WWII Veteran, Purple Heart Recipient Helps Unveil Freedom Wall

Not too many people are interested in jumping out of airplanes, but for some the choice is an easy one. During WWII, the decision to become a paratrooper was a a no-brainer for Jim Schaap 91, of San Bernardino. He trained as a paratrooper in the waning years of WWII, though he never actually got to use his skills in a combat situation. In fact last Friday, to the date, was the anniversary of his last time leaving a plane that wasn't already on the ground. “I made my last jump 70 years ago on Friday the 13th at Fort Benning, Ga.,” he said, remembering the day. “Half the class quit because they wouldn't jump on Friday the 13th. They said they would jump the next day but the government said, 'if you won't jump on Friday the 13th, forget it'” They were sent then to the port of embarkation and shipped to the regular infantry.” Drafted into the army in November of 1942, Schaap passed the physical and reported for duty at Fort MacArthur in San Pedro harbor in March of 1943. After boot camp, he was to be sent to the 76th Infantry Division in Kansas but he instead made clear to army officials that he wanted to join the paratroopers. “It was more money,” Schaap said. “A private got $21 a month while a paratrooper got $50 month more.” Schaap was sent to Fort Benning to learn how to jump out of an airplane and, according to him, that was quite a deal. His initial training consisted of jumping off of towers to get the hang of things. “They pulled you up on a ring with the chute open, then released you 34 feet with just a harness on,” he said. “You look at the ground coming up on you thinking, 'I'm gonna break my neck — but just before you hit the ground, you get caught.” From a 250-foot tower, future troopers would drop a paper and if it was flying away from the tower, then you jumped with an open parachute. Having passed these tests, Schaap then began learning to jump from a plane. The planes would fly at 1,200 feet and the men onboard would be attached to a cable and when the door opened on the plane, they would be pushed out 12 at a time. “We had a couple of guys that were too scared to jump, but that didn't matter, the jump master sent 12 men in 12 seconds,” he said. “We had guys break arms and legs. Then they put you on in full field packs; with a main chute, reserve chute, your gun in front and the pack. I was a little scared at first — no, every time.” Schaap said the men learned quick how to get out of the plane and out of the way of the chute, which would burn the back of you neck if you didn't hold your head high. “Now the way they jump is easy,” he said. “We just had the two static lines and you couldn't guide it — you just went down. The highest we jumped was 1200 feet out of the airplane and it didn't take very long... 8-10 seconds if the chute didn't open. He was sent overseas to the where he was part of the 503rd Regimental Combat Team (the 503rd Parachute Infantry Regiment — PIR), which was not attached to any division. He was sent to Corregidor, an island in the Philippines that the U.S. originally lost to the Japanese in 1942, but retook in 1945. While it was 503rd paratroopers that helped retake the island, they had landed just prior to Schaap's arrival when all the plane jumping was over. From there, Schaap's military travels took him to New Guinea where the U.S. had engaged the Japanese, fighting for the northern part of the country, and the the island of Latay back in the Philippines. From there his regiment went to Los Negors in the Philippines. “We didn't have to jump,” he said. “Instead we went in by truck and started fighting the Japs.” The Japanese focused their automatic weapons on a pair of American tanks near where Schaap was deployed, which they tried to blow up. The melee that followed created “A hell of an explosion” according to Schaap, and killed a pair of Americans, wounding others. The tanks survived but Shaaap got knocked to the ground, waking up on his way to an army hospital. “They took me there in a Piper Cub,” he said. “They pulled into a field office and put a brace on my right knee and when I woke up I looked to see if my leg was still there (it was). I told them to take off the brace because I couldn't move.” Two days later Schaap was flown to a general hospital and got taken care of before landing in a rehab center for a short time where he started to exercise with the other wounded soldiers. Schaap soon went back to the field in the Philippines, guarding Japanese prisoners until he was sent to Sendai in the northern part of Japan until he earned enough points to be discharged. The 503rd had been deactivated and he was now in the 87th Gilder Battalion Division of the 11th Airborne. “I spent my 21st birthday in Sendai and almost froze to death it was so cold,” he said. “Soon the war was ended and they said, 'Jimmy, your number is on the board — you're ready to go home.'” They offered Schaap a sergeant rating if he would stay another two years but he said no. “I told them I was a California truck driver and I wanted to go home,” he said. Schaap took a troop ship to Fort Lawton in Seattle, Wash. and from there caught another back to Fort MacArthur where he was discharged. Schaap then became the “Concrete Cowboy,” where in 50 years, he logged more than three million miles on American roads, originally hauling lumber from the mill towns of Redding, Weed, Dunsmuir and others while living in Sacrament. When the lumber mills began to be shut down by the Environmental Protection Agency in the early 1960s, Schaap moved down to Rialto where he lived with his sister and continued his trucking career, hauling produce into Canada, dairy cattle down to Chino, and fig newton cookies between Pennsylvania and Los Angeles. He was married four times, the last in 1973, and his last wife died in September two years ago. Now he lives alone in San Bernardino with his big, black cat, Smokey, who earned his name as a kitten, chasing the trails of smoke that floated off of Schaap's cigarettes. As a hobby, Schaap spent a lot of years following Nascar and other racing events. He's been to all of the big tracks including Talladega, Indianapolis, and Daytona. Unfortunately, about 12 years ago, well into his 70s, macular degeneration began to affect Schaap's vision and he eventually had to quit driving and slow down his traveling as well. “I can still walk around without hitting the walls,” he said. “I'm hanging in there.” Nowadays, Schaap said he doesn't do much of anything anymore, though friends of his still describe him as active. He has one buddy he's known for 60 years and traveled with to at least 100 car races. They still stay in touch after all these years, as do some of his other old friends. “I get too weak too easy now,” he said. “At 91, you gotta expect that. I can still stand. That's good enough.” Schaap has arthritis in the leg he got wounded on and the Veteran's Hospital allows him two Vicodin a day to kill the pain. “Other than that, it's just day by day,” he said. “I never figured I'd be 91 years old. Hell, when I was younger I drank and I still smoke cigarettes. I still enjoy it so I do it. It's probably not the right thing but when your my age, if you enjoy having a cigarette, you have one. That what life's all about.” Schaap, despite his cheerfulness, describes himself as an old, old, ornery old man. “Not that great a military man but I done my duty and what was necessary,” he said. “I've had a good life and since then everything else has fallen into place. I thank the good lord Im breathing clean air.”