The speech

28 Aug 63

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Text+ video

video on Youtube

Upside to being in the worst housing market in the country

Vegas was among, if not THE, hardest hit area of the country by the housing mess.

The upside: my rent went down by $100 month.

(Last year, it went down by $50.)

Hardest goodbye

My dad was driving me to the airport to come back to Vegas after leave this year and I had a pit in my stomach...I really didn't want to get on the airplane. It was really good break, I saw a lot of the family and had a good time. But each trip home now is just a reminder of what I am missing while I am gone. And nothing I do at work is fun any more...I had to come back to the squadron and help decide who to kick out next month, and the month after that, and the month after that. That was the hardest goodbye I've had in a long time in the AF, maybe ever.

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.

~~~

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]

Valkyrie

Thumbs up.

I was in Berlin in 2007 when they were re-shooting parts of this. It does make me wonder how history would have been different had they succeeded, and is a fitting reminder thatnot all Germans were Nazis, not all members of a nation support all its actions.