On the 4th of February, 1912, tailor Franz Reichelt arrived at the foot of the Eiffel
Tower in a car, accompanied by a few close friends.
He was there to test out a new invention of his – a parachute suit – by throwing a
mannequin from the lower deck of the famous Parisian landmark.
Reichelt was confident in his invention… but, as it would turn out, this confidence
was thoroughly misplaced.
Franz Reichelt was born on the 16th of October, 1878 in what is today the town of Štětí
in the Czech Republic.
At around 20 years of age he made the move to Paris, and soon made a name for himself
as a talented and proficient tailor.
It wasn’t until 1910 that Reichelt took an interest in parachute design.
At this time in history, aviation was still relatively rudimentary.
People had been taking flight in balloons for more than a hundred years, and unpowered
fixed-wing gliders were also somewhat common.
It was only in December of 1903 that the world’s first powered, piloted airplane, created and
flown by Wilbur and Orville Wright, had taken to the skies in America.
It was, therefore, an exciting time, with new discoveries being made on a regular basis.
Of course, occasional accidents were inevitable, and there was a keen desire to develop an
effective parachute for aviators in distress.
People had experimented with parachute-like devices before, but had only seen success
with bulky, umbrella-like devices that wouldn’t be suitable for emergency situations.
Reichelt was convinced that he had the answer.
After experimenting with silk parachutes attached to mannequins, he felt sure that he could
make a sleek, safe, wearable parachute – one that wouldn’t restrict the wearer’s movements
until it was deployed…
at which point it would allow them to float safely down to earth.
He was inspired to further his experimentation when a French Colonel offered a prize of 10,000
Francs (equivalent to almost $50,000 in today’s money) for anyone who could design a suitable
emergency parachute.
Reichelt spent months and then years refining his design.
He even sent it to the Aero Club of France – one of the foremost organisations for
aviators in the country – hoping that they might help him develop it further…
but they were unconvinced by the design, and in their reply discouraged him from pursuing
it further.
But Reichelt could not be dissuaded.
Over the years of development he carried out multiple tests using mannequins… the majority
of which could not be said to be successful.
His particular design was described by one journalist from the time:
“This all-silk garment (very well-designed) was provided with a kind of very wide hood
which, by means of zippers, would automatically expand when called upon and form, above the
head, a vast umbrella.”
Reichelt was so sure of this vast umbrella that he even carried out some tests himself.
Strapping on his experimental parachute, he attempted jumps from heights of around 10
metres (or 33 feet), cushioning his fall with bales of straw.
On one occasion he landed heavily, but escaped injury… and on another he came away with
a broken leg.
These setbacks didn’t deter Reichelt, though.
He believed that his design was sound, but that more height was needed.
When jumping from so close to the ground his parachute didn’t have time to properly deploy.
What was needed was a way to test the device from a much higher starting point.
The Eiffel Tower had been constructed as the impressive centrepiece of the 1889 World’s
Fair.
The tower was, in total, 330 metres (or 1083 feet) tall.
Because of its design, however, jumping from the very top would be impractical.
The lowest deck of the tower, however, struck Reichelt as an ideal spot to jump from.
The 57 metre (or 187 foot) drop would allow his parachute plenty of time to unfurl.
Other inventors had received permission to conduct tests from the lower deck of the Eiffel
Tower, although all of them had used mannequins in these experiments.
Reichelt’s requests to be allowed to do the same were initially turned down, but he
persisted for over a year until – finally – the Parisian Prefect of Police granted
him permission.
The Prefect would later state unequivocally that he had given permission only for tests
involving mannequins, and certainly not for Reichelt himself to jump.
When Reichelt arrived at the foot of the tower on the 4th of February, 1912, however, he
was wearing his parachute suit, and made it clear to everyone present – journalists,
friends and spectators – that he intended to be the guinea pig for his own invention.
He said, “I want to try the experiment myself and
without trickery, as I intend to prove the worth of my invention…”
And later, when his friends attempted to dissuade him,
“You are going to see how my seventy-two kilos and my parachute will give to your arguments
the most decisive of denials.”
Try as they might, nobody present could convince Reichelt that his experiment was a bad idea.
He proudly showed off his suit to the crowd, demonstrating how when in its most compact
form it was hardly any bulkier than a normal aviator’s outfit.
He appeared confident and in good spirits, and as he began climbing the steps to the
lower deck of the Eiffel Tower he bid farewell to the crowd with a cheerful, “See you soon!”
A security guard who worked at the Eiffel Tower briefly blocked his ascent, arguing
that other experiments involving mannequins had ended rather brutally.
Reichelt did have permission to access the tower, however, and after a brief confrontation
the security guard relented and allowed him to ascend the 347 steps to the lower deck.
Up he went, accompanied by a cameraman and a few of his close friends.
Another cameraman waited below to capture footage of his graceful descent.
Once on the first deck, Reichelt partially deployed his parachute suit, placed a chair
on top of a table and clambered up to place one foot on the guard rail.
A piece of paper was thrown to test the strength and direction of the wind.
It was a cold and breezy day, but conditions were not bad enough to change Reichelt’s
mind.
For almost a minute, he contemplated the long drop before him.
Then, with no further ceremony, at around 8:22am, he jumped.
His parachute failed, and he fell immediately to his death.
Later, an autopsy would conclude that, although the impact would certainly have been fatal,
Reichelt also suffered a heart attack on his way down to the ground.
In the days following the accident, many newspapers printed lurid accounts of Reichelt’s failed
experiment.
He was generally ridiculed – in some cases referred to as a mad genius, and in some cases
simply as mad.
Reichelt’s death caused the police to clamp down on parachute experiments from the Eiffel
Tower.
Even inventors who only wished to make use of mannequins were generally refused permission
after February 1912.
This prohibition didn’t stop experimentation with parachutes in other parts of the world.
Across Europe and America inventors continued to experiment and perfect their designs, most
of them with more success that Reichelt.
By the time World War One began in 1914, wearable parachutes were still too bulky to be practical,
but soldiers posted in observation balloons were sometimes able to escape using parachutes
that were tethered to the balloon A similar design – with the bulk of the
parachute attached to the aircraft rather than worn – could have been implemented
for aircraft pilots, but for the most part was not used by allied forces until near the
end of the war.
It was believed that, should a parachute be available, pilots might be more likely to
bail out than to try and save the valuable aircraft.
Following the war, significant effort was devoted to developing a practical, wearable
parachute that could be used to escape a damaged plane.
In 1919, the Airplane Parachute Type A was developed; a compact, wearable parachute that
could be deployed using a ripcord.
By the time World War II began, parachutes like this were in common use.
Since then the technology which underpins parachutes has only developed further, becoming
more and more reliable with each passing year.
Parachutes are now used for leisure purposes as well as military and emergency ones.
Over the course of decades, parachutes have been used countless times to deploy soldiers,
make breathtaking stunt jumps, deliver vital supplies, and escape damaged aircraft before
they crash.
Franz Reichelt dreamed of being a pioneer – an inventor whose creation could revolutionise
the fast-changing world of aviation.
But, ultimately, he was blind to the limitations of his design.
History might regard him as foolish or reckless – and in many ways, he was – but his failure
represents a mis-step on the path towards a technology that has, today, saved hundreds
of thousands of lives.