From an audience perspective, most people probably don’t give a second thought to the work that goes on behind the scenes before and during a major stage performance. Unless you’ve happened to be in the audience of a play when a set failed in some way, and everything behind the scenes was suddenly laid bare. Such anomalies aside, without the planning, coordination, and orchestration from the unseen support behind the scenes, there are no scenes. We arrive, the curtain goes up, the show goes on, and we’re transported to another place and time without giving much thought about what transpired prior to curtain up and showtime.
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Airshows are a different kind of performance, where the stage is an invisible three-dimensional aerobatic box that performers enter from high above stage left or right precisely on cue. Most enter with a trail of smoke that points to the tiny ball of tumbling kinetic energy hurtling toward the ground as if the leading actor tripped while making a dramatic entrance. And like all performances, the art of putting on an exciting airshow is dependent on the thousands of hours of practice by performers to master their craft, hardworking volunteers and paid staff making necessary preparations and real-time adjustments, an announcer who gets the crowd engaged, and one unsung, unseen, and unheard stage director who makes the magic happen and keeps everyone safe—the air boss. Once the curtain goes up, the air boss is solely responsible for the airspace—nothing moves unless it is on his or her authority.
The air boss is the person charged with choreographing the show by launching and recovering aircraft and managing ground operations, keeping the performers and audience safe, juggling chatter on multiple air and ground frequencies, and coordinating with the various agencies, airspace, and egos involved.
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Every airshow has an air boss, and there can be only one. The boss’ word is final–it’s not a “go-ask-your-mother” situation. The boss has the ultimate authority, and it is unimpeachable and unquestionable. If the boss sees something or senses anything that may jeopardize safety—a part coming off an aircraft, drifting too close to the crowd line, loss of communications, etc.—the boss might call “knock it off” and that’s it, done. The routine stops and the pilot will be instructed to exit the box and land—it’s not open for discussion.
It’s a tricky job no doubt, but when it goes right, as it almost always does, no one notices the air boss. But when it goes terribly awry and the unthinkable happens and lives are lost, the buck stops with the air boss. It’s lonely at the top.
Wayne Boggs: Aero Maestro
Wayne Boggs is arguably one of the top air bosses in the business as evidenced by the fact that the International Council of Air Shows (ICAS) and the best airshow demonstration teams in the world have recognized his work to keep airshow performers and audiences safe for more than 35 years. Boggs is both an honorary Blue Angel boss and Thunderbird—in fact, it’s tough to get either of those teams to perform without securing Boggs as the show’s air boss. If it ended there, he’d be more decorated than other air bosses. But his CV includes other accolades like the ICAS Sword of Excellence, and in 2019, he was inducted into the ICAS Hall of Fame. In addition to his work as the air boss, he also mentors other air bosses and teaches up and coming air bosses through the Air Boss Academy he created.
Boggs started his career as an air boss after retiring from the FAA in 2004 as an air traffic controller in some of the busiest airspace in the world—Chicago O’Hare Terminal Radar Approach Control. He believes that being both a controller and pilot are good prerequisites for an air boss. Collectively, his acute situational awareness, sound and rapid decision making, an unwavering commitment to safety, and unflappability are traits that have earned Boggs the trust of world-class airshow performers.
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When Boggs began working as an air boss, this key airshow safety management role was essentially an unregulated, self-appointed position that anyone–even with no experience or training–could attempt (and hope for the best). Some, like Boggs, were highly skilled, yet others were not, and there was no oversight. If that sounds as risky as most ill-conceived misadventures that start with, “Hold my beer, I got this,” you’d be right. Of course there were plenty of competent air bosses managing airshows safely for more than a century. But unlike regulations governing the required training to become a pilot, mechanic, controller, there were no such training requirements for air bosses managing busy airspace, fast-moving aircraft, takeoffs and landings, and ground ops.
That all began to change after Boggs and others were called to testify in front of an National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) panel in the wake of a fatal airshow crash in 2011 where spectators and a pilot perished—Boggs was not the air boss that day. As Boggs recalls, the first question the NTSB panel asked the air bosses summoned to testify was, “What does it take to become an air boss?” Boggs replied, “A business card.”
That eye-opening response helped Boggs and a team of volunteers gain traction on a program they started developing years earlier to create a certification process for air bosses similar in concept to what pilots and controllers must do to earn a certificate. The training is essential because simply calling oneself an air boss and learning on the job while lives are at stake doesn’t make a person a competent, safe, skilled air boss any more than calling oneself a pilot and walking away from a landing makes a person a competent, safe, skilled aviator.
