Jesse’s Final Flight

This young lad was one of six children born to John and Julia Brown.  John worked in a grocery warehouse, and Julia was a school teacher.  John was a mixed-blood American Indian and African.  Typical of such families in the 1920s, they lived in a house without central heating or indoor plumbing — as did most white families in those days.

At the beginning of the Great Depression, John Brown lost his job at the warehouse and was forced to relocate his family to Palmer’s Crossing, some ten miles from Hattiesburg.  He worked at a turpentine factory until he was again laid off in 1938.  Mr. Brown then moved his family to Lux, where he worked as a farm worker for a sharecropper.  At the time, Jesse LeRoy Brown (b. 1926) was twelve years old.

When Jesse was around six years old, his father took him to an air show, an event that was seminal in the boy’s life.  Afterward, Jesse frequented a grass airfield near his home, attracted to the notion of one day being able to fly an airplane.  From that time onward, Jesse read everything he could find about aviation.

As a child, he was known as a serious, good-natured, brilliant young man.  In 1937, the eleven-year-old Jesse wrote a letter to the President of the United States, Franklin D. Roosevelt, demanding an answer: Why weren’t American blacks allowed to train as pilots in the U.S. Army Air Corps?

The Browns prioritized a good education for their children.  The quality of schools in their neighborhood was poor, so in 1939, Jesse went to live with his aunt so that he could attend Eureka High School in Hattiesburg.  In high school, he participated in basketball, football, and track and field teams.  Most importantly, Jesse was an excellent student, achieving the highest grades.  He also met his future wife while in high school.  Her name was Daisy Pearl Nix.[1]

At the time of his graduation, Jesse’s principal, Nathaniel Burger, urged Jesse to apply to an all-black college (as his older brother (Marvin) had done).  Instead, Jesse Leroy Brown enrolled at Ohio State University.  Despite working at several part-time jobs (throughout his college years), Jesse maintained high grade-point averages in architectural engineering and mathematics.  His work was impressive enough to support his application for enlistment into the Navy Reserve Officer Training Corps program.[2]  Additionally, he participated in college-level sports.

As a member of the NROTC, Brown volunteered for the aviation cadet training program in 1946.  After receiving his appointment as a midshipman, Brown began preflight training at the Naval Air Station (NAS) Ottumwa, Iowa, in April 1947.  He completed flight training at NAS Pensacola, Florida, on October 21, 1948, and was designated as a Naval Aviator.  He was the first African American to earn the wings of a Navy pilot.  His training included 218 hours in the Boeing-Stearman N2S5 trainer (shown above) and another 117 hours in the F6F Hellcat, the most common fighter aircraft in the Navy.

From Pensacola, Brown transferred to NAS Norfolk for further flying instruction with the Atlantic Fleet Airborne Electronics Training Unit.  H received additional ground/flight training in the operation of airborne electronics and the tactical employment of sonobuoys in anti-submarine warfare.

During his two months at NAS Norfolk, Brown clocked 210 hours in the SNJ, 120 hours in the F6F-5 Hellcat, and ten additional hours in the N2S5 biplane.  In January 1949, Brown was reassigned for further training with VF-32 at NAS Quonset Point, Rhode Island.

Having completed all his flight training in the early spring of 1949, Secretary of the Navy John L. Sullivan appointed Brown as an Ensign in the U.S. Navy.  By this time, Brown had clocked 473 total flight hours.  He was rated as an excellent naval aviator.  By the beginning of 1950, Brown had logged 2,781 flight hours in various types of combat aircraft.

VF-32 was assigned to Air Group Three (CVG-3) aboard USS Leyte (CV-32), operating in the Mediterranean with the U.S. Sixth Fleet.  The squadron had exchanged its F8F Bearcats for F4U-F Corsairs.  Between 6 September 1949 and 24 August 1950, the  USS Leyte completed two cruises to the Mediterranean.

In late June, while the carrier operated in the eastern Mediterranean, North Korean Communist soldiers, supported materially and ideologically by the Chinese and the Soviets, crossed the 38th Parallel at the Imjin River under a barrage of artillery fire.  To overthrow the UN-supported Republic of Korea Army (ROKA) and unify Korea under the rule of Kim Il-sung, the soldiers of the Korean People’s Army (KPA) raced toward Seoul.  While at port in Beirut, USS Leyte was ordered to proceed immediately to serve under the U.S. Seventh Fleet supporting the United Nations Forces (Korea).

Leyte joined the Seventh Fleet at Sasebo, Japan, on October 8, 1950; VF-32 was not part of U.S. Task Force 77.  Between October 1950 and January 1951, VF-32 engaged the enemy with air strikes against targets at Wonson, Pukchong, Chongjin, and the Chosin Reservoir.

