The Nashville skyline, often a canvas for country anthems and honky-tonk lights, turned tragic on October 4, 2025, when a routine tandem skydive from John C. Tune Airport spiraled into a fatal freefall. Justin Robert Fuller, a 35-year-old skydiving instructor from Murfreesboro affectionately known as “Spidey,” plummeted more than 14,000 feet without a parachute after becoming separated from his harness during the jump. His student, a 46-year-old first-time jumper, survived with minor injuries after getting tangled in a tree, rescued in a high-stakes operation that drew on civilian ingenuity and first-responder grit. But as the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) launches a probe into the mishap, friends and family are left grappling with the unimaginable: a man who lived for the thrill of the drop, ending his own in an act of selfless heroism.

Fuller, a fixture at Go Skydive Nashville with over 5,000 jumps under his belt, wasn’t just an instructor—he was a mentor to military personnel, a roommate to lifelong pals, and the kind of guy whose infectious energy could turn a grounded day into an adventure. Sources close to the operation told FOX 17 News that the tandem rig—strapping Fuller to his novice student—snagged on the Cessna 182’s exterior step as they exited the aircraft, the last pair off the plane after three others had jumped safely moments earlier. In a harrowing split-second decision, Fuller allegedly cut himself free from the harness, ensuring the parachute deployed for his charge alone. “There was no choice but for ‘Spidey’ to either cut himself loose—to save the student’s life—or they both would perish together,” the insider recounted, painting a picture of calculated calm amid chaos. The student, lodged 40 feet up in a thicket of oaks along Ashland City Highway, dangled helplessly until a Good Samaritan with tree-climbing gear stepped in.

That rescuer, Ron Ulus, a local arborist who stumbled upon the emergency vehicles while driving by, became an unlikely hero in the unfolding drama. “I just saw all the trucks down here. It’s a friend of a friend’s property. I thought something was wrong with his property,” Ulus told WSMV in a post-rescue interview, his voice steady but eyes shadowed by the day’s weight. Spotting the Nashville Fire Department’s high-angle team struggling with the dense canopy, Ulus offered his specialized ropes and harnesses from his truck. For over an hour, he scaled the tree alongside firefighters, inching toward the terrified man who whispered through the branches, “He said it was his first jump, and it was going to be his last.” By 2:15 p.m., the student was lowered to solid ground, evaluated at Vanderbilt University Medical Center for bruises and shock, and released the same evening. “I’m used to being up high; it was just another day for me,” Ulus downplayed, though the Nashville Fire Department hailed the collaborative effort on X: “The Nashville Fire Department commends the outstanding work, ingenuity, and strategy displayed by our personnel during yesterday’s complex high-angle rescue.”

Meanwhile, a Metro Nashville Police Department helicopter scoured the wooded clearing below, locating Fuller’s body around 6:45 p.m. in a remote thicket off the highway. “Presumed to have fallen from the sky without a parachute,” the department stated matter-of-factly, confirming impact from a height that left no chance for survival. The Cessna, operated by Go Skydive Nashville, touched down safely at the airport with its remaining crew, and preliminary inspections found no mechanical faults in the aircraft. The company’s statement, released October 5, struck a somber tone: “A skydiving incident occurred on Saturday, October 4, 2025, resulting in the tragic loss of one life. Details of the incident are still being determined, and Go Skydive Nashville is cooperating fully with local authorities as they conduct their investigation.” The FAA, which oversees general aviation incidents, has dispatched investigators to dissect the tandem gear, pilot logs, and witness accounts, a process that could span months.

For those who knew Fuller, the accident isn’t just a statistic in skydiving’s rare fatality ledger—where the United States Parachute Association logged just nine civilian deaths out of 3.88 million jumps in 2024—it’s a gut punch to a vibrant soul. Luke Goodgion, Fuller’s former roommate and close friend, shared a flood of memories with WZTV, his voice cracking over a photo of the duo grinning arm-in-arm at a backyard barbecue. “He was my instructor, and one of the absolute best. We are all devastated by this total freak accident,” Goodgion posted on Facebook, the words a raw eulogy amid the likes and hearts from a community unmoored. The pair had shared a cramped apartment in East Nashville for three years, trading stories of epic jumps over late-night tacos and plotting weekend hikes in the Smokies. “So kind and had such a great personality and loved what he did,” another friend echoed in the comments, a sentiment rippling through Fuller’s Facebook page—frozen in time at “Justin Fuller Spidey,” a nod to his Spider-Man-esque agility in the air.

