Thunderstorms Couldn’t Shake Him – He Flew Right Through Them

Charlie Summers: A Life of Quiet Courage and Unyielding Grace

I couldn’t go another day without sharing this everlasting introduction:

Colonel Charles “Charlie” Summers (1935–2015) was a man whose life defied the roar of jet engines and the fury of thunderstorms, embodying the rare blend of humility and heroism that defines true greatness. Born on a Nebraska farm, he rose through the ranks of the U.S. Air Force as a decorated fighter pilot, commanded wings in distant theaters, and later pioneered atmospheric research by deliberately navigating the heart of tempests he once fled. Yet, Charlie’s legacy is not etched in medals or headlines, but in the steady hand he extended to colleagues, the wry smile that disarmed tension, and the profound kindness that made every conversation feel like counsel from a trusted friend. As a corporate pilot for Concorde Gaming, Inc., in Rapid City, South Dakota, he ferried executives like me across the Great Plains with the same unassuming grace he brought to life’s greatest challenges—reminding us that true courage is measured not in conquests, but in the quiet resolve to press on, no matter the odds.

The Sky’s Humble Guardian: Charlie Summers’ Enduring Legacy

In an era when aviation was as much art as science, Charlie Summers stood as a testament to the power of modest resolve. Hailing from the hardworking soil of Hershey, Nebraska, where the hum of crop dusters overhead sparked a lifelong passion for flight, Charlie’s journey began not with grand ambitions, but with a simple yearning to escape the grind of farm life. “Every airplane that flew over made me think, ‘Now, that guy’s not working as hard as I am down here,'” he once reflected with characteristic understatement. By his college years at the University of Nebraska, he had earned a commercial pilot’s license through Air Force ROTC, launching a 24-year military career that would test—and affirm—his unshakeable mettle.

Charlie’s early days in the cockpit were forged in the unforgiving cockpit of the F-100 Super Sabre, a supersonic fighter that demanded precision amid peril. It was during a routine training mission over Cannon Air Force Base, New Mexico, that fate delivered its starkest lesson. Lacking onboard radar, Charlie and his wingman were vectored by ground control into the blind fury of a thunderstorm—a maelstrom of hail and turbulence that turned the sky into an adversary. In a split-second collision born of the storm’s chaos, their jets tangled: the tail sheared from his wingman’s aircraft, and a chunk of Charlie’s port wing was ripped away. Amid the alarms and disorientation, both pilots nursed their crippled birds back to base, a feat that could have headlined aviation lore. Yet Charlie, ever the modest soul, distilled it to a single, wry axiom: “If there’s one [thunderstorm] in the county, be in the next state.” That brush with disaster did not break him; it honed him, instilling a reverence for the elements that would define his path.

Through three harrowing tours in Vietnam, transitions to the F-4 Phantom, and a command role in Korea, Charlie logged thousands of hours in combat skies, always prioritizing his crews’ safety over personal glory. Retirement from the Air Force in the late 1970s might have signaled a quieter chapter, but Charlie—married to a dedicated Air Force nurse who shaped their nomadic postings across Florida, Alabama, and Mississippi—simply pivoted to civilian wings. He flew corporate routes, instructed aspiring aviators, and embraced variety with the same equanimity that marked his military tenure. When his wife retired to Ellsworth Air Force Base near Rapid City, South Dakota, Charlie found his next calling: not in leisure, but in the vanguard of scientific inquiry.

Hired as a research pilot for the Institute of Atmospheric Sciences at the South Dakota School of Mines and Technology, Charlie confronted the irony of his life’s arc. The man who had spent decades evading thunderstorms now piloted a fortified T-28 aircraft straight into their cores, gathering vital data on hail, lightning, and wind shear.

“The first time I put the pointy end of the airplane toward a thunderstorm and went in, I thought, ‘This is not totally comfortable,'” he admitted, his voice laced with gentle humor. The T-28, battle-hardened from 16 years of such missions, was engineered to endure; Charlie’s role was to trust it—and himself. What began as cautious penetrations evolved into confident mastery, his flights yielding insights that advanced weather forecasting and aviation safety. In these deliberate dances with danger, Charlie’s courage shone brightest—not as bravado, but as a grizzly’s steadfast guardianship, fierce yet grounded, protecting the greater good without fanfare.

It was in this post-military phase that our paths crossed at Concorde Gaming, Inc., where Charlie served as my corporate pilot. Though our shared skies were fleeting—two memorable flights stand out: a site survey to Newtown, North Dakota, for the Four Bears Casino, and a deal-closing run to Black Hawk, Colorado, with developer Bruce Lien—each ascent revealed the depth of his character. Strapped into the co-pilot’s seat, I’d coax stories from him, not of triumphs, but of the storms that shaped him. Charlie spoke with a kindness that bridged generations, his explanations laced with self-deprecating wit that eased any turbulence, literal or otherwise. “All I had to do was fly it,” he’d say of those research runs, deflecting praise to the machine and the mission.

In his presence, anxiety dissolved; conversations became lifelines, his modesty a balm that invited trust.

Charlie Summers was no larger-than-life icon, but a profoundly great man—humble in his accolades, modest in his narratives, kind in his counsel, and courageous beyond measure. His life reminds us that true fortitude resides in the ordinary acts of perseverance: the farmer’s son who soared through wars and weathers, always landing with grace. Though he left us a decade ago, Charlie’s spirit endures in every pilot who charts a safer course and every soul who listens with open heart. In a world that often mistakes bluster for bravery, he was the quiet grizzly—immense, unyielding, and forever kind.