Flying Life: The missing man formation

It was a first-rate throwdown complete with all the things dad had said he would want for a thing like this, including the speakers set to Garth Brooks and the Eagles, freely flowing Bud Light, and a huge sign hanging on the back patio that said “Bon Voyage.” The next day at the funeral, Dad’s best friend from the U.S. Air Force told irreverent stories that were Dad’s favorites until the priest literally ushered him out of the pulpit. It was, I thought, the greatest sendoff anyone has ever had.

That was, until I went to an aviation-style memorial in 2020. Doug Spillars, the man who hired me for my first pilot job as a certificated flight instructor at his flight school, died after a long battle with cancer. Mike, Doug’s longtime business partner, popped his head in my office one afternoon after Doug had passed. “Hey, this Saturday, at 2 p.m., we’re doing a little thing for Doug down at the hangar.” I had no idea what to expect, never having attended a memorial service at the airport. But assuming it would be casual, I brought my 6-year-old son along, as does any working parent who can’t stand to miss a Saturday with the kids. We donned our 2020 masks and walked up to the hangar where people stood spread out in small groups or in lawn chairs under the wings on the ramp. There were long tables of barbecue and Diet Coke, and, to my son’s delight, a big basket of packaged chips. We picked a bag of crunchy Cheetos and went to find Mike.

“Keep your eyes up,” he told us. “They’re about to do the missing man formation.”

I’d never heard of the missing man formation before, but once it was over, I walked away thinking maybe that was the best sendoff ever. (Sorry, Dad.)

My son couldn’t understand what was happening, but I still felt grateful to be standing there, holding his little hand in mine, as I said goodbye to a friend.For those of you, like me, who were unaware of this beautiful aviation tradition, the missing man formation, as described by Wikipedia, is “an aerial salute performed as part of a flypast of aircraft at a funeral or memorial event, typically in memory of a fallen pilot…service member, or a well-known political figure.” The missing man (see “Briefing: Aerial Tributes,” October 2020 AOPA Pilot) has been performed for Ronald Reagan, Dale Earnhardt Sr., and Neil Armstrong, just to name a few folks you might have heard of. Although aviation gets the credit for starting the practice, the missing man formation has adaptations that have been seen in everything from racecar driving to football.

Here’s how it went for Doug: As we all stood on the ramp, facing Olive Branch’s lone runway, three aircraft flew by in formation: a bright-red Pitts, flanked by two Beechcraft Bonanzas. As the aircraft flew overhead, a kilt-clad man marched along in the grass playing Amazing Grace on his bagpipe to a stunned, silent crowd. On the second pass, the Pitts pilot broke off from the group and flew straight up and out of sight, leaving the Bonanzas to fly on without him.

“Doug loved a hangar party,” Mike whispered as we watched the airplanes overhead. My son couldn’t understand what was happening, and there was no way I could have explained it to him past the lump in my throat, but I still felt grateful to be standing there, holding his little hand in mine, as I said goodbye to a friend.

When we got home that night, my husband asked our son about his trip to the airport. “It was really cool, Dad. A red airplane with two wings flew straight up to Heaven.” OK, so maybe he did get it after all—the important part, anyway. For Dad and Doug, neither memorial service was a particularly spiritual event, but we weren’t burying bishops. We were honoring our father or friend or son or husband in the way that felt right to us, by celebrating the everyday things they loved while they were with us. The family back patio and the airport ramp became sacred spaces, surrounded not by rafters and stained glass, but by blue sky and old friends. With churches closed and gatherings restricted, 2020 was a year when so many people passed away without a formal memorial service of any kind. But I hope you were able to find a way to say goodbye to your loved ones in a way that reminded you of the good times.

When I go, my wish is that my friends and family will be able to gather and tell stories that make them laugh. There should probably be ice cream involved, and good wine, maybe airplane rides for the kids, and some version played of The Old Rugged Cross. Bagpipes not required.

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