Legends that lift

When Capt. Les Morris died, the airplanes kept flying. The Les Morris Summer Flight Academy in Houston still opened its doors. But what stood out were the pilots he launched.

Astillero, one of those students, recalls riding with his father to church in New Jersey at age 15, when his dad handed a folded newspaper to him in the back and said, "Read this." The article was about a young Black pilot who had earned all her ratings by age 19 through BPA. Astillero wasn’t old enough to drive, but his father looked at him and said, "We're going to check this out." Within months, Astillero was sitting in a training airplane taking his first lesson.

His connection to aviation came from the environment he grew up in, shaped by a family that worked inside the system rather than around it. He is third‑generation FAA: His grandfather worked in technical operations at Philadelphia International Airport, and both his parents built careers in the airports. As a child, he rode with his father to Atlantic City International Airport before sunrise, walking through hangars and climbing into whatever aircraft was open—Beechcraft King Airs, a Bombardier Global 7500, helicopters. When he started actual flight training years later, it didn't surprise his flight instructor to see Astillero settle instantly, holding the yoke lightly with three fingers, focused and steady. He was a natural.

Astillero attended the Les Morris Summer Flight Academy through BPA. Over two intensive weeks, students logged roughly 10 hours of flight time and 40 hours of ground instruction—a foundation that often positioned them to solo soon after, and Astillero was on pace.

His very first logbook signature came from Roscoe "Coach" Draper, a Tuskegee Airmen-era flight instructor who was among pilots attending the original Civilian Pilot Training Program and trained more than 900 cadets before his passing at 105. The lineage was not symbolic, it was literal.

When Astillero was ready to solo, he surprised his instructor by putting on the brakes himself. "I'm only fifteen. I can't solo." He was three months shy of the legal age.

Morris himself became an important influence in those early years. He wrote Astillero's first letter of recommendation and modeled what it looked like to open doors for others. Morris, who died on January 26 and was recognized on the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum’s Wall of Honor, left a mark on aviation and on the lives of the people he mentored.

Astillero moved forward through his qualifications—private, instrument, commercial, multiengine, and CFI—while double‑majoring in pilot training and air traffic control, earning two bachelor’s degrees. In 2015, he became a flight instructor, which he still considers the hardest certificate he earned, not because of the maneuvers but because of the responsibility. That responsibility became real early on when, just after takeoff with a student, the engine lost power. The airplane shook; the student froze; and Astillero took over, communicated with the tower, turned back, and landed. It was later determined that a valve inside the engine had disintegrated. His training and decisiveness resolved what could have been a far more serious outcome.

As a flight instructor, Astillero built the same kind of confidence in his students that BPA had once helped instill in him. One of his students earned his private pilot certificate in just 41 hours—an accomplishment that would have required only the 40-hour minimum if not for a slightly longer-than-planned cross-country flight.

In 2016, he shifted from flight deck to control room, joining the FAA as an air traffic controller. He trained in Oklahoma City and worked in both tower and radar environments, learning the national airspace system from the controller side. He understood separation standards from the inside—why certain clearances are given, how anticipating traffic affects decisions, and what limitations controllers operate under. Eventually, though, he realized he wanted to return to flying. As he puts it, "Ultimately, I just got tired of talking to airplanes and wanted to get back to flying."

Instead of following the standard CFI‑to‑regional airlines path, he made a deliberate move and joined Contour Airlines to work under FAR Part 135, flying the Bombardier CRJ‑200. The turbine experience—much of it as pilot in command—was significant, and he upgraded to captain within a year. The combination of ATC background and command experience gave him a perspective few pilots have: a clear understanding of both sides of the radio.

Astillero interviewed with American Airlines at the Organization of Black Aerospace Professionals conference and was hired soon after. He recently completed the supervised line-flying phase of airline training and now flies as a first officer, bringing his previous captaincy and broad system knowledge into every flight. His father once told him about taking a bus‑driving test on a hill in a stick shift—when the examiner warned, "If you roll back, you fail." He didn't roll back. The bus bucked, the examiner's hat flew off, and the verdict surprised him: "Can you do that again?" It's that kind of determination, shared by father and son, that seems to pair easily with their sense of humor. Astillero joked that he was simply continuing his father’s earlier career work as a Philadelphia bus driver: "I get to fly my own bus now... just with wings and at 35,000 feet. I guess they say like father like son."

Today, Astillero serves as chief pilot of his BPA chapter, delivers monthly safety briefings, mentors youth, and speaks about aerospace careers that extend beyond the cockpit. He remembers being 15 years old and receiving a newspaper article that redirected the course of his life. "I'm trying to bring the next generation up and inspire the next generation to do great things as well." And somewhere, another 15‑year‑old is being shown an article—possibly this one about the greatness of such a young aviator —and seeing a future they hadn’t realized was available to them.