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a table mat, material for a gandbag, any number of things."

For a moment he was silent, thinking.  then he said, "My girl's good at sewing.  Can I send it home to her and tell her what you said?"

"Of course," I said.  "It's your.  You made it."

He smiled, a great sunburst of a smile.  "I'm going to tell my girl to make herself a scarf.  And then I'm going to weave some more for my Ma and my sisters and everybody I can think of.  How about that?"

There were times when I had to walk away quickly, blinking hack the tears.  This was one of many.

Nobody can say how many men returned to civilian life with a marketable skill learned in the hospitals.  As a textile designer, I know some have done well in large textile mills.  Numbers, both men and women, came to my San Francisco studio after the war to shoe me their