This occurred 30 years ago, but I remember it as if it was yesterday.
In 1984, I was a 37-year-old pilot with a 1970 Piper Cherokee 140. I was the youngest member of the Saturday morning free-coffee-and-donuts FBO club at Westchester County Airport (HPN) in White Plains, New York.
Our group consisted of about six old-timers (aged about 60, so who knew—that was old, then), all with airplanes programmed to find the $50 hamburger.
One of our group was Ray Duie,a well-known and respected aerialphotographer. Ray was then about70 and an expert with a Hasselblad camera for in-flight and topographic shots. Ray would ride with one ofus and take photos as we tried to find the perfect $50 hamburger every weekend.
Ray became ill and passed awaya few months into 1984. He wascremated, and his wish was to havehis ashes scattered over Long Island Sound on a Saturday morning. Only one of us had a Cessna 182 with a side window, so our fellow pilot Tony V accepted the task.
On a bright Saturday morning,Ray’s family met us at the airport.Ray’s widow came with a priest, andas the priest was saying the benediction, he presented Tony V with the urn filled with Ray's ashes for Ray’s final request.
Into Tony’s new 182 went two other pilots and the urn, with Tony flying. Two other airplanes, including my 140, flew formation for the event. Out over Long Island Sound at 3,500 feet, and about 50 miles from the field, Tony had one of the men open the side window to give Ray his last wish.
When they started to dump out the cremains, the slipstream blew all of Ray’s ashes back into the cabin. We were on a discrete frequency, and all I heard was Tony’s Mayday call amid a lot of coughing.
Blinded by the ashes, Tony was starting to lose control of the 182 when he put on the autopilot to level the wings. I was off his right wing and could see he was in trouble, because the entire inside of the cabin was the swirling remains of Ray Duie.
After a bit, everyone calmed down, and we managed to return to the airport. I asked for an alternate runway that would take us to the other side of the field, away from Ray’s widow and family.
Once down we hightailed it to the nearest FBO on the opposite side of the field. When the 182 door opened, we saw that the interior of the cabin and all three pilots were covered in Ray's remains. Luckily, the FBO had an old Electrolux vacuum cleaner handy, and as Tony and crew cleaned themselves off, I proceeded to vacuum up what was left.
Almost an hour later we finally had the inside of the 182 and the crew cleaned.
The cremains were now in an Electrolux bag sitting on the cabin floor of the 182. We taxied back to our FBO and the waiting priest, family, and friends. Tony and the others were still too choked up to speak, so I told everyone that Ray was in a better place. After lots of tears and hugs, everyone left except Tony and me.
I never did find out what Tony did with Ray’s ashes, for he would never tell us. Twenty years later, Tonydeveloped cancer. When I went tovisit him I brought along an empty Electrolux bag. He almost laughedhimself to death just thinkingabout what happened in the springof 1984.
His final wish was that he was to be buried in one piece.
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