James "Skinny" Wayne Bedwell, Major

It is difficult for me to accept the fact that Jim has passed. I had sent him “Happy Birthday” wishes shortly after his 81st birthday and got an email from him on April 25th thanking me. Since Jim and I have known one another since our junior year in high school, I had asked in the birthday email “Where have the years gone?” Jim answered “Where did all the time go? It all passed one day at a time and I enjoyed every one of them.” What better epitaph could one have on one’s life than is reflected in that statement. Jim and I met when our fathers, who worked for Chrysler (or a Chrysler subsidiary) in Indiana, moved to the St. Louis Missouri area, where Chrysler built a state-of-the-art facility for manufacturing cars. Jim and I shared a love for chemistry, various outdoor activities, and camping. We did chemistry experiments together, one of which blew up in our faces; skated on Creve Coeur Lake, where Jim’s family lived, in the winter; drove around in his family’s Renault, which always had something wrong with it; and went camping together, some with expected results (a drop in temperature that left the cold stream beside our tent was “steaming”). He was a true friend and, although we lost touch somewhat when he joined the Air Force and I was busy with my career, we were never disconnected. Although Jim clearly loved chemistry and eventually attended the same university that I did and got a degree in chemistry (he was delayed because he took a job at a paint company right after high school), I should have realized that this was not his calling. When we were in high school, Jim would often say, “Let’s go to Lambert Field and watch the planes land and take off” (I think there may have been Air Force jets landing there at that time). Eventually, he decided to pursue his dream and became an Air Force pilot and, eventually, a commercial pilot. During this period, he would often regale me with stories of flight mishaps (not his) that had recently occurred. Flying in those days was risky, especially in state-of-the-art military jets. But, he loved flying. There is another part to this story. Patty (yes, I still think of her as Patty) is my first cousin. In fact, her father, as well as all of my uncles on the Colvin side of the family, worked for Chrysler in Evansville, Indiana and moved to Missouri together. Patty and I grew up in the small town in southern Indiana that our grandparents and much of the rest of our family lived in: Francisco, Indiana. We lived in this town of 724 people until our sophomore year in high school, when we moved to Missouri. Patty is only a month older than me, so we were in the same grade and did many things together, including playing badminton with our friends in the large grassy area behind her house and attending many family holiday gatherings. When I read Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer in high school, I realized that our childhoods were not so different than his (a far cry from childhood today). I do deserve credit for introducing Patty to Jim — not that I really introduced them, rather she met Jim because he and I were often together. Jim was devoted to Patty and in that last email he was thinking of her well-being and hoping for more years together. In my reply to Jim’s email on the 25th, I wrote “If you and Pat would like a change in scenery, we would love to have you visit” (we live in the Pacific Northwest). It never crossed my mind that there would not be enough time for that visit.

It is difficult for me to accept the fact that Jim has passed. I had sent him “Happy Birthday” wishes shortly after his 81st birthday and got an email from him on April 25th thanking me. Since Jim and I have known one another since our junior year in high school, I had asked in the birthday email “Where have the years gone?” Jim answered “Where did all the time go? It all passed one day at a time and I enjoyed every one of them.” What better epitaph could one have on one’s life than is reflected in that statement. Jim and I met when our fathers, who worked for Chrysler (or a Chrysler subsidiary) in Indiana, moved to the St. Louis Missouri area, where Chrysler built a state-of-the-art facility for manufacturing cars. Jim and I shared a love for chemistry, various outdoor activities, and camping. We did chemistry experiments together, one of which blew up in our faces; skated on Creve Coeur Lake, where Jim’s family lived, in the winter; drove around in his family’s Renault, which always had something wrong with it; and went camping together, some with expected results (a drop in temperature that left the cold stream beside our tent was “steaming”). He was a true friend and, although we lost touch somewhat when he joined the Air Force and I was busy with my career, we were never disconnected. Although Jim clearly loved chemistry and eventually attended the same university that I did and got a degree in chemistry (he was delayed because he took a job at a paint company right after high school), I should have realized that this was not his calling. When we were in high school, Jim would often say, “Let’s go to Lambert Field and watch the planes land and take off” (I think there may have been Air Force jets landing there at that time). Eventually, he decided to pursue his dream and became an Air Force pilot and, eventually, a commercial pilot. During this period, he would often regale me with stories of flight mishaps (not his) that had recently occurred. Flying in those days was risky, especially in state-of-the-art military jets. But, he loved flying. There is another part to this story. Patty (yes, I still think of her as Patty) is my first cousin. In fact, her father, as well as all of my uncles on the Colvin side of the family, worked for Chrysler in Evansville, Indiana and moved to Missouri together. Patty and I grew up in the small town in southern Indiana that our grandparents and much of the rest of our family lived in: Francisco, Indiana. We lived in this town of 724 people until our sophomore year in high school, when we moved to Missouri. Patty is only a month older than me, so we were in the same grade and did many things together, including playing badminton with our friends in the large grassy area behind her house and attending many family holiday gatherings. When I read Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer in high school, I realized that our childhoods were not so different than his (a far cry from childhood today). I do deserve credit for introducing Patty to Jim — not that I really introduced them, rather she met Jim because he and I were often together. Jim was devoted to Patty and in that last email he was thinking of her well-being and hoping for more years together. In my reply to Jim’s email on the 25th, I wrote “If you and Pat would like a change in scenery, we would love to have you visit” (we live in the Pacific Northwest). It never crossed my mind that there would not be enough time for that visit.

Very well written obituary. My favorite memory was when Ron and I were putting an engine in a car at mom and dads. Jim came to talk to dad, went back changed clothes and started helping us. Must have been that helpful Hoosier blood. I think his mom was Dad's cousin.

Very well written obituary. My favorite memory was when Ron and I were putting an engine in a car at mom and dads. Jim came to talk to dad, went back changed clothes and started helping us. Must have been that helpful Hoosier blood. I think his mom was Dad's cousin.