James Stephen "Steve" Bristow

Steve, as he was known to all who loved him, died Monday, April 1, 2024, at Orchard View assisted living facility in Fortson, GA near his home. His devoted wife, Becky was by his side. He is also survived by his two sons, Alan and David, and two sisters, Reda and Anita Kay.

He is preceded in death by his parents James Fred and Reba Mae, whose moral compass and strength of character Steve sought to nurture in his sometimes skeptical but ultimately abiding sons.

Steve was humble. He spent his early childhood in Columbus, GA, where he was born, but much of his teen age passed in Eutaw, AL where in 1966 he graduated from Greene Co. High School. His youth was accented by scarcity. The frugality, self-sufficiency, and determination he learned then stayed with him all his life. He seldom had greater pleasure than the satisfaction of a job done himself.

Exceptions included seeing his sons score a goal (rare), an ice cold Yeungling on the boat (two was one too many), and an afternoon nap with the Masters on TV.

Steve was resourceful and responsible. One day in high school the school bus driver didn’t show up. Steve was 16 with a driver license and years of experience driving farm vehicles. So he picked up the route, driving himself and his classmates to school — in the school bus — until graduation.

Steve was clever. On Oct. 3, 1969, a letter from the Selective Service lay unopened on the kitchen counter. Knowing what awaited him as a draft recruit in the Army Infantry, he marched directly to the Air Force recruitment office. He was trained as an aircraft navigation systems technician and shipped off to the Philippines. For nearly four years he repaired airplanes that were damaged in Vietnam. In his down time he built motorcycles and rode them along the twisty mountain roads in Southeast Asia.

Steve loved aviation, and it loved him back. Honorably discharged and with GI Bill in hand, Steve signed up for flying lessons. He earned instrument, commercial and instructor certificates, and started earning a living teaching other people how to fly small airplanes. One of those students became his wife and my mother.

Pilots, especially professional ones, share several traits. Punctuality, attention to detail, mechanical intuition, and always having a backup plan are common among us, and it is often debated if people with those traits gravitate toward aviation or if the job instills those habits over time.

“Safety Steve” was born to be a pilot.

Steve was grateful. He appreciated each of the half-dozen or so jobs he held in nearly 40 years of flying and the opportunities they afforded. With each takeoff he lifted his family further from the scarcity of his youth and toward the abundance he envisioned for them. We are grateful in return.

Yet he always measured his golf games by the number of balls he found versus lost.

Steve was diligent and consistent. Once or twice per year he pored over hundreds of pages of aircraft technical manuals. He had to pass continuing qualification tests, but even more he cared about being prepared, knowledgeable, and professional.

He also loved frustrating his sons on Christmas morning by making them read the owner’s manual for every toy before playing.

Steve was active. He traded in the school bus for a biplane and flew his friends to the Caribbean for SCUBA diving. He grew a beard and convinced Becky to ride on the back of his Harley to Daytona Bike Week.

We miss the man, but maybe not so much the mustache.

Steve was a devoted family man. He was protective of his long-widowed mother and of his two younger sisters. Holidays with them were among his favorite days of the year. His in-laws adopted him as their own, as he did them.

Steve loved us, his sons. Soccer games, Scout trips, sending us out on hot summer days to do chores. Fishing, hunting, golfing, working on the 1966 Ford he inherited from his late father. These were his opportunities to teach us the life lessons that served him so well, and he cherished them.

And we cherish him.