Piloting an F4U-4, Ensign Brown participated in ten strike missions over North Korea between mid-October and the end of November 1950 — missions that included attacking enemy troop formations, transportation facilities, armored vehicles, highway bridges, and close air support to the Marines of the 1st Marine Division.  Brown’s competence and aggressiveness in flying prompted his commanding officer to recommend him for the Distinguished Flying Cross.

For seventy-six days, pilots from VF-32 conducted 3,369 sorties.  During that time, the air group lost seven aircraft; fourteen were “significantly” damaged.  The squadron lost two pilots killed in action and two others “missing in action.”

In early December 1950, CVG-3 pilots flew close air support missions in the Chosin Reservoir.  Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Thomas J. Hudner, Jr., was Ensign Brown’s wingman.[3]  As part of the Navy’s oral history program, Hudner confirmed in 1996 that VF-32 regularly performed bombing, armed reconnaissance, close air support, and air control missions.  According to Hudner, one thing stood out about serving in the Far East: “At the time we were there, the days were relatively short.  We were there right in the middle of winter, and because we had very few night-qualified aviators, our window for flying daylight hours was short.”

Since the squadron’s primary role was air-to-ground support, ground fire was the greatest danger to squadron pilots.  Hudner confirmed that pilots had spotted camouflaged Chinese troops laying in wait for U.S./NATO aircraft, shooting small arms toward the sky.  It was common for aircraft to return to the Leyte with bullet holes on the underside of their fighters.  Hudner supposed that this had happened to Ensign Brown, which caused him to crash-land his fighter.  Hudner said, “We have no idea how or even if he was hit.  We think that one of those airplanes, one of those, uh, small arms — a small caliber rifle, something like that — hit the plane underneath and just happened to hit an oil line, causing him to lose oil, which caused him to lose oil pressure and his engine froze up and he crashed.

What Happened

On December 4, 1950, Ensign Brown piloted one of four Corsairs on an armed reconnaissance mission of the Koto-Ri area surrounding the Chosin Reservoir.  Hudner described the mission as pilots looking for targets of opportunity.  The F4U-4s were rarely rigged for bombing missions, but they did have rockets and napalm and .50 caliber machine guns.  It was just after mid-day when Brown’s section took off from Leyte.

Hudner testified, “Our flight was scheduled to take off around one o’clock in the afternoon.  It was going to be an armed reconnaissance mission.  And it was probably about ten or fifteen minutes by the time our aircraft took off.  I can remember my takeoff was not at all good.  As I remember, we joined up as a flight of eight aircraft.  We had two sections of four aircraft.  Jesse and I were in the section that the squadron’s executive officer headed — Lieutenant Commander Richard (Dick) Cevoli.  Normally, Lieutenant (j.g.) Bill Koenig was Cevoli’s wingman, but he didn’t fly that day for some reason, so Lieutenant George Hudson was flying in that slot.  Hudson was our LSO (Landing Signals Officer).  Even though he was junior to me, Ensign Brown was flying as section leader.  This was because he had more flying experience, and our squadron respected experience more than rank.  I was flying as tail-end Charlie.”

Flying in the section leader position near the Chosin Reservoir, Ensign Brown’s Corsair took small arms damage to the oil system (Hudner suspected) from unseen ground troops.  With no other options available, Brown elected to crash his mortally damaged aircraft behind Chinese lines.

Lieutenant (j.g.) Hudner stated, “We were flying along the Chosin Reservoir’s eastern side where there were Marines and Chinese all over the place.  We were not a close air support mission at that time.  We were some distance away, probably looking for enemy troops to attack them with whatever munitions were most appropriate for how they were assembled, their numbers, where they were, and so forth.  We’d been out there for about half an hour when Jesse called on the radio.  He said, ‘I think I’ve been hit.  I’m losing power, and I’m gonna [sic] have to go in.’  Well, right away, I said, ‘Okay, Jesse.  I’ll walk you through your checklist.’”

Hudner continued, “Rather than trying to concentrate when his mind may have been frozen, I told him such things as lock your harness and open your canopy.  I forget what else the check-off list consists of, but I wanted to make sure that his shoulder harness was locked so that when he hit, he wouldn’t bash his face in the gun sight.  I didn’t take much time to look around for a clear spot because the area we flew over was mostly wooded.  It had a lot of scrub pine — it had it all over the place.  It was not just hilly — it was mountainous territory we were flying over.  He saw a spot close enough to hit but couldn’t fly directly into the wind.  He didn’t have the luxury of that.  But there was a spot, probably about a quarter of a mile in diameter.  It was a circle, just an opening of about a quarter of a mile, almost on the side of this mountain — an upgrade of about twenty degrees.  So he landed going up this mountain.  He said nothing at all during this whole time.  Well, his airplane hit with such force that the canopy buckled about thirty-five degrees at the cockpit on the starboard side.  I know his canopy was open because that’s one of the things I told him.  I said, ‘Open and lock your canopy.’”

