Glenn’s puckered brow suggested thought. “Do you think the Bureau would finance such a development,” he asked, “with an experimental contract?”
“Oh, yes,” I agreed, “up at the Naval Aircraft Factory at Philadelphia.” Glenn was shocked by the suggestion.
“Have you mentioned this to anyone else?” he inquired.
“Everyone who would listen,” I replied. “And Frank Russell, of Curtiss, is coming in this afternoon. I thought that since you had taken his SC design away from him by underbidding him on the production order, he might find a certain satisfaction in doing likewise by you.”
By the time I had finished the sentence, Glenn had disappeared through the door.
With the carrier program pretty well rounded up, I began to think of going back to sea duty and general service. If I wasted much more time in the side shows, some future Selection Board would gladly skip me over. No use to ask the admiral’s permission; he’d say the job was but half done and he couldn’t spare me. A personal visit to the Bureau of Navigation and a request to command another destroyer would do the trick.
But when, shortly afterward, Admiral Moffett called me into his office, I found the atmosphere distinctly chilly. On his desk lay the notice from BUNAV advising him of the intention to detach me and requesting that he nominate a suitable relief.
“What will it take to keep you here?” the admiral asked.
“A nonflying officer has no place in this game,” I replied, “and I’m supposed to be too old to learn to fly.”
“The pilot course,” replied the admiral, “takes nine months and I can’t spare you that long.” I had not intended to ask for flight training but the admiral assumed that I was putting pressure on him.