This Day In History January 11,1989 President Ronald Reagan gives his farewell address

This is the 34th time I'll speak to you from the Oval Office and the last. We've been together 8 years now, and soon it'll be time for me to go. But before I do, I wanted to share some thoughts, some of which I've been saving for a long time.

It's been the honor of my life to be your President. So many of you have written the past few weeks to say thanks, but I could say as much to you. Nancy and I are grateful for the opportunity you gave us to serve.

One of the things about the Presidency is that you're always somewhat apart. You spent a lot of time going by too fast in a car someone else is driving, and seeing the people through tinted glass--the parents holding up a child, and the wave you saw too late and couldn't return. And so many times I wanted to stop and reach out from behind the glass, and connect. Well, maybe I can do a little of that tonight.

People ask how I feel about leaving. And the fact is, 'parting is such sweet sorrow.' The sweet part is California and the ranch and freedom. The sorrow--the goodbyes, of course, and leaving this beautiful place.

You know, down the hall and up the stairs from this office is the part of the White House where the President and his family live. There are a few favorite windows I have up there that I like to stand and look out of early in the morning. The view is over the grounds here to the Washington Monument, and then the Mall and the Jefferson Memorial. But on mornings when the humidity is low, you can see past the Jefferson to the river, the Potomac, and the Virginia shore. Someone said that's the view Lincoln had when he saw the smoke rising from the Battle of Bull Run. I see more prosaic things: the grass on the banks, the morning traffic as people make their way to work, now and then a sailboat on the river.

I've been thinking a bit at that window. I've been reflecting on what the past 8 years have meant and mean. And the image that comes to mind like a refrain is a nautical one--a small story about a big ship, and a refugee, and a sailor. It was back in the early eighties, at the height of the boat people. And the sailor was hard at work on the carrier Midway, which was patrolling the South China Sea. The sailor, like most American servicemen, was young, smart, and fiercely observant. The crew spied on the horizon a leaky little boat. And crammed inside were refugees from Indochina hoping to get to America. The Midway sent a small launch to bring them to the ship and safety. As the refugees made their way through the choppy seas, one spied the sailor on deck, and stood up, and called out to him. He yelled, 'Hello, American sailor. Hello, freedom man.'

A small moment with a big meaning, a moment the sailor, who wrote it in a letter, couldn't get out of his mind. And, when I saw it, neither could I. Because that's what it was to be an American in the 1980's. We stood, again, for freedom. I know we always have, but in the past few years the world again--and in a way, we ourselves--rediscovered it.

It's been quite a journey this decade, and we held together through some stormy seas. And at the end, together, we are reaching our destination.

The fact is, from Grenada to the Washington and Moscow summits, from the recession of '81 to '82, to the expansion that began in late '82 and continues to this day, we've made a difference. The way I see it, there were two great triumphs, two things that I'm proudest of. One is the economic recovery, in which the people of America created--and filled--19 million new jobs. The other is the recovery of our morale. America is respected again in the world and looked to for leadership.

Something that happened to me a few years ago reflects some of this. It was back in 1981, and I was attending my first big economic summit, which was held that year in Canada. The meeting place rotates among the member countries. The opening meeting was a formal dinner of the heads of goverment of the seven industrialized nations. Now, I sat there like the new kid in school and listened, and it was all Francois this and Helmut that. They dropped titles and spoke to one another on a first-name basis. Well, at one point I sort of leaned in and said, 'My name's Ron.' Well, in that same year, we began the actions we felt would ignite an economic comeback--cut taxes and regulation, started to cut spending. And soon the recovery began.

Two years later, another economic summit with pretty much the same cast. At the big opening meeting we all got together, and all of a sudden, just for a moment, I saw that everyone was just sitting there looking at me. And then one of them broke the silence. 'Tell us about the American miracle,' he said.

Well, back in 1980, when I was running for President, it was all so different. Some pundits said our programs would result in catastrophe. Our views on foreign affairs would cause war. Our plans for the economy would cause inflation to soar and bring about economic collapse. I even remember one highly respected economist saying, back in 1982, that 'The engines of economic growth have shut down here, and they're likely to stay that way for years to come.' Well, he and the other opinion leaders were wrong. The fact is what they call 'radical' was really 'right.' What they called 'dangerous' was just 'desperately needed.'

