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WACO  Page 102[underlined]
Once more I was in my niche. No more strangeness, no more "lostness", Buddie was happy. once more to be around WACOs, I was twice blessed. Once more able to share the dreams and life of a fine man, a leader! Sam would hold up his hand, fit my fingers thru his, grasp my hand tightly, and say, "Your hand has always been the complement to mine. Yes, even when you were Mrs. Weaver. If you hadn't been so sure we would succeed I would have quit long ago and taken a paying job with some company." I discounted a lot of this, for Sam couldn't help but do everything well. Yet I hugged the thought to me that, he called me his "inspiration to the necessary perspiration."
I still have the letter he wrote to me in Winston-Salem, N.C., his amazement about the flood of ideas that seemed to come to him, now that "a sweet little Cinderella loves me". Delightful lover, husband and companion.
Neither Buddie nor I thought of him as step-father, he was Sam. Sam was pleased when the children called Bud, "Buddie Junkin." I would get Buddie in bed at his regular bedtime, with one of our contemporary employees to stay at the house. Then Sam and I would hurry over to the temporary factory lapping paint brushes, painting the steel fuselages so the orders would be ready on time! No spray guns. The fuselages when covered were painted a certain blue. Sam mixed this paint and enjoyed using it. The wings were painted a silver pigmented dope.. I enjoy watching anyone work who works well with the minimum of motions therefore a certain rhythm. I could spot a good workman quickly ..with enthusiasm. Don't we all like appreciation? On Sundays the gang would take the truck, their musical instruments the graphonola, all the records we had and off we would go to a swimming hole. Clayt played a harmonica and had a beautiful whistle. We all sang, we all laughed, our repartee seemed inspired. "Ma" & "Pa" Junkin would talk over life, love, the "pits" in cherries..