Back before men rode into space on the tips of rockets, there was a special breed of adventurer who came to the high desserts of California to go higher, farther and faster than any many alive. They were the test pilots. And in the post World War II era, their contributions were absolutely critical to our security and the development of jet aviation. They put their lives on the line everyday. There were few like them.

One of those men was Scott Crossfield.

Anyone who has read Tom Wolfe’s masterpiece, The Right Stuff, or seen the movie by the same name, got to know a bit about Crossfield. To be sure, we all know Chuck Yeager’s name a little better. But for years, Yeager and Crossfield traded records as each got the first crack at the hot new jets from Lockheed, Gruman, Douglas Aviation and others.

Crossfield loved to fly in a way that very few of us can every appreciate. He survived the most dangerous and deadly form of flying for decades.

And yesterday, on a routine flight back from Alabama to his home in Northern Virginia, he was killed when his Cessna 210 crashed in the mountains of North Carolina. While his death his said, there’s something appropriate about his passing behind the controls of the plane he loved so much doing what he was born to do.

Crossfield was one of the giants of the Twentieth Century. We should all mourn his passing.