older jumpers from town described her as an attractive, athletic, outgoing girl in her early twenties.  More interesting, to us, was the rumor that she enjoyed doing “it.”  The prospect of a girl wanting to “do it” was exciting enough for us to fantasize.  Shirley was going to be in town for week was cause for some great speculation. 

The possibility of the chance to meet Shirley was to say the least, remote for me.  It seemed that the most of the older jumpers were far more experienced than I in the area of women and seduction (based on their authentic stories).  The talk around the base was that Shirley was coming up to Winthrop and wanted to meet a few of the new jumpers.  It was said that she simply liked sex and particularly with smokejumpers.

We were told that Shirley had been married for about a year, but her possessive and abusive husband was the cause of a possible break up.  Her husband was known as a tough guy who was a stockade guard at a nearby Air Force base.  Apparently, he was more interested in guns and hunting than in meeting his marriage obligations.  It was obvious that she was not being satisfied.  Now the following is true, but the names were changed to protect the guilty.

For some unknown reason, I was selected as one of two rookie jumpers that Shirley had heard about while she was in town.  Surprised, that I was chosen (Could it have been my friendly personality?), I was thrilled about being chosen as one of two who would have a special time with Shirley.

So, the deal was that Ron and I had to buy two cases of beer, one for Shirley and one case for Gene and Bill, the two who were setting up the meeting with Shirley.  To say the least, I was excited about the evening with Shirley, even though, I wasn’t particularly excited about having another Ron along.  But, at this stage of a long and somewhat lonely summer, one needed to make flexible about such things (Being from “The Coast,” one had to adapt to Valley customs).

Arrangements were made for me to drive my car out to an abandon ranch house where we would meet Shirley.  I was told that when I reached the ranch house, I was to signal her by turning the headlights on and off.  So, that special evening, around dusk, the four of us drive to town, bought the cases of beer and condoms, and continued on to the abandon ranch house in the nearby hills. (Ron said he didn’t have any money for his share of the beer, so I bought all the beer.)  Gene and Bill explained along the way to the ranch that after we felt comfortable, she would spend about half an hour alone with each of us.  (Ron wanted me to be with her first because he was too nervous.)  When we arrived at the ranch house, it was dark since there was no moon.  

I could hardly see the ranch house.   I parked the car in the driveway about a hundred yards from the porch, tuned the headlights on and off.  A flash light was turned on and off, signaling us to come on up to the house.  Gene and Bill said that we needed to take a case of beer up to the house for Shirley. 

Both of us being a little nervous and shy about this whole arrangement, we got out of the car and started walking up the driveway.   About halfway between the car and the ranch house, I saw a bright flash and the very loud explosion from a shotgun.  Bang! Another shot was fired. I dropped the beer and ran as fast as I could, down a steep hill into the wheat field.  I heard someone, presumably Shirley’s husband, yelling, “Fuck my wife, will ya.”  Bang and another shot hit the ground close to me.  I continued running and crawling under a couple of barbed wire fences. I was too scared to move.  My heart was pounding so loud, I thought this guy with the gun could hear me.  One minute we were nervously laughing and suddenly Shirley’s husband was shooting at us.  Besides being scared, I was trying to figure out what happened to the Ron.  I wasn’t going to speak up for fear that it would lead Shirley’s husband to where I was hiding and he would start shooting at me again.

After about what seemed like fifteen minutes, but probably five, I heard a groan.  I was thinking Ron had been hit by the shotgun. Fearing for my life, I decided to crawl and run the five miles back to town and get the sheriff and help for Ron.  Here I was in the middle of a field on a dark night, not quite sure where I was and Ron was possibly injured. Not quite as important, my car was still back at the ranch.  After crawling and running across some fields and through fences, I found a dirt road.  I was thinking maybe a car would come by and I could get a ride to town.  After a few minutes of walking and running down the road to town, I could hear a car coming, but fearing Shirley’s husband was looking for me, I jumped into a ditch hoping that I wouldn’t be found. 

Slowing, the car came down the road and stopped about ten yards from where I was on the ground. It was my car.  Someone got out of the car and yelled, “Jack, you can come on back, its safe now.”  Thinking this was a trick to draw me out so he could shoot me, I didn’t move or say anything.  I recognized that the voice was Gene, one of the guys who arranged this tragic adventure.  They drove down the road and after about ten minutes, came back.  This time they stopped and someone else yelled out that it was safe to come back to the car.  This guy sure sounded like Ron, but how could he be in the car, when he was just shot about twenty minutes ago?

Still, I wasn’t going to come up from the field and possibly get shot again.  Those in the car stayed there while I lay in the ditch.  I could hear the guys in the car laughing.  Why were they laughing? Ron was shot.  I almost got killed. Then, I suddenly realized what was happening. 

Here were my so called “friends,” in my car, drinking my beer, while I was lying in a ditch, cold, sacred, ruined pants and shirt, with my knees and elbows bleeding.  I finally figured out that all of the things leading up to my time with this beautiful woman was not making sense.

Starting to understanding what was going on, I crawled out of the ditch and walked up the hill to my car where my friends were my drinking beer.  I had been set up.  Even Ron, my partner in this sexual fantasy, was in on this escapade.   I had fallen for one of the great “Shirley” hoax. Reluctantly, I joined in on the laughter and the already embellished stories about how I had dropped the beer (none broke) and ran off into the field, leaving my wounded partner dying in the driveway. 

I should have been curious about this whole arrangement. Who, of my so called friends would be willing to share an opportunity to be with Shirley, this beautiful and “wanting” woman?  The guys I knew always talked about such a woman.  If they were ever to find such a woman, I know they would never let any get near such a woman. (I was blinded by my fantasies.) Second, why would Shirley know about me and want to meet me?  (Crazy as that sounds, I believed it.)  Third, Ron didn’t have any money to buy his share of the beer (I should have known.  Ron never has money to buy beer.)  And, fourth, Shirley was just too good to be true (Could there really be such a woman?).

The next day at the base, some of the other rookies asked about my date with Shirley.  I said that although I was nervous, Shirley was very beautiful and understanding. She lived up to all my expectations and more.  She said that I was great!  If they were interested in meeting Shirley, I think she was coming back in the Methow Valley in about two weeks.

Over the years, Shirley revisited the Methow Valley.  She is said to have a continued interest in meeting the rookie jumpers.  Her husband is still extremely jealous, however, he has been busy fixing his guns. To my knowledge, the sheriff hasn’t been called about someone being shot while out with Shirley.  There was a rumor going around amongst the ranchers that for some strange reason, the barbed wire fences out at the abandoned ranch have to be repaired about every two weeks during the summer months.

 From Spittin' In the Wind: History and Tales,  "The Summer of '57: Becoming a Man,"  pages 159-161.