In describing Brown’s reaction to his circumstances, Hubner said the ensign was very cool, calm, and focused — he was not one to panic.  Brown said hardly anything at all on the way down.

On impact, Hubner observed Brown’s engine separate from the fuselage; smoke drifted up from the disabled aircraft.  As the remaining seven aircraft circled Brown’s crash site, Hudner confirmed that Brown had managed to pull back the canopy and wave at his comrades.  He did not attempt to exit the cockpit or respond to radio calls from the other flight members.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Commander Cevoli called for rescue support.  Hudner admitted the adrenalin convinced him that he was indestructible — that he could do anything with that aircraft type and that the big nose would act as a plow.  “I thought it was worth landing if it were going to save Jesse’s life.”

After Hudner made an additional pass over Brown’s downed plane, he decided to crash-land his aircraft to look after his wingman.  The outside temperature was under zero degrees centigrade.  Hudner’s aircraft landed within a hundred yards of his wingman.  Adrenaline numbed his senses, and he said he was not immediately aware of the cold.  Hudner plowed through the snow and found Brown “just sitting” in his cockpit.  Forty years later, Hudner could not remember what Brown might have said to him, but he recalled no panic in his voice.  Brown had removed his flight helmet and his flying gloves — and Hudner, noting that Brown’s fingers were frozen, wrapped his scarf around Brown’s hands.

When the fuselage of Brown’s Corsair buckled, his knees likely contacted the instrument panel, feasibly breaking or, at the very least, fracturing both legs.

Straddling the cockpit, Hudner attempted to pull Brown out of the disabled aircraft but could not.  Returning to his radio, Hudner confirmed Brown was alive and requested that the rescue helicopter bring an axe and a fire extinguisher.

The weather into which Ensign Brown and his section flew that day was dreadful. Thick snow danced above the frozen terrain, laying a heavy blanket adjacent to the surrounding mountains.  Icy winds howling out of Manchuria caused overnight sub-zero temperatures, and these bitterly cold winds (combined with short days) challenged aircraft mechanics unfamiliar with the effect of cold weather on flying machines.

Weather in Korea hampered helicopter maintenance, repair, and performance, so when the call came in for helicopter support, the Marines of VMO-6 scrambled to produce one.[4]  The squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Ronald J. Brown, dispatched First Lieutenant Charles Ward, USMC, in a Sikorsky HO3S1 helicopter.  Flying a helicopter in near-gale-force winds (50 to 75 mph) is unsafe.  Flipping a helicopter sitting on the deck spooling didn’t take much wind.  The other problem was that Ward had to keep the aircraft running because, in such frigid temperatures, he was unsure whether he could get the helicopter re-started.

After Ward arrived at the crash site, he and Hudner worked on the Corsair for the better part of an hour.  Hudner and Ward agreed that the only way to extricate Brown from his aircraft was to cut off his leg.  Neither officer was willing to attempt it.  Within those forty minutes, Ensign Brown went into a state of shock.  As Hudner and Ward worked feverishly to free Brown, employing the axe to free him, Brown lapsed into unconsciousness — and likely, died.  Since Brown was unresponsive, daylight was receding, and a reluctant Hudner and Ward finally agreed to abandon the crash site.

Official U.S. Navy records reflect that Ensign Brown succumbed to multiple extreme injuries to his right and left patella; he died before he could be extracted from his downed aircraft.  He was 24 years old.  Because Brown went down deep into enemy territory, his remains could not be extracted.

In 2013, an 88-year-old Hudner returned to Korea along with former Marine Dick Bonelli to try to locate the remains of Ensign Brown.  They were not successful.  Numerous secondary sources claim that aviators attached to USS Leyte returned to the site of the crash and napalmed the area, but official sources have not confirmed such actions.  To this day, Ensign Brown’s remains have not been recovered.

Brown’s commanding officer submitted recommendations for the posthumous receipt of the Distinguished Flying Cross, the Air Medal, and the Purple Heart Medal.  In 1972, a Knox class destroyer escort (DE-1089) was named in Ensign Brown’s honor.

Endnotes:

[1] Daisy Pearl Nix Brown-Thorne (1927 – 2014) was the oldest of five children born to Brad and Addie Nix.  Jesse and Daisy had one child, a daughter whom they named Pamela. 

[2] NROTC is a scholarship program that trains students to become Navy or Marine Corps officers while attending college.

[3] Thomas J. Hudner, Jr., (1924 – 2017) retired from the U.S. Navy as a Captain.  For attempting to save Jesse Leroy Brown’s life, Hudner was awarded the Medal of Honor.  He retired in 1973 with 27 years service.  He was also awarded the Legion of Merit, Bronze Star Medal, Air Medal (2), the Navy-Marine Corps Commendation Medal,, the Presidential Unit Commendation, and the South Korean Order of Military Merit.

[4] VMO-6 logged 74 flight hours per day in 1950.

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