Goodgion, a 32-year-old graphic designer who dabbled in amateur skydiving under Fuller’s wing, painted a fuller portrait in an exclusive sit-down with Grok News from his now-empty living room, the walls still echoing with Fuller’s booming laugh. “Justin was the guy who’d wake up at dawn for a jump, then spend the afternoon teaching newbies like me not to puke on the way up,” he said, fiddling with a worn lanyard from their first shared dive in 2021. “We’d crash on the couch after, bingeing Marvel movies—he was obsessed with Spider-Man, hence ‘Spidey.’ He’d swing from the rafters in his mind, you know? Fearless, but never reckless.” Their bond, forged in the adrenaline-fueled camaraderie of drop zones, extended beyond the skies: Goodgion recalled road trips to Tullahoma’s Skydive Tennessee, where Fuller had narrowly escaped a June 2025 plane crash post-takeoff, emerging with just a bruised heel and a viral social media post: “Deeply grateful to walk away… Life’s too short not to leap.”

That resilience defined Fuller, a Murfreesboro native who traded a desk job in logistics for the heavens after his first tandem in 2015. Certified through the United States Parachute Association, he logged jumps from Nashville to coastal Florida, training elite military units on freefall tactics and mentoring wide-eyed civilians through their terror. “He cared deeply about his friends… Every time I saw him, he had a smile on his face, and I honestly can’t remember him ever saying a negative word about anyone,” a fellow instructor told NewsChannel 5, her words a balm in the grief-stricken forums of skydiving Reddit threads. Fuller’s own posts brimmed with that spirit: A July 2025 clip of him coaching a tandem pair, captioned “Turning fear into flight—one jump at a time,” now a haunting premonition viewed 20,000 times in the days since.

The skydiving world, no stranger to close calls, rallied swiftly. Go Skydive Nashville shuttered operations for a week, offering grief counseling through the Drop Zone Safety Board, while peers organized a memorial jump for October 11—affectionately dubbed “Spidey’s Salute”—where dozens plan to release biodegradable flares in formation. “He was safe, fun, and always brought good energy wherever he went,” read a tribute from the Nashville Skydivers Facebook group, amassing 1,500 shares. Fuller’s family, including his parents in Rutherford County and a younger sister studying aviation in Knoxville, issued a brief statement via Goodgion: “Justin lived for the rush, but more for the rush of helping others soar. His light will echo in every canopy we pack.” No funeral details yet, but a GoFundMe for skydiving scholarships in his name has topped $15,000, fueled by donations from as far as Fuller’s military trainees in Virginia.

As the FAA’s report looms—expected to scrutinize tandem protocols, given that harness separations occur in less than 0.01% of jumps—experts urge perspective. “This was a one-in-a-million malfunction, compounded by a hero’s choice,” said USPA safety director Rob Gambiener in a statement to The New York Times. Go Skydive, a fixture at Tune Airport since 2018 with a 99.9% safety record, reaffirmed its commitment: “We remain dedicated to the highest standards of training, safety, and professionalism.” Yet for Goodgion, the numbers blur. “I keep replaying that last text—’See you on the ground, mate.’ He always came back. Now? The ground feels too quiet.” He pauses, staring at a framed photo of them mid-air, arms flung wide. “Spidey didn’t just save a life Saturday. He saved hundreds over the years. That’s his legacy—no net required.”

In Nashville’s tight-knit adventure scene, where the Cumberland River hums below neon bridges, Fuller’s fall ripples like a stone skipped across still water. Tree-climber Ulus, who vanished back to his arborist rounds after the rescue, left a quiet note on social media: “Honored to pull that guy down. Wish we could’ve caught the other.” As helicopters fade to memory and canopies fold away, the community clings to Goodgion’s words: “Someone truly worth celebrating.” For Justin “Spidey” Fuller, the ultimate jump wasn’t an end—it was an eternal swing into the blue, parachute or not.