A Milkshake Memory for Memorial Day
Captain Dee "Piston" Imlay Channeled Kelis in His Final Farewell
I remember one person above all each Memorial Day. He was the only person who I knew well who ever died during combat. His name was Dee Imlay—call sign Piston.
Piston and I came through the same class in the F-15E fighter training unit in North Carolina, where Strike Eagle pilots and back-seaters go to learn to fly the jet. Piston was a pilot. I was a WSO, which stands for weapon systems officer (the F-15E back-seater—pronounced “Wizzo”). Piston and I were both stationed in Idaho upon graduation, where there are two Strike Eagle squadrons. I went to the T-Bolts, and he went to the Tigers. This was Piston:
I deployed with the T-Bolts in 2011. Of course, death in a combat deployment was a part of the deal. The F-15E is a platform that provides close air support (at least in this theater), so we were often overhead during or just after a firefight in which we lost guys on the ground. You don’t get used to it, and we tried to prevent every damn one we could. But it’s just different when it’s someone you know.
Piston deployed with the Tigers in 2012. I received the call in late March 2012 from my flight commander that Piston had died. It didn’t feel real. I remember having a defeated, confused face when I told my brother (who I was with at the time) who had just called, and why. I immediately thought of his family. Our sons were close in age. I was absolutely gutted. TIME later published an article on the incident itself.
The Memorial Ceremony
I would never have forgotten Piston. But his memorial ceremony etched his memory permanently onto my brain. The ceremony had a 21-gun salute and a missing man formation, but the most memorable part of the ceremony was when they had to honor Piston’s wishes…with a song.
Allow me to back up for a moment. When we arrive at our operational fighter squadron, we fill out a form that provides information to assist our chain of command with our wishes for notification preferences, religion, etc. One asks whether we have a preference for a song to be played at our memorial. The answers are put into a sealed envelope that is only opened should the worst happen. The Air Force should not allow fighter pilots, who are simultaneously hyper-serious and impish, to make such decisions unchecked.
Back to the memorial. Those who spoke did so with the right mixture of solemnity and levity, along with this backdrop:
But as I write this I can’t remember the substance of their speeches. I do, however, remember the the speaker at one point saying something to the effect of “Now, please understand that we have to play this next song.” When it first began, I thought it was a mistake:
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
And they're like, it's better than yours
I started looking around. Others did too. We didn’t know what to think. Was this really Milkshake, by Kelis? It was indeed. And they played the whole damn thing. Many looked confused. As the song continued, more people began smiling, then laughing—all while crying. It was perfect. Whether this was Piston’s plan or just the fortuitous consequence of well-executed cheek, I don’t know. I just know that I’ll never forget him, nor the sendoff he gave all of us.
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