And in all of that time I won a nickname, 'The Great Communicator.' But I never though it was my style or the words I used that made a difference: it was the content. I wasn't a great communicator, but I communicated great things, and they didn't spring full bloom from my brow, they came from the heart of a great nation--from our experience, our wisdom, and our belief in the principles that have guided us for two centuries. They called it the Reagan revolution. Well, I'll accept that, but for me it always seemed more like the great rediscovery, a rediscovery of our values and our common sense.

Common sense told us that when you put a big tax on something, the people will produce less of it. So, we cut the people's tax rates, and the people produced more than ever before. The economy bloomed like a plant that had been cut back and could now grow quicker and stronger. Our economic program brought about the longest peacetime expansion in our history: real family income up, the poverty rate down, entrepreneurship booming, and an explosion in research and new technology. We're exporting more than ever because American industry because more competitive and at the same time, we summoned the national will to knock down protectionist walls abroad instead of erecting them at home.

Common sense also told us that to preserve the peace, we'd have to become strong again after years of weakness and confusion. So, we rebuilt our defenses, and this New Year we toasted the new peacefulness around the globe. Not only have the superpowers actually begun to reduce their stockpiles of nuclear weapons--and hope for even more progress is bright--but the regional conflicts that rack the globe are also beginning to cease. The Persian Gulf is no longer a war zone. The Soviets are leaving Afghanistan. The Vietnamese are preparing to pull out of Cambodia, and an American-mediated accord will soon send 50,000 Cuban troops home from Angola.

The lesson of all this was, of course, that because we're a great nation, our challenges seem complex. It will always be this way. But as long as we remember our first principles and believe in ourselves, the future will always be ours. And something else we learned: Once you begin a great movement, there's no telling where it will end. We meant to change a nation, and instead, we changed a world.

Countries across the globe are turning to free markets and free speech and turning away from the ideologies of the past. For them, the great rediscovery of the 1980's has been that, lo and behold, the moral way of government is the practical way of government: Democracy, the profoundly good, is also the profoundly productive.

When you've got to the point when you can celebrate the anniversaries of your 39th birthday you can sit back sometimes, review your life, and see it flowing before you. For me there was a fork in the river, and it was right in the middle of my life. I never meant to go into politics. It wasn't my intention when I was young. But I was raised to believe you had to pay your way for the blessings bestowed on you. I was happy with my career in the entertainment world, but I ultimately went into politics because I wanted to protect something precious.

Ours was the first revolution in the history of mankind that truly reversed the course of government, and with three little words: 'We the People.' 'We the People' tell the government what to do; it doesn't tell us. 'We the People' are the driver; the government is the car. And we decide where it should go, and by what route, and how fast. Almost all the world's constitutions are documents in which governments tell the people what their privileges are. Our Constitution is a document in which 'We the People' tell the government what it is allowed to do. 'We the People' are free. This belief has been the underlying basis for everything I've tried to do these past 8 years.

But back in the 1960's, when I began, it seemed to me that we'd begun reversing the order of things--that through more and more rules and regulations and confiscatory taxes, the government was taking more of our money, more of our options, and more of our freedom. I went into politics in part to put up my hand and say, 'Stop.' I was a citizen politician, and it seemed the right thing for a citizen to do.

I think we have stopped a lot of what needed stopping. And I hope we have once again reminded people that man is not free unless government is limited. There's a clear cause and effect here that is as neat and predictable as a law of physics: As government expands, liberty contracts.

Nothing is less free than pure communism--and yet we have, the past few years, forged a satisfying new closeness with the Soviet Union. I've been asked if this isn't a gamble, and my answer is no because we're basing our actions not on words but deeds. The detente of the 1970's was based not on actions but promises. They'd promise to treat their own people and the people of the world better. But the gulag was still the gulag, and the state was still expansionist, and they still waged proxy wars in Africa, Asia, and Latin America.

Well, this time, so far, it's different. President Gorbachev has brought about some internal democratic reforms and begun the withdrawal from Afghanistan. He has also freed prisoners whose names I've given him every time we've met.

But life has a way of reminding you of big things through small incidents. Once, during the heady days of the Moscow summit, Nancy and I decided to break off from the entourage one afternoon to visit the shops on Arbat Street--that's a little street just off Moscow's main shopping area. Even though our visit was a surprise, every Russian there immediately recognized us and called out our names and reached for our hands. We were just about swept away by the warmth. You could almost feel the possibilities in all that joy. But within seconds, a KGB detail pushed their way toward us and began pushing and shoving the people in the crowd. It was an interesting moment. It reminded me that while the man on the street in the Soviet Union yearns for peace, the government is Communist. And those who run it are Communists, and that means we and they view such issues as freedom and human rights very differently.

