On an Independence Day that began with a spiritual deliverance service at Nassau’s Metropolitan Baptist Church, Bishop Elton Major’s life was forever altered when his congregation gathered outside his office with devastating news. A small passenger plane had crashed near San Andros Airport in North Andros, Bahamas, and the bishop’s adopted son, 34-year-old Melvin Henfield — a beloved musician and ordained minister known across the entertainment industry as DJ Fresh — was believed to be on board.
Bishop Major immediately tried to reach Henfield, who he had raised from the age of 13 after the young boy’s mother entrusted him to the bishop’s care. When there was no answer, a wave of dread washed over him; even during performances or busy work meetings, Henfield always made time to send a quick message promising to return the call. Knowing Henfield often traveled to Andros for gigs with his brother Ken, Bishop Major reached out to him next, holding out hope that his son had already arrived at his destination safely.
For a brief window, that hope held. Initial speculation suggested one person on the Flamingo Air aircraft had survived the crash, lifting the family’s spirits only to dash them moments later. When Ken finally called to confirm the worst — “We lose Melvin” — Bishop Major was left so numb with shock that he injured his foot and did not even notice he was bleeding until after the fact. “That’s how numb I was. I still have a problem coping with that,” he told reporters. “It don’t feel real to me, but it’ll never be the same.”
For Bishop Major, the crash was not just the loss of a well-known local public figure. It was the loss of the son he had fed, educated, and guided into adulthood, teaching him life’s small but critical lessons: how to tie a necktie, how to drive, how to weigh major life decisions. Henfield never knew his biological father, but he fully integrated into the Major family, becoming a beloved son and brother to the bishop’s biological children. “To meet him, to know him, is to love him,” Bishop Major said of his son. “Kind, caring, very compassionate, trusting. If he tell you something, he can do it. Might not do it right away, but he gonna get it done.” Henfield’s mother passed away five years ago, leaving the bishop as his closest surviving family member.
Christal “Peachy” Mackey, owner of Nassau’s women-only Peach Fit Studios and one of Henfield’s closest friends, shared her own story of grief and shattered hope in the hours after the crash. The pair had forged an unbreakable bond over two years, bound by shared loss: Mackey had lost her father years earlier, while Henfield had lost his mother, turning Mother’s Day and Father’s Day into quiet occasions for mutual mourning. When Mackey was forced to jump from her moving car after it caught fire a few months prior, Henfield stayed by her bedside every day throughout her recovery, a reflection of the unconditional loyalty that defined their relationship.
Like Henfield, Mackey shared a deep fear of flying, especially on small propeller aircraft common for inter-island travel in the Bahamas. They established a quiet ritual before any flight: they would pray together before departure, and check in immediately after landing to confirm they were safe. The day of the crash, Henfield called her from the airport as he prepared to board. “I’m about to board, make sure pray and I’ll call you as soon as I reach, but it shouldn’t be long because it’s just a 15 minute flight,” he told her. The call never came.
When Mackey realized her earlier message to Henfield had not gone through and news broke of the crash, panic quickly set in. At first she brushed off the worry, knowing his entertainment work often kept him busy for hours, but as details of the crash spread, she became physically ill with anxiety, pulling off the road to wait for news at her sister’s business. Initial reports suggested one survivor, and for a few moments, Mackey allowed herself to hope it was Henfield. She began planning to nurse him through recovery, just as he had done for her after her car fire. “I never been so excited to just cater to someone,” she said. “They say he has some burns, but what is burns to me? Absolutely nothing.” But that hope was short-lived; minutes later, she overheard her sister confirming Henfield had not survived, and her grief came flooding back.
Mackey recalled a prior incident that underscored just how intense Henfield’s fear of flying was: on an earlier Bahamasair flight, he demanded the plane be evacuated after hearing reports of pre-departure mechanical issues, refusing to stay on board even when crew told him opening the door would require hours of delays and regulatory paperwork. The entire plane was eventually evacuated, just as he demanded. “We have some people that do not like plane, and he didn’t,” she said. “He did not like plane at all.” Still, she finds small comfort in knowing he prayed before boarding the fateful flight, just as their ritual required. Henfield, she remembered, was an exceptional father, a loyal friend, a man of deep faith, and a presence that could light up any room he entered.
Henfield was one of 10 people who lost their lives in the Independence Day crash near San Andros Airport, a tragedy that has left the Bahamas’ tight-knit entertainment and faith communities grappling with the loss of one of their most beloved members.