The point is that at the moment the controllable-pitch propeller, one day to be recognized as the most revolutionary device in aeronautics, was not then something that men demanded. In fact, current opinion was bearish on the idea just as it had been on the air-cooled engine and still was on reduction gears. In the judgment of the wise men, such devices were bound to be so heavy or so costly that their advantages might at best balance out their disadvantages, so why bother with the complication? Frank Caldwell had thought it through, but, being modest and conservative, he did not try to sell the device to me. My own reaction was intuitive rather than rational. Though I reported my decision to Fred Rentschler at the New York office, he naturally took little notice of it until our financial statement began showing red ink. Lacking profitable production to support an expensive development, we had begun to show serious losses. Since there was no flight experience available to support my venture, Fred was all for canceling the project to avoid further losses. The sole argument I could bring to bear was the fact that I had installed an experimental prop equipped with magnesium blades in one of the small Sikorsky amphibians, an S-39, which had astonished me with its quick take-off and improved cruising characteristics. Behind my decision, however, had lain the whole background of aviation development. One device after another had been proposed and rejected on the basis of engineering judgment, only to be later perfected by some zealot who refused to recognize handicaps. I expressed confidence in the outcome and offered to gamble my job on it. Fred shook his head in doubt. “Well,” he said sourly, “it had better pan out or it will be just too bad for you.” Now there remained one process by which I might recover some of our investment. The propeller had been developed to the point where we might offer a few of them to the Army and Navy at experimental prices on experimental contracts, a practice long used to foster new and expensive developments. But when I went down to BUAERO I ran into a cold front that iced me up like nothing I had ever before seen. The Plans Division of BUAERO seemed now to have usurped the functions of the Engine Section in developments of this kind, and the head of that division was now Comdr. Richmond Kelly Turner, USN, a Naval Academy classmate of mine and a friend of long standing. “Spuds” Turner was a tough egg, something the Japs were to learn at Tarawa and other South Pacific actions some fifteen years later; I didn’t have to wait that long.