We must keep up our guard, but we must also continue to work together to lessen and eliminate tension and mistrust. My view is that President Gorbachev is different from previous Soviet leaders. I think he knows some of the things wrong with his society and is trying to fix them. We wish him well. And we'll continue to work to make sure that the Soviet Union that eventually emerges from this process is a less threatening one. What it all boils down to is this: I want the new closeness to continue. And it will, as long as we make it clear that we will continue to act in a certain way as long as they continue to act in a helpful manner. If and when they don't, at first pull your punches. If they persist, pull the plug. It's still trust by verify. It's still play, but cut the cards. It's still watch closely. And don't be afraid to see what you see.

I've been asked if I have any regrets. Well, I do.The deficit is one. I've been talking a great deal about that lately, but tonight isn't for arguments, and I'm going to hold my tongue. But an observation: I've had my share of victories in the Congress, but what few people noticed is that I never won anything you didn't win for me. They never saw my troops, they never saw Reagan's regiments, the American people. You won every battle with every call you made and letter you wrote demanding action. Well, action is still needed. If we're to finish the job. Reagan's regiments will have to become the Bush brigades. Soon he'll be the chief, and he'll need you every bit as much as I did.

Finally, there is a great tradition of warnings in Presidential farewells, and I've got one that's been on my mind for some time. But oddly enough it starts with one of the things I'm proudest of in the past 8 years: the resurgence of national pride that I called the new patriotism. This national feeling is good, but it won't count for much, and it won't last unless it's grounded in thoughtfulness and knowledge.

An informed patriotism is what we want. And are we doing a good enough job teaching our children what America is and what she represents in the long history of the world? Those of us who are over 35 or so years of age grew up in a different America. We were taught, very directly, what it means to be an American. And we absorbed, almost in the air, a love of country and an appreciation of its institutions. If you didn't get these things from your family you got them from the neighborhood, from the father down the street who fought in Korea or the family who lost someone at Anzio. Or you could get a sense of patriotism from school. And if all else failed you could get a sense of patriotism from the popular culture. The movies celebrated democratic values and implicitly reinforced the idea that America was special. TV was like that, too, through the mid-sixties.

But now, we're about to enter the nineties, and some things have changed. Younger parents aren't sure that an unambivalent appreciation of America is the right thing to teach modern children. And as for those who create the popular culture, well-grounded patriotism is no longer the style. Our spirit is back, but we haven't reinstitutionalized it. We've got to do a better job of getting across that America is freedom--freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of enterprise. And freedom is special and rare. It's fragile; it needs protection.

So, we've got to teach history based not on what's in fashion but what's important--why the Pilgrims came here, who Jimmy Doolittle was, and what those 30 seconds over Tokyo meant. You know, 4 years ago on the 40th anniversary of D-day, I read a letter from a young woman writing to her late father, who'd fought on Omaha Beach. Her name was Lisa Zanatta Henn, and she said, 'we will always remember, we will never forget what the boys of Normandy did.' Well, let's help her keep her word. If we forget what we did, we won't know who we are. I'm warning of an eradication of the American memory that could result, ultimately, in an erosion of the American spirit. Let's start with some basics: more attention to American history and a greater emphasis on civic ritual.

And let me offer lesson number one about America: All great change in America begins at the dinner table. So, tomorrow night in the kitchen I hope the talking begins. And children, if your parents haven't been teaching you what it means to be an American, let 'em know and nail 'em on it. That would be a very American thing to do.

And that's about all I have to say tonight, except for one thing. The past few days when I've been at that window upstairs, I've thought a bit of the 'shining city upon a hill.' The phrase comes from John Winthrop, who wrote it to describe the America he imagined. What he imagined was important because he was an early Pilgrim, an early freedom man. He journeyed here on what today we'd call a little wooden boat; and like the other Pilgrims, he was looking for a home that would be free. I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall, proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, windswept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace; a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity. And if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it, and see it still.

And how stands the city on this winter night? More prosperous, more secure, and happier than it was 8 years ago. But more than that: After 200 years, two centuries, she still stands strong and true on the granite ridge, and her glow has held steady no matter what storm. And she's still a beacon, still a magnet for all who must have freedom, for all the pilgrims from all the lost places who are hurtling through the darkness, toward home.

