This article first appeared in the Stars and Stripes Pacific edition, Jul. 4, 1955. It is republished unedited in its original form.

(Editor’s note [1955]: SP3 Neal E. Callahan, Stars and Stripes staffer, was aboard the carrier Oriskany when a Navy Banshee jet crashed into the fantail during a landing. This is his eyewitness account.)

Aboard the USS Oriskany off Okinawa — The Navy Banshee slid into the groove blinking its wing lights as it dipped for a landing.

The landing signal officer with his electrically-lighted paddles began to guide it in — then hurriedly waved the paddles over his head as he saw the Jet sinking too low for a safe landing.

It was too late.

The jet flamed out. A wing dipped

The Banshee, piloted by Lt. (jg) John R. Mitchell of Quincy, Mass. Plowed into the fantail at 125 miles an hour.

Although the explosion was hardly felt on the ship, high octane gas flamed into the night sky.

The loudspeaker blared, “Fire on the fantail, fire on the fantail. Man your fire stations.”

Flames belched into the darkened sky as the Navy’s well-trained crash crew and firefighters rushed to the fantail in their asbestos suits.

The firemen put out the flames with firefoam. Only then did they discover that the place had actually hit the ship instead of landing behind it.

All they found was the cockpit and nose of the Banshee — the fuselage and wings were blown off in the explosion.

The cockpit canopy was open but the pilot was not there. A destroyer searched the waters in the track of the carrier. There was no pickup signal.

Mitchell’s Flying Mates Somber

As pilots have done since the early days of aviation, Mitchell’s flying mates gathered in their ready room after the accident. They were in a somber mood.

There was little talking. Some of them thought about staying on the deck. They had said it before — but they knew they wouldn’t. Flying was a game that always keeps you coming back for more.

Then the phone rang.

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

“Mitchell?” — conversation stopped.

“Mitchell,” the pilot screamed, “where in the hell are you?”

“I’m in the sickbay.”

“Sickbay, what sickbay?” they chorused.

“Right here on the Oriskany,” he answered.

There was a mass exodus from the ready room as the pilots almost trampled each other getting to the sickbay.

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

As the word spread throughout the ship that he was in the sickbay sailors lined up outside, ready to give blood if needed.

From the investigation of the accident it was found that Mitchell played all the odds in the book and beat them.

He had no power left to pull up and miss the carrier and had remained strapped in the cockpit.

He himself didn’t know how he got out of the cockpit and made his way to the sickbay.

But he did

As soon as the decks were cleared, operations continued. Four AD attack bombers moved into the groove and the Oriskany’s night operations continued.

It was business as usual.