James Wesley Widdis, Jr. was born on July 3, 1939, to Helen and James Wesley Widdis, Sr. He had three sisters, Elizabeth, Carol and Margaret. His home of record is Riverside, NJ. He graduated from Riverside High School.

Widdis entered the US Air Force while living in Riverside, NJ. Widdis served in the 609th Special Operations Squadron where he attained the rank of Lieutenant Colonel (LTC).

Widdis was listed as missing in action on March 23, 1969, when his aircraft crashed.

Widdis’ remains were repatriated on May 24, 1995, and positively identified on October 19, 1996. His two sons, Tech. Sgt. Douglas Widdis and Daniel, a Lt. Cmdr. in the Navy accompanied his remains from Travis Air Force base in California to Colorado Springs for his funeral and burial at USAF Academy Chapel and Cemetery.

Widdis was awarded the Purple Heart, the Distinguished Flying Cross and the Air Medal with 1st – 3rd Oak Leaf Clusters.

Synopsis (from the POW Network) as to the circumstances behind being listed as MIA:
On March 23, 1969, Widdis piloted an A26 (a twin engine attack bomber) on a combat mission over the Ban Karai Pass on the border of Vietnam and Laos. As the plane was 15 miles west of this location the aircraft was struck by hostile fire. No parachutes were seen and no beepers were heard, but the opportunity existed for him to safely eject.

Widdis was listed as missing in action up until 1978, when his status was changed administratively by the Department of the Air Force to killed in action/body not recovered. Since his remains have not been recovered and returned, he is listed by the Department of Defense as unaccounted for in Southeast Asia.

The following was written by Doug Widdis, son of James, about his father, and read at his funeral in 1996. He was four when he father was killed. The Major Davis he refers to was Major Robert C. Davis of Burlington, NJ.

As my father and Major Davis slipped the bonds of earth and danced the dark skies over Laos almost every night, they performed a dangerous service for their county. They upheld the oath they took when they entered the service of their country.

As my father flung his aircrafts through the long, dark nights and mountains of Southeast Asia, I know his thoughts were on his mission and his aircraft. That was the sworn duty. But his family’s thoughts were on him. His wife and two young sons were at home waiting for him. The wait is finally over. His sons may not remember much of him, but we have tried to honor his memory and protect his family ideals.

I have only recently learned how the thought of family takes a front seat in times of stress and fear. I can only guess what his final thoughts were, but I am sure we were at the front of his mind. As they dwell in the shelter of the most high and abide in the showdown of the almighty, I am sure that they are always thinking of and waiting for their families.

My dad didn’t have to fly in combat; he could have been a pilot or a navigator on transport aircraft. But he wanted to use his talent to the utmost of his abilities. I can only hope that I can achieve half of what he did in his short lifetime, and serve my country and take care of my family as well as he did.

As the last lines of John Gillespie Magee’s “High Flight” say, my father and Major David trod the untrespassed sanctity of space, they put out their hands, and they touched the face of God.

Dad, I offer you my last salute.

The following poem was written by Daniel Brent Widdis, son of James, about his father, and read at his funeral in 1996. He was two when his father was killed. The new memorial he refers to is the New Jersey Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial.

I Never Said….

I wasn’t even old enough that cold December day
To know that duty called you and you had to go away.
I don’t remember what you said when you last held me tight,
Or what I could have thought as you went out into the night.

I’m sure you said you loved me and you’d soon see me again,
But I was just a two-year-old and couldn’t comprehend.
I may have answered something in the way of a reply,
But the last time I saw you, Dad, I never said goodbye.

I learned, as I grew older that your plane had been shot down,
They told us not to give up hope; someday you might be found.
I know I hoped each time that I was told of a “surprise”
That you had finally come back home in some sort of disguise.

But dreams were dashed each time, and slowly hope began to wane.
The doubt increased but through it all I put away the pain.
I never gave up all the hope, I never stopped to cry,
And clinging to that shred of chance, I never said goodbye.

Nine years had passed before they finally said that you were gone.
Officially your status changed, so our lives could move on.
We finally held a service for you – I helped lay the wreath,
But I was too confused that day to understand my grief.

I listened to the pastor, tried to memorize the words;
Someday when I was older I might grasp what I had heard.
I still remember “Taps” that day, the first time I would cry
But even through the tears that day, I never said goodbye.

The years continued passing, and the older I would grow,
The more I yearned to learn of you, the more I wished to know.
I watched old faded films of you, I listened to your voice,
I wanted to talk back to you, but didn’t have that choice.

Each year we’d make a visit to your marker and we’d pray,
But still in my confusion I would not know what to say.
I’d thank you for your sacrifice, regret you had to die,
But all those times beside your grave, I never said goodbye.

I read your commendations, all the medals that you’d earned.
I’d built up more respect for you, the more that I would learn.
I followed in your footsteps, as I joined the service, too.
To serve my country proudly was the least that I could do.

I went to the memorial in Washington, DC,
I stood in my dress uniforms and hoped you would see,
I saw your name and touched it, as I stood and questioned why;
But then we had to leave, and I forgot to say goodbye.

Throughout the years since then I’ve worn a bracelet with your name,
I’ve used it to remember that you didn’t die in vain.
And also with that bracelet came a shred of hope, it seemed,
That one day, I could show you how I’d kept alive your dreams.

But also came the thought of things you never got to say.
No father-son discussions you could use to guide my way.
You never forgot the chance to send me from the nest to fly –
So when I set out on my own, I didn’t say goodbye.
The year a new memorial was built in your home state,
To honor you and others who had faced a similar fate.
I touched your name and once again I slowly bowed my head
I knew that there was something that I’d never thought or said.

I saw a vivid statue of a soldier’s final breaths,
His friend was reaching out to him, to touch him before death.
No words need have been spoken, you could see it in their eyes,
They knew that death was certain, and they said their last goodbyes.

But looking at those soldiers as my eyes filled up with tears,
I knew what it had been that I was missing all these years.
I thought of myself standing there and watching as you died.
And reaching out to touch you as I stood out there and cried.

But still I couldn’t touch you, our hands never quite would meet,
Standing just like those two soldiers, our arms barely out of reach.
And though I couldn’t close my heart I finally knew why.
Through all these years of thoughts of you, I never said goodbye.

The opportunity is here now, you have finally come home.
I can reach right now and touch you, and I know I’m not alone.
I know the time is right for me to finally close the door
And have the chance to say some things I could never say before.

Dad, I know you loved me – and even though you left,
You knew that what you did would somehow work out for the best.
I haven’t said this all these years, but now it’s time to try:
I love you and I miss you – and Dad?….Goodbye.

Sources: Jo Anne Widdis (wife) and NJVVMF.
December 17, 2024