Reagan Library F-14 Dedication Speech

Vice Admiral David Venlet, who flew in the back seat of one of the original F-14s involved in the 8/18/81 shoot down was the honored guest at the dedication. Here's the text of his speech:

Good Morning! [Welcome to VIPs, families]  Please, focus your gaze this morning on this beautiful airplane — this Navy F-14 Tomcat — and not on this podium. 
I grant you permission to daydream for a moment, to think about why this plane is here, in this special place.
For those of you who have served in Tomcat squadrons, or worked for the companies who built and supported its powerful capabilities — this is more than an aircraft. 
It is a symbol of the people you hold dear, a reminder of friendships and times cherished.
For family members of those deployed in F-14 squadrons, it is a source of pride that swells at the sweet sound and thunder of a Tomcat.
For young people, who see its incredible maneuvers at air shows, it is the dream of flying, a motivation to sign on with the Navy in a life of covenant service to America. 
For others, it is a picture of Naval Aviation televised to the world on CNN, and glorified on the big screen in major motion pictures.
To all of us, the F-14 is an inspiration. 
To this fighter pilot, it is a dream machine.
I remember being at a ceremony like this one when a very young girl tugged at my knee.I bent down and listened as she worked hard to explain to me how her big sister was a plane captain of an F-14 Tomcat. 
I told her that her big sister was the most important person to that airplane and to that squadron.
Why, big sis made sure it was ready to fly every time, that it was the cleanest jet around — full of gas and oil.
Every pilot had to have her sister’s help, strapping into the cockpit. A pilot wasn’t even allowed to start the engines without her sister’s permission.
I thanked that little girl for sharing her big sister with our Navy team and watched her stand several inches taller, next to a mom who beamed with pride. 
Every person who has been touched by a Navy Tomcat in service at sea — pilots, radar intercept officers, maintenance troops, contractors — all share a unique experience that comes from extremely hard work over long months on a flight deck at sea; during dangerous events in combat; and through mutual dependence upon other team mates in service around the world.
They all stand on the same foundation, grounded in a sense of mission — the precious defense of freedom. 
It is precious because it costs. 
It costs the lives of dear friends and shipmates, it costs long separations from family — missing the birth of a child; missing a loved one’s final days. 
The cost is high, but well worth it.
Because freedom, President Reagan said, is one of the deepest and noblest aspirations of the human spirit.
Without freedom, the happiness — the value and the dignity of those pursuits with family and friends is greatly diminished.
I mention this shared foundation because the real story of the Tomcat is the people.
Here, the names painted on the canopy rail are Hank Kleemann’s and mine.  Our lives were surely shaped by our time spent in a cockpit like this one. 
Some of my fond memories go a bit like this —
It’s still dark as we bang off the bow, climb overhead and get in line to top off our fuel from the A-6 tanker — first light is just appearing, the tanker is sweet, the air is smooth, and voices calm and quiet in the brief transmissions from strike assigning fighters to stations — all our missile seekers are cooled and tuned, radar in perfect form and the cool oxygen in our face helps clear out any last few sleepy cobwebs after the cat shot — what a day to be alive! Clear skies, the best fighting machine — bring on the migs!
Another scene that comes to me is the most memorable Easter sunrise service I have ever experienced.
It was 1980 in the Indian Ocean, standing alert five (ready to launch in five minutes or less) — strapped in the cockpit, canopy raised open, quiet/no engines turning, very slight breeze, dark flat sea, orange glow growing on the east horizon, a cluster of sailors in flight deck working clothes, and a chaplain on the deck right below our boarding ladder — speaking about the hope found in that resurrection morning.
But every pilot and RIO who has flown this thoroughbred of a fighter sees their own name up there. 
It is also appropriate to see names like Master Chief Whip Wilson, Aviation Ordnanceman First Class Buck Payne, Aviation Radar Technician First Class Slagle — the men and women who wear the multicolored flight deck jerseys, the cranial helmets, and steel-toed boots.  The ones who have stood side by side on a fire hose, fighting a flight deck conflagration with weapons and fuel exploding. Explosions that took the lives of their shipmates.
In the hangar bays and on the flight decks of carriers named Nimitz, Dwight D Eisenhower, America, and now Ronald Reagan, men and women have lived in 100-man berthing compartments, stacked three bunks high, often working longer than what most folks would call a double shift.  But they do it, strengthened by a love of country, that unshakeable sense of duty.
Very soon, our last two Tomcat squadrons will head out to sea and deploy with one of the most powerful forces on this earth — a Navy carrier and her air wing. 
Those last privileged few will stand on the same foundation of mission as they go into harm’s way for you and me in the vast maneuver space of the earth’s oceans. 
They need no permission slip to operate as the force for good and freedom, serving at the command of our president. 
Then, the next carrier will shove off to sail, and the Tomcat will stay behind. The stream of those who serve so faithfully will continue to push on, so you and I might be free.
Yes, fighters come and go as the years roll by …  the Tomcat is surely one of the best.  I like to call it the Trans Am of fighters these days — not as sophisticated as the new breed, but loads of power under the hood — in those engines and in that radar and in those missiles. 
This is the girl that first brought me to the dance of being a fighter pilot — and she will always have a soft spot in my heart.  Anytime, baby!