Editor's note: A year ago this Thursday, Steve Beatty, an Atlanta Journal-Constitution assistant metro editor, flew with then-Lt. Kevin Davis, who was since promoted to lieutenant commander. Davis was the pilot who died in Saturday's Blue Angels air crash.
"Nice job, Steve, you're doing great, " Lt. Kevin Davis said.
I felt a little foolish mumbling thanks. After all, I wasn't doing a lot. He was the one piloting his F/A-18 fighter, slicing up the sky over Georgia. I was just along for the ride, trying to stay conscious as the G-forces sucked the blood from my brain.
He was there to watch over me.
At this time last year, Davis was on the Navy's Blue Angels team in a support role, and he was the pilot giving media rides to unsuspecting newspaper reporters before the Naval Air Station Atlanta air show. The video recording of my April 26 ride became a viral hit on ajc.com, being viewed by hundreds of thousands of people, with Davis' calm, matter-of-fact, "Are you with me, Steve?" punctuating my frequent lapses into unconsciousness.
He looked every bit the part: all-American, square-jawed, blue-eyed, handsome.
He was reassuring without being condescending, which must be a real task when dealing with us media types. In retrospect, I shouldn't have tried to sound all macho, telling him I'd been up before in other planes doing aerobatics. I should have just put a "kick me" sign on my back.
Another strategic error was telling this Pittsfield, Mass., native and Boston Red Sox fan that I pull for the arch-rival New York Yankees. I'm not sure if that's why he took me to the edge of the speed of sound and then sent the jet straight up, causing me to pass out the first time. I'm just saying . . .
People who saw the video online frequently asked why I blacked out and Davis didn't. I explained that besides being younger and in better shape than me, he'd trained to endure increasingly heavy G-forces, much the way marathon runners build up from running their first miles.
Before my ride on that jet, my most serious experiment with G-forces probably came in a ride at a county fair. Suddenly, Davis had me feeling 7 1/2 times my own weight, and all the blood rushed from my head. We made small talk as he taxied the $24 million jet out of Naval Air Station Atlanta, which shares a runway with Dobbins Air Reserve Base in Marietta.
He loved New England --- "It's just a good area to call home" --- and the changing of the seasons. He enjoyed his alone time on his '95 Harley-Davidson Springer Softail. He didn't consider himself much of a thrill-seeker, outside of water skiing. During each of his three media rides that day, he made a point of swinging by the Athens airport because he'd learned that schoolkids were there, waiting to take pictures. "We're gonna fly by, turn our smoke on and say hello to them, " he said.
Besides wowing the crowd, the Blue Angels travel the country to plant the seed of recruitment. Davis was the voice of the Blue Angels for the 2006 airshow, announcing the team's moves and telling people when to get their cameras ready for a particularly stunning pass.
After the show, he joined the rest of the pilots in greeting the crowd, signing autographs and flashing his smile for pictures. He didn't hesitate to ask elementary schoolkids whether they'd like to do that someday. And they didn't hesitate to respond, wide-eyed with the possibility.
I flew with Davis for only an hour, so I'd be foolish to suggest I got to know him. But I'm sure most people picked up on his enthusiasm, discipline and flat-out love of flying within the first moments of meeting him.
Davis has joined the ranks of military aviators who died doing what they love, and the Blue Angels will continue to dazzle people worldwide. And one day, a kid who listened to Davis and got his autograph in a program might be flying with them.
