Smokejumping: A Different Sort of Firefight

Their enemy in World War II was fire.

Men who didn’t believe in taking up arms leaped from airplanes and battled flames in the western United States, their reply to a still-strong call to duty.

“My idea was, I had to do something, and it had to be something profitable for the United States,” said Elmer Neufeld, 79, a Mennonite from rural Kansas when he was sent to a Civilian Public Service camp. “That’s one of the reasons I signed up for smokejumpers.”

About 40 smokejumpers gathered here recently to reminisce and catch up on what they’ve been doing since the war.

They’ve become teachers, ministers, grandparents. Many worked the land.

They get together every two years now, picking Oskaloosa this time because of its central location.

“We’re getting up there, so this time together means a lot,” said Dan Kauffman, 76, an Iowa farmer and Mennonite who had never been in a forest or an airplane when he joined the smokejumpers in 1945.

The war had taken most of the men from the U.S. Forest Service’s new smokejumping program. By 1943, volunteers were sought from the Civilian Public Service camps, where conscientious objectors were working in soil conservation, farming and other noncombat roles. Most were from Mennonite, Brethren and Friends churches.

That year, 300 men applied, and 60 were sent for training at a camp near Missoula, Mont. By 1945 there were more than 200.

Training included jumps from simulated airplane doors, digging fire lines and escaping hung-up chutes. “By the time it was finished, you were pretty hyped up and ready for it,” Kauffman said.

Mountain lookouts reported fires, and smokejumpers were expected to be the first line of defense. Before smokejumpers, firefighters would walk in or ride horses. By the time they arrived, fires were often out of control, said Larry Lufkin, president of the National Smokejumpers Assn.

These smokejumpers would parachute into remote forest areas. When their work was done, they sometimes had to walk 20 or 30 miles to be picked up.

Smokejumper uniforms included a padded suit with a pocket in one leg for let-down rope, in case the jumper became tangled in a tree; heavy boots; and a football helmet with a wire-mesh facemask. Cigarettes or extra socks and underwear were stashed in gear bags. A separate pack included tools, food rations and sleeping bags.

Most Civilian Public Service smokejumpers were based at Missoula; McCall, Idaho; Cave Junction, Ore.; and Winthrop, Wash.

“It was a challenging, risky job,” said 81-year-old William Weber, a smokejumper for 1 1/2 years from Wilton, Wis.

With the war raging, there were hard feelings. The conscientious objectors were sometimes treated badly because they had chosen not to fight.

“We were called yellow bellies,” Weber said. “It’s not that we were abused or anything. But on the whole, we got a better perspective of what minority groups go through.”

Said Kauffman: “I regretted that I couldn’t serve in the Army. But you have to listen to your religion, and mine said, ‘Don’t fight in the war.’ ”

Some churches paid the men a stipend, Lufkin said. Mostly, they took on odd jobs, such as a few days’ work on a ranch, for money to buy clothes or to go to a show.

“I didn’t mind working. I was used to working,” said Neufeld, who lives in Boise, Idaho. “If I had a job that amounted to anything and I was doing something good, . . . it didn’t matter if I was paid.”

Neufeld liked smokejumping so well that he signed up for a paying job with the Forest Service after his discharge in 1945. He said he jumped until he was 49, nine years past when he was supposed to quit.

Only about 85 smokejumpers who were conscientious objectors are still alive, said association official Chuck Sheley of Chico, Calif. They were honored at a convention this summer in Redding, Calif.

“They’re not asking for special recognition,” Lufkin said. “These are unassuming gentlemen who . . . wanted to do their part.”

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On the Net:

The National Smokejumpers Assn.: https://www.smokejumpers.com