Throughout the negotiations, Don Brown stood fast on the principle that prices to be paid for the equipment should be high enough to permit us to take the necessary financial risks required by the early deliveries specified. The customer should not hamstring us by chiseling prices to the point where our willingness to accept risks was impaired. Fortunately the soundness of this position was apparent to Harry, and his confidence in us enabled him to support it in the discussions with Col. Paul Jacquin of the French commission. The colonel proved to be a man of high character with a sense of fairness and a degree of integrity that finally brought the negotiations to a satisfactory conclusion. The contract was signed on February 14, 1939, at almost the precise moment when further delay would have done us irreparable harm. As a matter of fact, the time had long passed when a garrison finish might be of any help to France; the chief benefit of this contract lay in the fact that it gave the Pratt and Whitney Aircraft organization a shot in the arm, and put us in such position that when, two years later, the Japs smacked us at Pearl Harbor, we could swing into full-scale production for the American account. After Don Brown’s return to Hartford, his health forced him to turn more and more of his work over to me. In this I functioned, much as I had once done for Admiral Reeves, as a sort of chief of staff, seeking to do things in the way Don himself would have done them, had he been personally on the firing line. Somewhat earlier, when our difficulties had become serious, I urged Don to invite Fred Rentschler to return to our board as chairman where we could call on him for advice and get the benefit of his judgment. Now we three began working closely together—at least as closely as Don’s declining health permitted. Don, a singularly attractive and lovable person, having come upstairs by way of the shop, always displayed a strong sense of responsibility for his men. The specter of shutdown weighed heavily on him and now, as the illness that was to prove fatal began closing in on him, his thoughts were still down on the factory floor. One day he and I walked along an aisle between the machines. Don made some remark to the effect that he longed to be back there where the problems were of the kind a man could get his teeth into. Behind us we heard the voice of a young kid making some crack about how soft it was for guys that did nothing but sit on cushions in paneled offices and look wise. Don turned and brushed the kid away from the machine. After running it awhile in obvious enjoyment, he turned to the workman: “Listen, son,” he said, not unkindly, “I’d trade jobs with you any day if I could, but you wouldn’t take the responsibility. That’s something you fellows never want to accept.”