With the drying up of both military and commercial business in our own country, we must needs look elsewhere or fade out. The export market was the only outlet, and while there were obstacles there, the superiority of our products, built up under the Morrow policy, had put us in a strong competitive position. Even from the point of view of costs and in the face of a preference on the part of some countries for aircraft of their own production, we could still make headway. American automobiles had won leadership in foreign markets because of superior quality and lower price. The idea that we could not compete with “slave labor” had been disproved; the technology of production could support higher wages and still produce low-cost goods of high quality. That was our heritage which we would now exploit. However, there were other considerations. The control of export permits had been lodged in the State Department, which would not grant such permit without the approval of the military department concerned. In the case of the SBU-1 two-seat dive bomber we had first to obtain permission from BUAERO and then run the gantlet of the State Department and the office of a Mr. Joseph Green. This problem came to the fore when the Argentine Navy sought to acquire some of our planes. Admiral King ruled that since the airplane had the characteristics of a dive bomber it was too secret to permit foreign sale. Of course the only secret about it was that the wings had been made strong enough to take the pull-out loads—something any designer could build in—but that proved enough. Chance Vought Aircraft now found itself in a tight spot. I camped on the doorstep of the State Department, of BUAERO, and even went to see Adm. William H. Standley, then Chief of Naval Operations, to urge that the matter be viewed from the point of view of the long-term public interest, keeping a vital industry alive and 800 men and women employed. We already had millions on relief without swelling the throng on a technicality, but I was too poor a salesman to make the idea stick. In desperation, I tried another approach. With my wife as company, I caught a Pan American Airways flight for Buenos Aires, determined to close the contract and then see what Uncle Sam had to say. If he wanted to accept the responsibility for an overt act that would take the food from the mouths of our men, he could do so, but I refused to hold the bag while they gave me the run-around. We were fortunate in our representation in Argentina. The firm of Jorge Luro y Cia. brought us the experience of Jorge Luro, a distinguished pioneer aviator, and the mature wisdom of Señor Guillermo Leloir, member of an aristocratic Argentine family. “We Latins,” Guillermo counseled me, in anticipation of direct negotiations with Capt. Marco Zar, the director of Argentine naval aviation, “admire your North American enterprise but resent your high-pressure salesmanship.”