Dear Boss, I quit.

An Air Force friend told me about this letter and I recently looked it up. We were discussing the various problems of the AF and I mentioned that our current situation would seem to parallel the state of the armed forces in the years after Vietnam, say ‘75 to ‘85…all the good people who’d been in the fight quitting because they couldn’t hack all the queep and time away from home any more, all the folks not making the sacrifices getting ahead. He mentioned this as evidence.

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Link

Dear Boss,

Well, I quit. I’ve finally run out of drive or devotion or rationalizations or
whatever it was that kept me in the Air Force this long. I used to believe in, “Why
not the best,” but I can’t keep the faith any longer. I used to fervently maintain
that this was “My Air Force,” as much or more than any senior officer’s…but I
can’t believe any more; the light at the end of my tunnel went out. “Why?” you
ask. Why leave flying fighters and a promising career? Funny you should ask—
mainly I’m resigning because I’m tired. Ten years and 2,000 hours in a great
fighter, and all the time I’ve been doing more with less—and I’m tired of it.
CBPO [Central Base Personnel Office] doesn’t do more with less; they cut hours.
I can’t even entrust CBPO to have my records accurately transcribed to MPC
[Military Personnel Center]. I have to go to Randolph to make sure my records
aren’t botched. Finance doesn’t do more with less; they close at 15:00. The hospital
doesn’t do more with less. They cut hours, cut services, and are rude to my
dependents to boot. Maintenance doesn’t do more with less; they MND [maintenance
non delivery] and SUD [supply delete] and take 2.5 to turn a clean F–4.
Everybody but the fighter pilot has figured out the fundamental fact that you
can’t do more with less—you do less. (And everybody but the fighter pilot gets
away with it …when’s the last time the head of CBPO was fired because a man’s
records were a complete disaster?) But on the other hand, when was the last time
anyone in the fighter game told higher headquarters, “We can’t hack 32 DOCs
[designated operational capability] because we can’t generate the sorties?’’
Anyway—I thought I could do it just like all the rest thought they could…and we
did it for a while…but now it’s too much less to do too much more, and a lot of
us are tired. And it’s not the job. I’ve been TDY [on temporary duty] to every
dirty little outpost on democracy’s frontier that had a 6,000-foot strip. I’ve been
gone longer than most young jocks have been in—and I don’t mind the duty or
the hours. That’s what I signed up for. I’ve been downtown and seen the elephant,
and I’ve watched my buddies roll up in fireballs—I understand—it comes with
the territory. I can do it. I did it. I can still do it—but I won’t. I’m too tired, not
of the job, just the Air Force. Tired of the extremely poor leadership and motivational
ability of our senior staffers and commanders. (All those Masters and
PMEs [professional military educators] and not a leadership trait in sight!) Once
you get past your squadron CO [Commanding Officer], people can’t even
pronounce esprit de corps. Even a few squadron COs stumble over it. And let me
clue you—in the fighter business when you’re out of esprit, you’re out of corps—
to the tune of 22,000 in the next five years, if you follow the airline projections.
And why? Why not? Why hang around in an organization that rewards excellence
with no punishment? Ten years in the Air Force, and I’ve never had a DO or Wing
Commander ask me what our combat capability is, or how our exposure times are
running during ops, or what our air-to-air loss and exchange ratios are—no, a lot
of interest in boots, haircuts, scarves, and sleeves rolled down, but zero—well,
maybe a query or two on taxi spacing—on my job: not even a passing pat on the
ass semiannually. If they’re not interested, why should I be so fanatical about it?
It ought to be obvious I’m not in it for the money. I used to believe—and now
they won’t even let me do that.

