It was a clear Thursday morning in June when the silence over Beverly Regional Airport was shattered. For most, it was just another weekday. But for the family of 30-year-old Geoffrey Andrews, it was the day their world stopped turning. A brilliant mind, a father-to-be, and a man who literally lived for the sky was gone.
Geoffrey Andrews died in a plane crash on June 19, 2025, a tragedy that didn’t just take a pilot—it took a rising star in the aerospace world.
He wasn't some amateur hobbyist who got in over his head. Not even close. Andrews was a PhD, a scientist at MIT Lincoln Laboratory, and a guy who had spent over a decade mastering the very machines that ultimately failed him. When news hit that geoffrey andrews died in a plane crash, the aviation community didn't just feel sad; they were baffled. How does someone with his level of expertise, someone who taught graduate-level hypersonics at Lehigh University, end up in a fatal stall just minutes after takeoff?
The Morning of June 19: A Routine Flight Gone Wrong
The plan was simple enough. Geoffrey was heading out for a camping trip in Vermont with a friend. He was piloting a Mooney M20F, a plane known for being fast and efficient, though sometimes a bit "slippery" for pilots who aren't on their game. Geoffrey, however, was definitely on his game. He’d been flying for 13 years. He had aerobatic training. He was a volunteer glider pilot.
Basically, he was the guy you wanted in the cockpit if things went south.
The plane, registered as N9573M, took off around 8:45 a.m. Witnesses on the ground reported seeing black smoke billowing from the belly of the aircraft almost immediately. It’s a terrifying sight. You're just starting to climb, the ground is still way too close, and suddenly your engine is screaming that something is wrong.
Geoffrey radioed air traffic control. He reported engine issues. He was trying to get back, trying to save the plane, trying to save himself and his passenger. But the Mooney couldn't maintain altitude. It came down near Sam Fonzo Drive, just a couple of minutes away from the runway, striking a utility pole before coming to a rest.
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Geoffrey died at the scene. His passenger, a friend, survived but was rushed to the hospital with serious injuries.
Why the "Expert" Factor Makes This So Jarring
Most people hear about a small plane crash and assume it’s "pilot error." It’s a cynical reflex. But with Geoffrey Andrews, that narrative doesn't really fit. This was a man who worked on the cutting edge of aerospace engineering. He had spent years at NASA Glenn Research Center and the Von Karman Institute. He was literally helping Lehigh University design a new Master’s program in Aerospace and Space Systems Engineering.
His uncle, Simon Andrews, mentioned something that makes the whole thing even more haunting: the plane had been recertified as safe to fly just three weeks prior.
"As far as we can tell, it was just catastrophic engine failure," Simon told local news outlets. "If anyone could have got out of this situation, it was Geoffrey."
When a scientist who understands the physics of flight better than 99% of the population can't save a plane, it points toward a mechanical failure so sudden and so absolute that no amount of skill could have countered it.
A Career Cut Short at the Peak
To understand the weight of this loss, you have to look at what Geoffrey was doing when he wasn't in the cockpit. He wasn't just a "staff scientist" at MIT. He was a mentor. He chaired the Educator Associates Engagement Subcommittee for the AIAA. He spent his free time teaching K-12 teachers how to get kids excited about STEM.
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He was also a man of quirks and deep passions. He wore bow ties. He played classical piano. He baked "elaborate concoctions" in his kitchen and had an "insatiable love of adventure."
He was a human being in the fullest sense of the word. And he was about to become a father.
The Heartbreaking Timing
The most gut-wrenching part of this story isn't the technical failure or the career lost. It’s the family left behind. Geoffrey’s wife, Gentry, was pregnant with their first child when the accident happened. Their baby was due in October, just a few months after the crash.
Gentry later shared stories of their life together—how they met on a blind date, how their first kiss happened in the air while Geoffrey was flying her to dinner. It sounds like something out of a movie, which makes the ending all the more unbearable.
A GoFundMe organized by the family saw an outpouring of support, raising over $80,000 in a matter of days. It wasn't just about the money; it was a testament to how many lives Geoffrey had touched, from the halls of Purdue to the flight lines in Massachusetts.
What the NTSB Investigation Tells Us So Far
The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) and the FAA are still digging into the wreckage of the Mooney M20F. These investigations aren't fast. They take months, sometimes over a year, to release a final report.
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However, the preliminary details are telling:
- The Black Smoke: Witness reports of smoke before the crash strongly suggest an internal engine failure rather than a fuel issue or a simple stall.
- The Altitude: The plane never gained significant height, meaning Geoffrey was likely fighting a "dead stick" (no power) situation almost immediately after rotating off the runway.
- The Recertification: Investigators will be looking closely at that recent inspection. If the plane was signed off as airworthy three weeks prior, what changed? Was there a maintenance oversight, or was it a "one-in-a-million" part failure?
Small aircraft like the Mooney M20F rely on reciprocating engines that, while reliable, are complex. A snapped connecting rod or a total oil pressure loss at 200 feet is a nightmare scenario for any pilot, regardless of their PhD status.
What We Can Learn from This Tragedy
It’s easy to get lost in the sadness, but for those in the aviation and engineering communities, Geoffrey’s death is a call to focus on safety and mentorship—the two things he cared about most.
If you're a pilot or someone interested in the story of Geoffrey Andrews, here is how you can actually honor his legacy or take away something meaningful from this tragedy:
- Support STEM Education: Geoffrey was obsessed with teaching the next generation. Consider donating to the AIAA Foundation or local K-12 aerospace programs. He believed that the next great astronaut was sitting in a middle school classroom right now.
- Aviation Vigilance: For the pilots reading this, the recertification of Geoffrey's plane is a reminder that "freshly inspected" doesn't mean "invincible." Always perform a rigorous pre-flight, even if the mechanic just handed you the keys.
- The GoFundMe for Gentry: While the initial surge of support was huge, the long-term reality of raising a child alone is daunting. Supporting the family directly remains the most tangible way to help.
- Advocate for Engine Tech: Geoffrey worked on hypersonics and advanced propulsion. His death highlights the need for continued innovation in GA (General Aviation) safety tech, like whole-airframe parachutes or more robust engine monitoring systems that can catch failures before they become "catastrophic."
Geoffrey Andrews lived his life at "full throttle," as his uncle said. He was a man who moved fast, loved deeply, and died doing the thing that made him feel most alive. While the crash investigation will eventually provide a technical "why," it won't fill the hole left at MIT, Lehigh, or in his home in Melrose.
The best we can do is remember the man in the bow tie who dreamed of the stars and did everything he could to help others reach them too.
To stay updated on the final NTSB report regarding this incident, you should regularly check the NTSB's official accident database using the tail number N9573M. This will provide the most accurate, data-driven conclusion once the mechanical analysis is complete.