Around the patch: Finding Connie

For Jay Moyer, his memories often drift back to a Lockheed Super Constellation he flew in the summer of 1973 when he was building hours for the airlines. He had done all the usual time-building jobs—flight instructing, towing gliders—and the Connie was his first heavy flying job. But she was on her last legs. The company that owned the Connie pushed its aircraft hard and spent little on maintenance.

“I didn’t think anything in their inventory was airworthy,” admits Moyer, who at the time held an A&P certificate in addition to his pilot certificates and ratings. “At least four of their aircraft crashed between 1973 and 1975.” Still, when you are young and invincible and dream of the airlines, you do what it takes to build hours. So Moyer climbed into the right seat of the Connie. He flew there for three months, spraying Canadian pines for budworms. In that time, Moyer came to see the run-down airplane as a sort of battle buddy that kept him alive through tough flying conditions and an often-inebriated, always-ornery captain. As fall approached, the job ended.

For most of us, that’s where the pilot-airplane relationship ends—with fond memories, perhaps a faded photo, and stories told over a beer. “There was this old bird—a Connie,” the story would begin, “and she saved my life.” As we all must, Moyer moved on—to other airplanes, other flying jobs, and eventually to a 28-year career with Delta Air Lines.

Then in December 2013, long after Moyer assumed the Connie had been relegated to the scrap heap, he received an email from a friend. It read: “I remember you used to fly a Connie. Thought you might enjoy this video.” The link took him to footage of a magnificent Super Constellation soaring over the Alps, accompanied by the Breitling jet team and a powerful orchestral soundtrack. The text said the airplane was one of only two flightworthy “Super Connies” remaining in the world.

Moyer Googled the tail number, a Swiss registry code. The search revealed that the airplane was previously N73544 and had been used for crop dusting. Heart hammering, Moyer dug out his old logbook and flipped through the pages to summer 1973. The number matched.

“You wouldn’t believe how that affected me,” says Moyer. “I thought, Dang, that airplane and I are still alive! To see it flying and so well restored was overwhelming. I went back and watched the video again and started crying. I hadn’t cried in 35 years.”

If the story ended there, Moyer would have been happy. But it got better. He posted a note to Breitling commenting on the video and noting that he had flown the airplane as a crop duster in 1973. That posting led to some back-and-forth communication with the Connie’s flight engineer, who was fascinated by Moyer’s historical knowledge of the airplane and soon invited Moyer and his wife to come to Switzerland and fly in the Connie again. In August 2016—43 years after they parted—pilot and airplane were reunited.

“I’d never have known it was the same plane because they did such a good job restoring it,” says Moyer, who flew on his old battle buddy three times. “There are over 100 volunteers, including many A&Ps, who take care of that plane, and they do an amazing job. As soon as the engines stop, the mechanics are all over it.”

Perhaps most surreal for Moyer was being asked to sign the airplane. Midway down the interior fuselage is the “wall of fame” where movie stars, athletes—even an astronaut—have signed the airplane after taking a flight. Now, the wall also includes the signature of Jay Moyer, former crop duster.