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At some point, I went unconscious. The next thing I remember I was on the hard, bare ground completely paralyzed.

I was lying face up with the parachute still wrapped around my body. The only thought that raced through my mind was that my neck had been broken.

Some time later, I heard a familiar voice approaching.

"Is there something I can do for you, Sgt. Kirwin?" he said.

The soldier was a member of I company, my former company, which had jumped just after us. The lead scout had been in the approach march when he had spotted my parachute and recognized me.

I asked him to operate my quick release, a lever that could be turned slightly and pushed down to allow a jumper to climb out of his harness and parachute. He did this and explained that a medic was coming by shortly to help. I never saw that soldier again to thank him. He was killed that day in combat.

I don't recall how long I lay there, but miraculously the feeling began to come back into my arms and legs.

After awhile, I was able to stand up. My rifle had been laying underneath me completely dashed to pieces. I, however, seemed unharmed and collected myself enough to start walking towards where I thought my unit might be. I could see some helicopters landing up ahead so I walked toward them.

At the aid station there, I asked directions and headed off to where my unit was supposed to be. I found the men under heavy mortar fire. We didn't talk much about what had happened. I stayed in Korea about another five months.

When I was relieved from combat, I learned that a Life magazine photographer had snapped my picture as I was about to jump that day. The photo was published, and several veterans wrote letters in response, saying that my technique was potentially deadly. Most assumed I had died or suffered severe injury.

I served in the U. S. Army until retiring as a major in 1961, after serving in both World War II and Korea. Later I worked in corrections for the sheriff's department of Santa Clara County, California, until retiring in 1978.

I had many gods during the bulk of those years. I was an alcoholic, a heavy smoker, and golfed seven days a week. I went to church but paid no attention. During prayers, I clasped my hands—to practice my golf grip. I never praised or thanked God for my miraculous landing.

That all changed 23 years ago. My wife Dorothy and I visited a Pentecostal church one night where a retired Navy chaplain was preaching. I responded to the gospel and gave my life to Jesus. I've never had a drink or a cigarette since. I started a prison ministry, I'm a Gideon, and I teach Sunday school to 6th-, 7th-, and 8th-graders at Silver Lakes Community Church in Helendale, California.

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