It was like old times to chin with these friends about their business problems and to become, for an evening at least, a part of the world I had once lived in. In that world, petty personal jealousies had to be subordinated to business principles. Only in a semipolitical organization, such as the Army or Navy, where there was no financial statement to measure the quality of leadership, could men indulge in such extravagances as personal politics. Of course in business, personalities did exercise strong influences, but in the long run, economics seemed to write the answer to the business equation. After a visit in Los Angeles, Rentschler and Bill Boeing flew to San Diego to call on the Navy. Taking off in my little Vought Corsair, I went ahead to introduce them to the new command down there. Then one evening as we sat together in a bedroom of the old Hotel del Coronado, that relic of the lush boom days of Southern California, Tom Hamilton and Bill Boeing turned in, leaving Fred and me to talk shop. Fred was back on his propeller problem, wondering if I, by any chance, could suggest a possible new president for the consolidated company. He had, of course, kept in touch with the gossip in BUAERO over the controversy with FLEET AIR, and was aware of its influence on my personal situation. The talk drifted naturally to this subject, and before I was aware of its drift, Fred had invited me to take over the propeller job. “Don’t be silly,” I laughed. “At forty-two, I’d be crazy to even consider it. In the first place I am devoted to the service and, in the second, there’s nothing in a naval officer’s training to qualify him for business competition.” “I haven’t suggested it,” Fred replied soberly, “without first thinking the matter through. I’m sure you have the necessary versatility and resourcefulness.” “I appreciate your interest and thank you for the compliment,” I replied, “but frankly I’m sorry you brought it up. If I accepted, which, of course I have no intention of doing, the time would surely come when I would regret it. And in passing it up, I open myself to the certainty that every future setback will make me sorry I lacked the guts to resign.” “Is there no way for you to retire?” he asked. “No, and if there were, that wouldn’t be the way to go about it. Nothing but a complete separation would do, and for me, that is quite out of the question. I’ve got twenty-five years in on my retirement. Throwing that away would be stupid.” “Well, think it over,” he persisted. “And when you’re ready, let me know. You could start with the propeller company, and then, if things work out, you could go on from there.” I laughed at the idea.