And what about career? Get serious! A string of nine-fours and ones as long
as your arm, and nobody can guarantee anything. No matter that you’re the Air
Force expert in subject Y…if the computer spits up your name for slot C—you’re
gone. One man gets 37 days to report remote—really now, did someone slit his
wrists or are we that poor at managing? Another gets a face-to-face, no-changefor-
six-months-brief from MPC…two weeks later? You got it—orders in his in
basket. I’m ripe to PCS—MPC can’t hint where or when; I’ve been in too long
to take the luck of the draw—I’ve worked hard, I’ve established myself, I can do
the job better than anyone else—does that make a difference? Can I count on
progression? NO. At 12–15 hours a day on my salary at my age, I don’t need that
insecurity and aggravation. And then the big picture—the real reasons we’re
all pulling the handle—it’s the organization itself. A noncompetitive training
system that allows people in fighters that lack the aptitude or the ability to do
the job. Once they’re in, you can’t get them out…not in EFLIT, not in RTU,
and certainly not in an operational squadron. We have a fighter pilot shortfall—
didn’t you hear? So now we have lower quality people with motivation
problems, and the commander won’t allow anyone to jettison them. If you haven’t
noticed, that leaves us with a lot of people in fighters, but very few fighter pilots,
and the ranks of both are thinning; the professionals are dissatisfied and most of
the masses weren’t that motivated to begin with. MPC helps out by moving Lts
every 12–15 months or so—that way nobody can get any concentrated training
on them before they pull the plug. Result: most operational squadrons aren’t
worth a damn. They die wholesale every time the Aggressors deploy—anybody
keep score? Anybody care? Certainly not the whiz kid commander, who blew in
from 6 years in staff, picked up 100 hours in the bird, and was last seen checking
the grass in the sidewalk cracks. He told his boys, “Don’t talk to me about tactics—
my only concern is not losing an aircraft…and meanwhile, get the grass
out of the sidewalk cracks!”—and the clincher—integrity. Hide as much as you
can…particularly from the higher headquarters that could help you if only they
knew. They never will though—staff will see to that: “Don’t say that to the
general!” or “The general doesn’t like to hear that.” I didn’t know he was paid
to like things—I thought he was paid to run things…how can he when he never
hears the problems? Ah well, put it off until it becomes a crisis—maybe it will be
overcome by events. Maybe if we ignore it, it won’t be a problem. (Shh, don’t
rock the boat). Meanwhile, lie about the takeoff times, so it isn’t an ops or maintenance
late. (One more command post to mobile call to ask subtly if I gave the
right time because “ahh, that makes him two minutes late,” and I will puke!) Lie
about your DOC capability because you’re afraid to report you don’t have the
sorties to hack it. “Yes, sir, losing two airplanes won’t hurt us at all.” The party
line. I listened to a three-star general look a room full of us in the face and say
that he “Didn’t realize that pencil-whipping records was done in the Air Force.
Holloman, and dive toss was an isolated case, I’m sure.” It was embarrassing—
that general looked us in the eye and said, in effect, “Gentlemen, either I’m very
stupid or I’m lying to you.” I about threw in the towel right there—or the day
TAC fixed the experience ratio problem by lowering the number of hours needed
to be experienced. And then they insult your intelligence to boot. MPC looks
you straight in the eye and tells you how competitive a heart-of-the-envelope
three is!…and what a bad deal the airlines offer! Get a grip—I didn’t just step
off the bus from Lackland! And then the final blow, the Commander of TAC
arrives—does he ask why my outfit goes 5 for 1 against F–5s and F–15s when
most of his operational outfits run 1 for 7 on a good day? (Will anybody let us
volunteer the information?) Does he express interest in why we can do what we
do and not lose an airplane in five years? No—he’s impressed with shoe shines
and scarves and clean ashtrays. (But then we were graciously allotted only minimum
time to present anything—an indication of our own wing’s support of the
program. Party line, no issues, no controversy—yes, sir; no, sir; three bags full,
sir.)…And that’s why I’m resigning…long hours with little support, entitlements
eroded, integrity a mockery, zero visible career progression, and senior commanders
evidently totally missing the point (and everyone afraid or forbidden to
inform them.) I’ve had it—life’s too short to fight an uphill battle for commanders
and staffs who won’t listen (remember Corona Ace?) or don’t believe or
maybe don’t even care. So thanks for the memories, it’s been a real slice of
life…. But I’ve been to the mountain and looked over and I’ve seen the big picture—
and it wasn’t of the Air Force.

“This is your captain speaking…on your left you should be able to see
Denver, Colorado, the mile…”

_____________________________________________
Source: The linked site in the first post, Appendix II in the book “Sierra Hotel”, C.R. Anderegg. (That’s not where it originated.)

This letter was written by Capt Ron Keyes. Gen Wilbur Creech was the commander of TAC at the time. The letter stayed around, as common knowledge throughout the fighter community, for quite a few years. One of “the Classics” that remained relevant…maybe you had to be there at one point or another to appreciate it.

[As it was told to me, this letter was written as a reponse to a request by Creech for feedback from the troops, and was not intended to be submitted, but was accidentally. Keyes in fact did not quit, but went on to retire as a general. - drw]