Thinking back, our first dinner together was on the eve of my first flight as captain after finishing upgrade operating experience. At a fancy watering hole in Austin, Texas, Slick Senior had complimented me on upgrading. Despite the fact that he was typed in the DC-8, 9, 10 and 11 and the Boeing 727, 737, 747, 757, 767, 777 and 787, and I was a retired surgeon just recently come to professional flying with my trifocals, he was to be the FO the next day when we flew to Ohio. I protested, saying that my promotion was merely a matter of seniority not ability. He demurred. “No,” he said. “You deserve this.” I suggested we hail a waitress and describe our flying experiences and see whom she thought ought to be the captain. She picked Slick Senior.