On a chilly day in early 2005 I visited Moontown Airport, outside of Huntsville, AL, on the day that Keavy (rhymes with levy) Nenninger got her private certificate. Moontown is one of those grass strips that is half airport and part social club, complete with a liars’ table that gets a lot of use. Keavy was sort of the airport’s little sister—young (19), bright, attractive, personable and bubblingly enthusiastic about flying. When I got to Moontown that day, Keavy was at another strip, taking her private checkride. Everyone else, it seemed, eagerly awaited news—had she passed or not?
Keavy’s mother, Lisa Brunegraff, who had supported Keavy wholeheartedly with her flying lessons, financially and otherwise, was one of those waiting in anticipation. Finally, Keavy called on the phone—yes, she had passed. Everyone was delighted.
A bit later, shortly before dark, Keavy called unicom, and someone handed the microphone to Lisa, who responded. Keavy reported a few miles out, requesting that the runway lights be turned on. Lisa acknowledged. Keavy then, still on unicom, said simply, “Thanks, Mom.†I couldn’t tell if she was thanking her for the lights, or for Lisa’s help over the last months. I still don’t know.
I wrote Keavy’s story in a column for AOPA’s Flight Training magazine.
Later Keavy finished college, graduating as an aeronautical engineer. From what I can gather, she was just as popular and respected in college as at Moontown.
A few days ago, I started getting email from people telling me how much my Keavy column had meant to them, and explaining that Keavy had been fatally injured in an aircraft accident. They also explained that her death had hit them pretty hard.
 I knew what they meant. Though I knew Keavy for only a very short time, it was obvious even to me that she was a very special person. She will be missed.
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