My “favorite Church” had nothing to do with steeples or pews.  Churchill Hungerford III was the lead captain and one of the myriad colorful characters who flew my first F27 and DC-3.  Bob Emmons ran World / Imperial Aviation, servicing the US Navy AUTEC project, in the Bahamas, from West Palm Beach.

The Atlantic Undersea Test & Evaluation Center was established to hone the hunter-killer skills of western submariners and was somewhat of a combination of McHale’s Navy and a safe harbor for fugitives from justice, child support, DUI’s and bad relationships.

One uncharitable soul proclaimed that a portion of AUTEC’s base, the Thousand Fathoms Club, might represent one of the largest collections of characters, derelicts and misfits ever assembled in one place.  It served to introduce me to the concept of seeing an individual’s assets before trying to sort through “their “ baggage; although, that sort of baggage resulted in enough outrageous situations and memories to fill a library.

The Navy called AUTEC "a font of acoustic and systems data unrivaled in the world."  That accrued in equal parts to the unique properties of the weapons range (a seventy mile long underwater box canyon sheltered from open oceanic noise) and the brilliant if often peculiar technical staff and the workers to support them.

Imperial’s Navy contract was the bread and butter that held us together and the pilot pool was as diverse as AUTEC’s group of pre-Microsoft geeks and sub killers.  Our fixed-wing pilots were specialists in the operation of F27’s and Pilatus Porters, also delivering aircraft and starting-up operations for oil companies in the furtherest flung corners of the 1970’s world.  Imperial would then serve them with ongoing standardization and training contracts.   This was the duty to which most of our pilots aspired, including Church.

The helicopter pilots were a gregarious bunch providing AUTEC with services as conventional as grocery delivery downrange and as unconventional as torpedo recovery and data transfers to submarines on the surface.  Many of our “rotor heads” had served with the military in Vietnam or in Laos as civilian contractors for Continental Air Services--or the more recognized Air America.  It was as uncommon a gathering of airmen and mechanics as anyone could ever have conjured.

For reasons that I may never understand, Church did not rotate out to the overseas work until years after we met.  Instead,  Church and another equally colorful pilot, Charlie Bean, watched over the pedestrian home front having brought AUTEC along from the days of a Cherokee Six and Twin Otter to the DC-3 and F27.

I was being cross-trained as co-pilot after flying mostly as loadmaster.  At twenty years of age I knew everything and was perplexed by Church’s insistence that I shun technology and actually fly the beast.  For that, I initially loathed him (not realizing that I had already become addicted to the primitive flight director).

I nearly left aviation out of my own youth and silliness but, at the speed of a glacier, came to realize that Church’s wisdom was merely in a different package than the more interesting pilots who drifted in and out of our mundane AUTEC world—one that Church nurtured with clucking almost maternal attention.

In reality, AUTEC’s world was truly anything but mundane. I reckon it was a case of us all believing the grass was greener elsewhere, even when there was no grass at all.

Church’s humor was abundant and yet often tested by some of the stronger characters in the mix.  He was as trusting as he was impish, doling out slapstick and taking as many pratfalls.

One of his recurring jokes was with Ted, paradoxically a nearly deaf acoustics engineer.  With shocking regularity, Church would walk up to Ted, mouthing appropriate greetings for any particular time of day.

Suspecting failure or bad adjustment of his hearing aid, Ted would dependably wrench up the volume to max and Church would blurt out, “How ya doin’ Ted?” 

Ted would slam his own forehead in recognition of the jibe while Church consoled him with a laugh and a hug.

Another one of our captains, Dick Fortenberry, seemed to revel in avenging Ted.

The DC3 and F27 were always operating “in the weather” and we had but primitive tools at our disposal.  One spring day, Dick and Church were crewed and it was Dick’s job to fly the leg to the Bahamas through a line of thunderstorms that would make Manaus proud.  I was beckoned to the cockpit from my last row seat and told to secure the passengers and cargo for a nasty ride.  Nearly all of the 700 people on base were regular passengers and all of us acquainted, if not friends.

It didn’t take radar to see that it was going to be no fun at all even though the line was not very deep.

As we approached the front, Church diligently worked the radar, confirming the diagnosis and offering what support and suggestion he could and probably very happy it wasn’t his leg.

“Hey Church, you mind flying this for a while?” Dick uttered unexpectedly.

After a couple of double takes at both Dick and the storms, Church obliged—now seriously ramping up his interest and assessments as we prepared to collide with the cottony concrete.

As Dick covertly reached for the PA, he urged me to shuffle back and belt in.  While I was lashing myself down, the cabin speakers erupted to life with the warning, “Ladies and Gentlemen, you may want to re-check your seatbelts, I’ve just given the controls to Captain Hungerford.”

The immediate collision of machine and cumulo-nimbus were drown out by Church’s audible vexations of Dick and the subsequent roars of laughter from nearly all of the passengers.  By the time the guffaws finished we were out the other side with everyone, including Church, seeing the humor in it.  Shortly thereafter, I left AUTEC to head to my “desert by the sea”.

I had already been in Saudi Arabia several years when Church came out to fly the F27 with me.  By this time, I was lead captain on that workhorse and was (now amusingly) amazed by “how much Church had matured”.  Funny how that works.

We thoroughly enjoyed our “Sandbox time” despite the harsh working environment and cultural challenges.  Through it all, Church remained himself, as irascible as he was endearing and as brilliant as he appeared average. All of our lives were enriched by Church in ways that many of us may never know or be able to acknowledge.  He taught me pathos, humility and in a peculiar way, he taught all of us unvarnished love.

I will always be able to see him greeting every lady passenger.  Beaming from beneath and behind his Aviator Raybans, he would charge them with an open embrace and a tenor proclamation, “Kiss me quick Girls, I’m goin’ overseas!”

When he retired, he never looked back. I’m told he spent the rest of his days in Fort Lauderdale and regularly visited the islands of the Overseas Highway—Florida’s Keys, that he so loved.

Early this March, Church slipped away, without fanfare, to a peaceful place well beyond Largo.

Wherever Church is now, he will be sorely missed, regaled in story and above all else, loved.