When Planes Had Parachutes: The War Department’s Bold 1928 Experiment

In 1928, long before modern ejection seats or ballistic parachutes, the U.S. War Department tried something wildly ambitious: saving an entire airplane with a single, giant parachute.

Now, I know what you’re thinking—was this for cargo drops? Maybe a Jeep or a supply crate? That’s what I thought too when I first saw the headline in Popular Aviation. But no, they really meant to catch the entire airplane. Passengers and all.

The Air Corps’ answer to in-flight emergencies came in the form of an 84-foot-wide silk parachute, designed by Major E.L. Hoffman. If that name sounds familiar, it’s because Hoffman also developed the Army’s standard 24-foot man-carrying parachute—the one that actually saved lives. But this? This was something else entirely.

Testing the Monster ‘Chute

At Wright Field in Dayton, Ohio, engineers tested the mega-parachute using a 1,600-pound bomb as a stand-in for a small airplane. They dropped it from a circling aircraft, and to everyone’s surprise, it worked. The chute opened smoothly and cushioned the fall.

But then came the fun part.

This enormous canopy, now catching wind like a sail, refused to stay put. It dragged the bomb across the field like a runaway beach umbrella. At one point, a crew member tried to chase it down in a car, jump out, and grab the shroud lines. He nearly got flattened when the bomb came bouncing after him. According to the article, he barely rolled out of the way before it landed right where he’d been.

You can’t make this stuff up.

Designed to Save Entire Aircraft

The parachute was built just like the standard version, only scaled up: same silk panels, same vented dome, just… more of everything. Ninety-six panels, forty-eight shroud lines, and enough lift to theoretically save a full airplane in distress.

But there were problems—big ones.

The forces involved were enormous. One test recorded a shock load of 4,800 pounds at opening—more than double what a man-sized parachute experiences. That kind of jolt isn’t just tough on fabric; it’s brutal on airframes and spines.

Deflation was also an issue. Once it hit the ground, the parachute didn’t collapse. It just kept dragging the weight around until someone could wrestle it into submission. That made it incredibly risky for use on actual airplanes. Imagine surviving the fall only to be pulled across a field like a sled.

Did It Ever Work?

Technically, yes—at least twice. The article mentions two successful bomb drops using the system. But the reality is, the concept was never widely adopted. Engineers still hadn’t developed a reliable release system or a way to deflate the parachute on landing.

Fast-forward a few decades, and you do start seeing real parachute-based aircraft recovery systems, especially in light aircraft. Cirrus, for example, famously uses a ballistic recovery system (BRS) that deploys a smaller parachute to save the whole plane. But in 1928? This idea was ahead of its time—and not quite ready for the real world.

A Glimpse Into Aviation’s Wild Side

This forgotten experiment reminds us just how inventive—and downright daring—early aviation pioneers really were. They weren’t afraid to try wild ideas, even if some of them involved dragging bombs across airfields or giving silk canopies a mind of their own.

Major Hoffman may not have given us the future of airplane parachutes, but he did help shape safety gear that saved countless lives. And for that, he deserves a place in aviation history—even if one of his ideas nearly flattened a test pilot.

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