I Know a Story Farewell F-14

By Doug Baile ’78

Many of us have fond memories of a first car or a first girlfriend or boyfriend.

I would like to share some memories of another first: my first airplane. In festivities culminating today, my first airplane will be retired from service with the U.S. Navy. Four days of events at Norfolk, Virginia conclude with a ceremonial final “piping over” of one of the most famous aircraft ever.

I flew many hours in other Navy aircraft, but they were training aircraft, usually with instructors along for the ride. Just as your parents’ car isn’t really your first car and an 8th-grade crush isn’t really a first girlfriend, the T-34, T-2, and TA-4 (Navy trainers) were not my first airplane. My first airplane was the Grumman F-14 Tomcat.

The Tomcat was the reason I joined the Navy. I carried pictures of the F-14 in my backpack, like a dream car, while attending Shippensburg State College. I knew it was a long shot to enter the Navy focused on one airplane; the competition would be tough, especially for someone whose only flight experience was a “penny-a-pound” flight in a Cessna at Lancaster Airport. I knew the odds were against me, but I was focused. Any other airplane would be a compromise.

My reward came January 27, 1982. On that first thrilling flight, I experienced many additional firsts: supersonic flight, zero airspeed flight, seven Gs, and unlimited, unrestricted acrobatics. Each maneuver was carefully designed to develop a comfort level with an aircraft that was frequently described as challenging, even demanding. To this day, my strongest memory of that first flight was watching those wonderful, massive wings in the cockpit mirrors as they moved forward and backward depending on airspeed. I could not keep from smiling—this was not my parents’ car.

The Tomcat was everything I dreamed it would be. It was fast. It was loud. It was powerful. And it was a crowd-pleaser. It was cool. The decades-old competition with the Soviet Union for the “baddest” jet in the air had culminated in this twin-tail, twin-engine, swing-wing masterpiece, and I was about to have my name painted onto one. The F-14 was the best aircraft in the air. My determination had paid off.

My six-year F-14 career included 300 carrier-arrested landings (traps), 100 of which were at night. I will always remember my first night trap August 17, 1982, onboard the USS Constellation (CV-64); my knees were shaking so badly the RIO (radar intercept officer) said he could feel it from the back seat. Even after 100 night traps, I never was completely comfortable landing on a ship in pitch-black skies; no one ever is. Night landings on a pitching, rolling aircraft carrier are already difficult; the large size of the F-14 made each one an adrenaline-filled adventure.

My greatest thrill came when my father joined me in Hawaii to transit the Pacific onboard the USS Ranger (CV-61) as we returned to San Diego from a seven-month deployment. A U.S. Army and World War II veteran, he had not been to Hawaii since December 7, 1941, when the Japanese attacked his unit at Scofield Barracks. As we toured Honolulu, I quietly wondered what memories he was reliving when he was deep in thought. Dad didn’t talk much about his WWII experiences, but he was unbridled in his pride in my accomplishments. My father watched from the flight deck as I was catapulted from the Ranger, afterburner flaming in my thundering Tomcat.

My final flight in the F-14 was September 10, 1988. This fantastic airplane had safely carried me to 60,000 feet above the Indian Ocean, 50 feet above the sands of Oman, escorted Soviet bombers, fired missiles and many bullets. It took me to within 12 miles of the coasts of Iran and Nicaragua as we protected our ship and our countrymen in the mid ’80s. It carried me through the Navy Top Gun course where I learned to push its limits and mine. The Tomcat never let me down.

For all of the hours devoted to preparing for an emergency, I never experienced one in the Tomcat. No engine failure, spin or ejection, not so much as a flat tire. There was a reason we referred to the manufacturer as Grumman “Iron Works.” This intricate marvel of aviation was a broad-chested, big-muscled linebacker of a machine. All who flew it respected it and loved it.

Like a 30-year-old car, the F-14 is now a victim of better technology, more fuel-efficient engines and updated designs. It became more economical to replace the Tomcat than to continue to update and maintain it. And so today the F-14 will appear for the last time as a front-line fighter, relegated to static displays and museum floors.

There were faster fighters, smaller fighters, fighters with more enemy action and certainly less-demanding fighters, but none that did all of those things so well from the unforgiving deck of an aircraft carrier and did it while looking so good.

Thinking back, I believe I know what was going through my father’s mind in Hawaii. He was beset by memories, triggered by the sights, smells, and sounds of something long forgotten. I think maybe I will have that same look on my face when I see an F-14 ten or twenty years from now. Like every pilot who has flown the F-14, I will always remember the Tomcat for the pure rush of joy, excitement and pride it evoked, much like a first car or a first girlfriend.

Doug Baile retired from the Michigan Air National Guard with the rank of major in 1995. In his military career, he flew the TA-4, F-14, A-7 and F-16. He is a 757 captain and check airman with Northwest Airlines. He lives in Lancaster with his wife, Paula, and their two children.

This article, originally published in the Lancaster Sunday News on September 23, 2006, is reprinted with permission.