Steve was a good friend of mine that I’d lose contact with now and then. I met him when I was going through MD-88/90 school back, well, THE TURN OF THE CENTURY back in 2000.
There were four of us in that class, my first-time captain Gary Kegley (who many of you met at my Chairman’s Club party in LAX), another first-time captain named Mike McFarlane and Steve.
Steve was an academy grad, flew Pave-Lows when even the existence of Pave-Low’s was a hush-hush thing you didn’t talk about and was the quintessential athlete.
At the time, he was single (at the time), living on a boat in Dallas, was the only guy I knew who had gotten divorced and was getting a check from his physician ex-wife. I was still in my 20’s, don’t judge me.
After ground school everyone is completely burned out so Gary, Mike and I would drink beer in the parking lot, silently, or meet over a few ‘war hammers’ of Dos Equis at the lobby Mexican restaurant second-guessing all of our life’s decisions, then Steve would walk in, having just ran 10KM and biked another 50KM on his road bike and talked about shaving off time off his personal record.
We’d sit there, a little in a stupor, dumbfounded how he found the stamina to do all of this after class when we were just burned-out, loopy and wondering why we ever bid the MD-88.
Then right before class started, he’d arrive freshly showered after doing it all over again, plunk down in his seat and ace the quiz that day. Steve was probably the closest thing to a real life “Superman” that I knew.
Cancer took his leg. He instructed in Tucson until he got recertified and became an award-winning paracyclist and kept moving. The cancer would come and go, but Steve didn’t stop, I don’t think a person with his spirit even knows the word “stop” or “can’t” because he had this unstoppable inertia.
The last time I saw him was an awards ceremony a couple years ago. He was back in chemotherapy and I hardly recognized him until I looked him in the eye and I knew it was Steve as he has these piercing-blue eyes straight out of some Air Force Officer commercial you see before a Saturday morning TV show.
I felt embarrassed for not readily recognizing him but when I did, man, it was heavy, it was cathartic and it brought back all these memories before he had gotten sick. But Steve wasn’t sick, his body was, but his spirit was still the same gung-ho ultra athlete, special ops helo pilot who actually had someone play a role as him in a major movie. Kristie and I met his wife Holly and she was as dynamic as he was and so supportive of him. He finally found his match and it was comforting that he had someone to look after him and travel through life’s ups and downs as a team.
I’ll miss you, Steve. I wish I had a better grip on getting off my ass and keeping in touch over the years. I need to do a better job at that and your loss is a heart-wrenching realization of that.
I’ll probably get in trouble from the company for posting this without permission but I’ll cross that road if and when I get to it.
There were four of us in that class, my first-time captain Gary Kegley (who many of you met at my Chairman’s Club party in LAX), another first-time captain named Mike McFarlane and Steve.
Steve was an academy grad, flew Pave-Lows when even the existence of Pave-Low’s was a hush-hush thing you didn’t talk about and was the quintessential athlete.
At the time, he was single (at the time), living on a boat in Dallas, was the only guy I knew who had gotten divorced and was getting a check from his physician ex-wife. I was still in my 20’s, don’t judge me.
After ground school everyone is completely burned out so Gary, Mike and I would drink beer in the parking lot, silently, or meet over a few ‘war hammers’ of Dos Equis at the lobby Mexican restaurant second-guessing all of our life’s decisions, then Steve would walk in, having just ran 10KM and biked another 50KM on his road bike and talked about shaving off time off his personal record.
We’d sit there, a little in a stupor, dumbfounded how he found the stamina to do all of this after class when we were just burned-out, loopy and wondering why we ever bid the MD-88.
Then right before class started, he’d arrive freshly showered after doing it all over again, plunk down in his seat and ace the quiz that day. Steve was probably the closest thing to a real life “Superman” that I knew.
Cancer took his leg. He instructed in Tucson until he got recertified and became an award-winning paracyclist and kept moving. The cancer would come and go, but Steve didn’t stop, I don’t think a person with his spirit even knows the word “stop” or “can’t” because he had this unstoppable inertia.
The last time I saw him was an awards ceremony a couple years ago. He was back in chemotherapy and I hardly recognized him until I looked him in the eye and I knew it was Steve as he has these piercing-blue eyes straight out of some Air Force Officer commercial you see before a Saturday morning TV show.
I felt embarrassed for not readily recognizing him but when I did, man, it was heavy, it was cathartic and it brought back all these memories before he had gotten sick. But Steve wasn’t sick, his body was, but his spirit was still the same gung-ho ultra athlete, special ops helo pilot who actually had someone play a role as him in a major movie. Kristie and I met his wife Holly and she was as dynamic as he was and so supportive of him. He finally found his match and it was comforting that he had someone to look after him and travel through life’s ups and downs as a team.
I’ll miss you, Steve. I wish I had a better grip on getting off my ass and keeping in touch over the years. I need to do a better job at that and your loss is a heart-wrenching realization of that.
I’ll probably get in trouble from the company for posting this without permission but I’ll cross that road if and when I get to it.
Last edited:
