From the Archive: Jet Pilot ‘Disappears’ in Aircraft Carrier Crash

Aboard the USS Oriskany off the coast of Okinawa, June 28, 1955: Crew members of the USS Oriskany examine the crushed remains of a Banshee jet plane that crashed into the stern of the attack aircraft carrier on June 22. (Unknown)

This article first appeared in the July 4, 1955, issue of Stars and Stripes Pacific. It is reprinted in its original form, without edits.

(Editor’s Note (1955): SP3 Neal E. Callahan, of Stars and Stripes, was aboard the aircraft carrier Oriskany when a Navy Banshee jet struck the stern during landing. Here is his eyewitness account.)

Aboard the USS Oriskany off the coast of Okinawa, the Navy’s Banshee slid into a groove, flashing its wing lights as it prepared to land.

The landing signal officer began to steer the aircraft using electrically illuminated paddles, then rapidly waved the paddles over his head when he saw that the aircraft was descending too low to land safely.

It was too late.

The plane stalled. The wing dived

The Banshee, piloted by Lieutenant (jg) John R. Mitchell of Quincy, Massachusetts, struck the ship’s stern at 125 miles per hour.

Although the explosion on the ship was barely felt, a flame of high-octane gas shot up into the night sky.

The loudspeaker roared, “Fire aft, fire aft. Man your firing positions.”

Flames shot into the dark sky as highly trained navy crew and firefighters in their asbestos suits ran to the rear of the plane.

Firefighters extinguished the flames with foam. Only then did they discover that the spot had hit the ship, rather than landing behind it.

They found only the cockpit and nose of the Banshee — the fuselage and wings had been destroyed in the explosion.

The cockpit canopy was open, but the pilot was not there. The destroyer searched the waters in the carrier’s path. There was no reception signal.

Mitchell’s flying companions are grim

Like pilots since the dawn of aviation, Mitchell’s colleagues gathered in their readiness room after the accident. They were in a somber mood.

There was little talk. Some thought about staying on board. They had talked about it before—but they knew they wouldn’t. Flying was a game that always kept you coming back for more.

Then the telephone rang.

“Hey, this is Mitchell,” the voice said on the other end.

“Mitchell?” The conversation ended.

“Mitchell,” the pilot shouted, “where the hell are you?”

“I’m in the infirmary.”

“Sick bay, what sick bay?” they asked in chorus.

“Here on the Oriskany River,” he replied.

The pilots left the emergency room en masse, heading for the infirmary, nearly trampling each other.

And there he sat, still a little shocked, but unharmed, except for a few cuts and scrapes on his legs.

As news of his visit to the sick bay spread throughout the ship, sailors lined up outside, ready to donate blood if needed.

The investigation into the accident determined that Mitchell played out all possible scenarios and overcame them.

He no longer had the strength to take to the air and avoid the aircraft carrier, so he remained strapped in the cockpit.

He himself did not know how he got out of the cockpit and ended up in the sick bay.

But he did it

Once the decks were cleared, operations continued. Four AD attack bombers entered the groove, and Oriskany’s night operations continued.

Everything went on as usual.