Fortunately, Boggs and company had been working on an air boss training program for years, so they had a good head start on what it would take to train to be one. The program he and five others created to train air bosses is today known as the FAA Air Boss Recognition Program (ABRP). The program is designed to create a standard of competency to ensure airshow safety in the United States. And since 2020, every domestic airshow is required to have an air boss with an FAA-issued letter of authorization. There are three levels of air boss qualification—basic, standard, and recognized. Boggs is one of fewer than 30 air bosses in the country to have attained the status as “Recognized Air Boss.”
The work of being an air boss is a labor of love, but the rewards are sweet—the best seat in the house at airshow center and the appreciation and admiration of some of the world’s finest and most accomplished aviators. But there’s a great deal of work to do before the show goes on.
As you can imagine there’s all manner of site reviews, map surveying, emergency procedures to hammer out, agencies to coordinate with, and challenges to solve—some in advance, some on the fly. Before a single prop turns on practice day, the air boss hosts a full briefing for performers and crew. Most know each other as the airshow community is a small, close-knit one. There’s plenty of joviality, jocularity, and good-natured ribbing that happens in the briefing room before the brief starts—then it’s all business.
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The briefing includes emergency procedures, alternate airports, radio frequencies and backup frequencies, sight lines, crowd lines, visual cues, show timing, and the difference between “terminate-terminate-terminate” and “knock it off” should the air boss be compelled to break the radio silence in your headset.
When someone is great at what they do, they make it look easy, and that gives others confidence. Boggs is a humble (and funny) guy, but he’s serious about the business of being an air boss and keeping people safe. You don’t get inducted into the Hall of Fame of anything for being kind of good at something. Just like his National Baseball Hall of Fame, major league phenom brother Wade Boggs, Wayne Boggs has invested the time it takes to be recognized as world class.
In Malcom Gladwell’s 2008 book Outlier, Gladwell talks about the commitment it takes to invest in your craft to be a phenom—10,000 hours. That’s not a hard-and-fast rule. No one has ever done 10,000 hours of practice as an air boss—it doesn’t work like that. Ten-thousand hours is a measuring stick for a person who has dedicated more time than most are willing to commit, made the sacrifices others aren’t ready to make, recognized critical opportunities for self-improvement that most don’t see, and stopped at nothing until they’ve exhausted the possibilities of what could be. In addition to all of those traits, to achieve Hall of Fame level at anything, one also needs to be able to draw from a deep well of raw talent that frankly most of us don’t have. And remember, in Boggs’ case he spent countless hours in a dark air traffic control center honing his situational awareness skills to keep pilots and passengers safe.
There is tremendous mutual respect between airshow performers and Boggs as their air boss. It was palpable at the show where I shadowed Boggs at Naval Air Station Jacksonville (KNIP) in Florida. In aviation, fortunes can change in the blink of an eye. A day of fun at an airshow can turn deadly for performers and spectators alike as it did at the 2011 National Championship Air Races in Reno, Nevada. It is the job of the air boss to keep a watchful eye to make sure bad things don’t happen. The air boss doesn’t rest, doesn’t sit, doesn’t relax, is undistractable, unflappable, and unwavering at his job while there’s a propeller blade or turbine disc turning—too much is at stake. The next time you’re enjoying an airshow, see if you can identify the air boss—the person in the yellow shirt, wearing a hat and headset, looking skyward. There isn’t much to see–it’s not very exciting to watch an air boss. It would be like watching chess grandmaster and world champion, the late Bobby Fischer—you don’t see what’s playing out in the boss’ mind, but rest assured, he’s multiple steps ahead, sees everything in play, anticipates what’s coming next, and has a contingency plan if something unexpected happens. And if you try to second-guess what he’s up to, you’re too late because he’s five moves ahead already.
I suspect no one asks for an autograph or wants to pose for a selfie with the air boss after the show. But the trust, respect, confidence, and gratitude the airshow performers have for Boggs is the priceless reward for the person whom they trust with their lives.
International Council of Air Show Hall of Fame announcer Rob Reider keeps the crowd engaged by narrating the aerobatic maneuvers, supplying humorous anecdotes, and even singing the national anthem. [Courtesy: Randy S. Bolinger]
Rob Reider: Mr. 8.5
The name Rob Reider will be familiar to FLYING aficionados as he’s the voice behind the popular ILAFFT (I Learned About Flying From That) podcast. He’s also the voice you’ve probably heard over the PA system if you’ve been to an airshow where the Blue Angels or Thunderbirds were performing. Not only is Reider the announcer, he’s also the person who trains the Blue Angels and Thunderbirds team announcers.
In fact, the Blue Angels have created a new position, squeezed him into the line-up, and dubbed him Honorary Blue Angel 8.5. There are six pilots who perform the airshows and fly Super Hornets Nos. 1-6. Blue Angel No. 7 flies the only two-seat F/A-18, which is used for VIP flights and is also the team’s announcer. Blue Angel No. 8 is the event coordinator. Which brings us to Reider, honorary Blue Angel No. 8.5. Reider trains the team’s announcers, which is a recurring task since the Blues rotate out every two to three years.
