After Arnold Dickinson had arrived, we went to work. Arnold appreciated the problems, but hesitated to move in on them. That remained for me, and now I began the unpleasant task that would burden me for many years. For the good of the organization and the salvation of jobs for the many, I must separate from our companies many delightful people, men who, though warm personal friends, just did not seem to have what it took to keep the wheels turning. The task was heartbreaking but the penalties for shirking it were inexorable. All one could do was try to perform his duty to the company with utmost fairness and kindness, and without impairing the morale of the individual or organization beyond the absolute minimum. This was a job that needed doing all at once; it must not be dragged. And so my first act at Sikorsky was to issue orders that the manufacturing expense be reduced by 20 per cent, and forthwith. The method of accomplishing this would be left to the local management. That, however, did not work too well at Stratford. The cut in manufacturing expense seemed to create not a single ripple; I soon discovered why: engineering expense had suddenly skyrocketed. And when I ordered it restored to its original level—I did not deem it wise to cut back further for fear it might impair the engineering on the Pan American project—the Sikorsky management “agreed with me 100 per cent” as they were wont to express it in their Russian slang. But I soon found out why; the direct labor skyrocketed. Evidently these Russian intellectuals, refugees from their own land, were so versatile that they could play any position on the team—infield, outfield, or umpire. The organization was like a balloon; you could press your finger on one side and make a dent, but the other side bulged out—and less obviously. And when I took my new organization to task, they always “agreed with me 100 per cent,” and then proceeded to do precisely as they jolly well pleased.