We've done our part. And as I walk off into the city streets, a final word to the men and women of the Reagan revolution, the men and women across America who for 8 years did the work that brought America back. My friends: We did it. We weren't just marking time. We made a difference. We made the city stronger, we made the city freer, and we left her in good hands. All in all, not bad, not bad at all.

The Great Communicator is needed now more than ever
By Christopher Holton

Special to World Tribune.comMonday, June 7, 2004
President Reagan, oh but we need you now

I knew this day was coming. I thought that because my hero. President Ronald Reagan, had been out of the public eye for years due to that terrible disease known as Alzheimer's his passing would somehow be easier.

I was wrong.

I was sitting at a baseball game when I got an email bulletin from Fox News announcing President Reagan's death. It took my breath away. My eyes misted up. I informed my 16 year old son and several people around us overheard.

One, my cousin, who I have rarely heard talk of politics, said something that hit me like a 90mph fastball: “We'd have been better off if they just had made him king and kept him after his term was up.”

Reagan was my idol. I was fortunate enough to have been in the military during his administration. We used to call him Uncle Ron. We loved that man. We knew even then that he was something truly special, not just another president. We'd have marched through hell for Reagan.

When my second daughter was born the middle name we selected for her was Reagan.

Reagan was both ahead of his time and the right man at the right time in the right place. No one will ever be able to convince me he did not bring down the Iron Curtain.

But boy could we use him now. Right now America faces a foe every bit as formidable and perhaps even more evil than communism: Jihadism. This was a foe that Reagan only knew superficially through the prizm of the Cold War. He was certainly not perfect. Reagan let Iranian backed Jihadists kill and kidnap Americans all too often in the 1980s, without appropriate retaliation and that certainly contributed to the emboldened foes we face today. But the larger foe of the era was defeated because Reagan pursued communism with a persistance and clarity we have not seen since.

I feel certain that Reagan would deal similarly with the Jihadists today. While much of the nation today is bewildered largely by the current administration's inability to communicate a consistent vision on this war, my guess is Reagan would never have sanctioned the PC title of “war on terrorism.”

No, Reagan would point us to an enemy we could shoot at--and then he would give us the tools and personnel needed to defeat the foe.

All the while he would constantly remind us of why we were fighting with a moral clarity and sense of conviction that is sadly missing today.

Rest in peace President Reagan, but I sure wish you were here to lead us now

An awesome speech. Reagan was the first President I ever voted for. We were in Greece when he died, and in Normandy a year later on the anniversary. A great man - we all owe him a debt of gratitude.

I was on my way to Woodland Hills, CA, when I got the official announcement of President Reagan's passing. At 4:00 PST, I was listening to Tammy Bruce's program. She is someone who went from being strongly against RWR to being a very strong supporter of his, and she was talking about how bad she felt about being so mean to him (though not face to face, but from her association with NOW in Los Angeles).

She was "cowboying up", doing the best she could, and as she went to her first break, she started to read Reagan's 1994 "farewell letter", after he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. She couldn't get to the end of it, before breaking down in tears...had to take a break to compose herself. I'm glad I was pulled over, cause I was crying too, and praying for her that she would have some comfort.

(I've since meant to call or write her, to tell her that it was the best show I've ever heard her do.)

I cried the whole week of the viewings, and took the day off of work to see the funerals live. Everything was so tastefully and wonderfully done (except for "Non" - nee Ron - Reagan's backhanded slap at GWB, at the Library Service).

I particularly remember Speaker Hastert's quoting of Abraham Lincoln as RWR lay in State at the Rotunda, saying that "it is altogether fitting and proper that we do this". (man, two years later and i still lose it, thinking about that) I also remember President Bush 41 with his poignant memories of Reagan at the Washington service, and the President current (who has seen more than a "fair share of grief" in his five years in office), who said "We just lost President Reagan the other day, but we have missed him for a long time."

Me, too, Mr. President. Me, too.

Thanks for the reminder of that article. I remember reading it. Here is a great article I read last year, called Reagan's Silver Glow (it was a thread here on FR). It underscores what you were saying, about Carter leaving the office, and none too soon.)

Reagans Silver Glow (Things started to change on November 4, 1980. ) 11/4/2005 | Paul Beston

Posted on 11/03/2005 9:10:15 PM PST by nickcarraway

Even back in November 1980, a time that seems so far removed from our technological age, political campaigns knew things long before the voters did. Both Ronald Reagan's and Jimmy Carter's insiders understood a day or so before the election that the President was done for. Weekend polling told Patrick Caddell what he needed to know, and he passed the word along to Carter. Reagan was going to become the next president.

