Dec 18, 2024
By Thomas Paone
The U.S. Navy once dreamed of floating airships that could launch clusters of tiny fighter airplanes.
The National Air and Space Museum’s Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center is home to some of the titans of aviation history—think the Lockheed SR-71 and the Air France Concorde. Walking through the lighter-than-air history section of the Boeing Aviation Hangar, it would be easy to overlook a petite biplane overshadowed by its larger airplane companions.
What it lacks in stature, though, the Curtiss F9C-2 Sparrowhawk makes up in historical significance. The F9C-2 represents the culmination of research and development that enabled airplanes to launch from—and be recovered by—an immense rigid airship in mid-flight, a daunting feat to be sure. The colorful Sparrowhawk, nestled among balloon baskets and other artifacts, reminds us of an era when flying aircraft carriers were a reality.
The U.S. military became interested in rigid airships following their use by Germany in World War I, when they were often deployed to launch long-range bombing raids on England. At a time when airplanes were only a little over a decade old and had limited range and payload capacity, the enormous rigid airships—with their ability to carry ordnance over long distances—made them a technology worth investigating (see “Leviathans of the Air”). Both the U.S. Army and U.S. Navy experimented with airships in the 1920s, but it was the Navy that embraced the technology. Some of the first airships they tested included the USS Los Angeles, built by Germany as part of war reparations, and the USS Shenandoah, the first U.S.-built rigid airship.
By the late 1920s, though, the Navy decided to change its approach, starting with the USS Akron and USS Macon. The 785-foot-long Akron and Macon were designed with internal hangars that could store up to four airplanes. An additional airplane could be housed on the external mechanism used to deploy and retrieve the airplanes. The aerial ballet between a mothership and her fleet began when pilots would climb down into their airplanes and ensure that they were moving at top speed before pulling a handle above their heads, which released a hook on the airplane from a “trapeze” bar on the airship. Such a setup positioned the launched airplanes to act as air defense to the slow-moving airships, extend the scouting range of the air fleet, and employ offensive capabilities (if needed).
The dispatched airplanes would then return to the mothership and hook themselves back onto the trapeze bar, from which they would be lifted back into the airship’s internal hangar. The ambitious new technology, however, would be short-lived. The Akron was lost during a storm off the coast of New Jersey in April 1933, and the Macon was lost in a storm off the coast of California in February 1935. The Navy did not build additional airships after these losses, and the Sparrowhawks still in the Navy inventory were eventually scrapped—except for the one donated to the Museum.
The history of the Museum’s F9C-2 does come with some mysteries. The aircraft was originally offered to the Smithsonian Institution in July 1939, when the Navy was getting rid of the aged and obsolete F9C-2 airframe. The transfer paperwork indicated that airframe #9056 was gifted to the Smithsonian. In the early 1970s, however, when work began on the aircraft to prepare it for display in the Museum, restoration specialists discovered numerous clues—including old paint and data plates—that suggested the Smithsonian had received a different airframe: the XF9C-2 prototype, #9264. It’s not known how the mix-up occurred within the Navy, but it’s likely that paperwork could have been swapped during some of the overhauls and repairs required by the small fleet of Sparrowhawks. Although both airframes served on the Macon, it was decided at that time to restore and paint the airplane as #9056, including the markings of the squadron leader.
My favorite part of the Sparrowhawk on display at the Museum is the unit insignia on the side of the fuselage. The insignia features two circus performers in the middle of a trapeze act. One performer is much larger and is holding onto the trapeze, representing the airship. The second performer is smaller and preparing to catch the outstretched hands of the first, representing the F9C-2. The Sparrowhawk’s service with the Navy wasn’t long-lasting. But the pioneering airplane represents an era of aerial experimentation when airships of an unbelievable size soared high in the clouds—launching and recovering airplanes like a tale written by Jules Verne.
Thomas Paone is a historian in the National Air and Space Museum’s aeronautics department. He curates the Museum’s collection of balloons, blimps, and airships.
This article, originally titled “Big Little Inventions,” is from the Winter 2025 issue of Air & Space Quarterly, the National Air and Space Museum's signature magazine that explores topics in aviation and space, from the earliest moments of flight to today. Explore the full issue.
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This article was originally published with the title "Big Little Inventions."
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