Reider, is equally iconic as Boggs among the premier airshow circuit. Both are honorary Blue Angels and both, understandably, take great pride in having this rare and prestigious honor bestowed upon them. They wear their U.S. Navy Blue Angels G-1 flight jackets with great pride and reverence—well at least until I dubbed them the “Blues Brothers.”
Reider is also an accomplished singer and guitarist, having won five regional Emmys and even opened a concert for an award-winning singer-songwriter and actor, the late John Denver. With those credentials on his CV and hardware on his mantle, if he has a microphone in his hand, it’s showtime. He even sings the national anthem for the airshows he announces. Truly Reider is an airshow circuit legend whose voice has a dulcet tone as smooth and flawless as the chordline of a P-51 wing.
Like any good event host, master of ceremonies, or celebrity roaster, it’s the airshow announcer that sets the tone for the festivities by keeping attendees engaged and excited by explaining what they’re seeing since most probably don’t know a tail slide from a hammerhead.
Reider makes an airshow so much more fun than just watching aircraft sketch smoky hieroglyphics in the sky. He engages audiences as large as 200,000 by putting them in the cockpit via his custom comms interface (complete with a momentary mute button labeled “cough”) so people can share the experience of what it must be like tumbling through the sky while the pilot talks to fans through the PA while pulling Gs overhead.
When Reider is the announcer, the experience is as educational as it is fun—you might even learn the history of the Cuban 8. He’s a pilot himself, and he knows what the airshow performers will do for each maneuver, so he gets fans looking in the right spot at the proper time with color commentary before and after. It’s difficult to compare a great airshow announcer to a mediocre one because you may only attend one event per year, and you have to hear greatness like Reider to recognize the difference.
For those just reading about Reider, hoping to mark your 2025 calendar, sadly you’re too late. After more than three decades professionally announcing airshows (although he started in 1978 as a volunteer when the intended announcer was a no-show), he decided to retire after the last show in the 2024 Blue Angels season with his final event at NAS Pensacola in Florida. But chances are you’ve already heard him and didn’t know it. He has been the most sought-after airshow announcer for years and has also been honored by ICAS with the Sword of Excellence and other accolades for a career that spans two decades. When our nation needed a shot in the arm during the pandemic, it didn’t take the White House long to figure out who to get to announce the Salute to America Flyover in Washington, D.C., in 2020. “Get Rob Reider” was all it took.
Announcing airshows is much more grueling than you might imagine. The pace alone isn’t for the faint of heart–he’s done 320 shows since 2006 including EAA AirVenture each year. The 2024 season saw Reider traversing the country to announce shows in Arizona, North Carolina, Minnesota, New York, Indiana, Ohio, Florida, Michigan, Kentucky, California, then back to Florida. Thankfully he owns a beautifully equipped RV-7 with a panel that has more glass than a Pella Windows warehouse so time spent in the air is quality time, especially when his wife Jill is the co-pilot.
Aviation enthusiasts may also recognize Reider’s voice bringing Chris Broyhill’s aviation novels on tape to life that are so easy to listen to it sounds like the voice in your own head more than a narrator. His voice has an unusual peaceful and familiar quality that makes you feel less like you’re listening to someone read and more you’re just thinking the words.
After witnessing Boggs and Reider work seamlessly together, it’s easy to see how two consummate professionals at the top of their respective games complement each other and bring out the best in those around them for those being entertained. It was a treat to watch an airshow while these two airshow icons were working together. I only wish I could have attended their final show together in NAS Pensacola to see how the air boss choreographed the ground ops of the obligatory fini flight/Gatorade shower courtesy of the Blue Angels and Thunderbirds. As you’d expect, the precision drop was on target. The first two buckets completely drenched Reider head to toe. Then, in true Blue Angels form, a sneak pass with a third bucket of water rained down on the unsuspecting Reider—a fitting tribute to a much beloved announcer, airshow partner, and friend. Having seen them share the stage, it’s hard to imagine this amazing era of the airshow circuit, air boss and announcer, has come to a close. But it’s only the end of this chapter.
The story continues for both larger-than-life characters. Boggs continues as air boss extraordinaire. And Redier continues to train announcers, narrate, and be the voice of FLYING’s most popular column, ILAFFT, with a new podcast being released about every two weeks. No, Reider isn’t retiring, just taking one entree off his very full plate.
Something tells me that this won’t be the last time these two work together. You never know when the White House might call and reunite this dynamic duo—they’re individual and combined legacy is that of airshow royalty.
This feature first appeared in the April Issue 957 of the FLYING print edition.