For all the American people knew, the race was still essentially a toss-up, though it had seemed to be moving slightly in Reagan's direction. The week before, the two candidates faced off in their only debate. History remembers that night for two Reagan lines that have become part of our political vocabulary, for good or ill: "There you go again," which must be the most overhyped political one-liner of all time; and "Are you better off than you were four years ago?" which largely deserves the stature it attained, as one of the great framing devices any politician has used.

But Reagan was much more than one-liners. The reason those sound bites resonated so much in the 1980 debate was that they came in the context of his all-around strong performance, outclassing Carter not just in quips but in content, command, and presence. The lines were just ribbons on a box.

For voters, the debate performance seemed to put to rest the fear the media and the opposition had been drumming up about Reagan as a reckless cowboy who would "push the button." That was always founded in politics, not reality. Even as a mere 14-year-old at the time, I'd sensed immediately that Reagan was not dangerous, but that he was tough.

I'd first heard him speak in July, 1980, when I sat on the floor of my family's living room in Illinois, watching him accept the Republican presidential nomination in Detroit. My father sat behind me in his reading chair, holding the newspaper up as he was wont to do, but mostly peering over it at the TV, the way he did on those rare occasions when what was being broadcast was better than what he was reading.

The man on the screen was sublime. I'd never heard anyone talk that way before, not at my youthful age, in the waning months of the worst presidency of the American century. It didn't seem, in Jimmy Carter's America, that politicians could say things like:

The major issue of this campaign is the direct political, personal and moral responsibility of Democratic Party leadership....They say that the United States has had its day in the sun; that our nation has passed its zenith. They expect you to tell your children that the American people no longer have the will to cope with their problems; that the future will be one of sacrifice and few opportunities.

My fellow citizens, I utterly reject that view. The American people, the most generous on earth, who created the highest standard of living, are not going to accept the notion that we can only make a better world for others by moving backwards ourselves. Those who believe we can have no business leading the nation.

I will not stand by and watch this great country destroy itself under mediocre leadership that drifts from one crisis to the next, eroding our national will and purpose...

Reagan was inspiring that night, but he was also, at points, just short of angry and irritable. That phrase -- "I utterly reject that view!" -- was delivered with a pursed lip expression he rarely wore in public. He must have been some kind of magician, though, because he seemed to be talking directly to both me and Jimmy Carter. He didn't sound like a madman. If anything, he sounded like my father, the most sensible man I knew.

On election night, the newscasts had barely gotten started when they were announcing that Carter was going to concede, a gesture grounded in empirical logic -- the election was lost -- but also in Carter's customarily disastrous political judgment. Getting on television and conceding the election before the polls had closed on the West Coast was a perfect expression of the wreckage that he had brought to his country and his party. Even today, Democrats fume about it, and with good reason. For myself, I was grateful to President Peanut for conceding before my bedtime. I could never watch the second half of Monday Night Football, but at least I knew who our next president was.

I remember Carter coming into the hall of his election headquarters to make his concession speech, wearing that hapless, hangdog look on his face, an expression that is etched into my memories of growing up. I did pity him. The poor man, I thought, he tried his best. And I thought then that he was a good man, though 25 years later I'm not so sure.

So Carter would go. And with him would go the "crisis of confidence," which he had both inflicted and reflected; the willful refusal to distinguish friends from enemies; the "shock" at the presence of evil in the world; the hectoring self-righteousness and spiritual emptiness; the paralysis in taking action, like a father unwilling to defend his sons in a fight. God help this country if another man like him comes along anytime soon. A great country's Carters should be spaced out by at least a century.

I remember less about Reagan's victory speech. Having won, he had less need of oration beyond expressing his thanks and his confidence in the future, a note he would never stop sounding. The important thing was that we would be seeing much more of Reagan and much less of Carter. Eventually, Carter would develop a shadow ex-presidency every bit as sanctimonious and wrong-headed as his real one, but that is another story. Reagan would serve two terms, change history, and leave Washington with the gratitude of his countrymen ringing in his ears. He had no need for shadows, and the monuments are going up. "Thank God," my father said to someone on the telephone that night. Our phone kept ringing.

"And so," one of the newscasters intoned as Reagan departed the victory stage, "it is over." It was. And then something else began.

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