Don Brown’s death left a big gap in our ranks with no file closers available to fill it. United Aircraft, once the only company in the business with real depth to its management, had got thin on top. In reorganization, the directors elected Fred Rentschler chairman, with responsibility under the by-laws for the general conduct of the business affairs of the company. I was elected president with the authorities and responsibilities of chief executive officer. Raycroft Walsh succeeded me as senior vice-president, and J. F. McCarthy continued as controller with responsibility direct to the board of directors in financial matters. This rounded up a top organization in which the several personalities complemented each other in a way calculated to promote the closest kind of teamwork. In the four divisions, Jack Horner headed Pratt and Whitney, Sidney Stewart succeeded Raycroft Walsh in Hamilton-Standard, and C. J. McCarthy became general manager of the Vought-Sikorsky Division. Then came May of 1940. The President of the United States in his fireside chat electrified the country with his announcement of a fantastic airplane production program. The total mentioned was 50,000 airplanes. Only two weeks earlier, a House of Representatives’ Report on the War Department Appropriation Bill had lopped all but 57 airplanes off the Army Air Corps’ own modest request for 496. By that time, some 2,800 airplanes had been contracted for under the previous year’s appropriations, of which some 2,200 had been training planes. Practically the entire capacity of the American aircraft industry had been allotted to foreign sales. On the morning following the Presidential foray into the numbers racket, I sat behind my desk working on the mail. Through the open door to the anteroom, I could see my secretary, Mrs. Dexter, typing out some of the faultless copy with which she kept our business flowing. She had come up to the front office with me from Chance Vought Aircraft, and was one of the leading women of the inner circle of highly trained and competent women who managed the routine of the top executive offices. As the only member of my office staff, she sorted out the mail and handled visitors or outside calls. On the mail, she slid into the wastebasket the bulk of it that was obviously part of the advertising matter which Uncle Sam so kindly subsidizes at great expense to himself and the recipient. A large part of the remainder Mrs. Dexter answered outright—and more effectively than if I had handled it. The part that called for decisions came to me—and even that was enough to keep a man scrambling to try to keep the desk clean. How Mrs. Dexter, singlehanded, could manage the flow of mail and calls was more than I could understand but some wag of a punster had opined that she was dexterous indeed. As I turned to my own pile of papers, the phone bell jingled and she reached for the receiver.