In a second floor bedroom of a two-story house on South Commerce Street in Natchez, sits a wooden, four-drawer dresser.

Buddy’s clothes are in that dresser … waiting for him to bound up the stairs with his 6-foot, 6-inch frame, his booming voice and his overly enthusiastic demeanor, hollering down to his mother about the food for dinner and to his father about fishing on Saturday.

His 1970s Panasonic radio sits atop another wooden bureau. It hasn’t been played in more than 20 years.

Next to the radio are covers from his favorite storybooks, Westerns and action novels.

A shelf holds his mugs he loved to collect.

And, above his single bed – always too short for his ample frame – hang pictures of Indians and cowboys painted especially for him.

On a recent day in May, Buddy’s mother, Louise, sat on Buddy’s neatly made bed as his father, T. Waring &uot;Buddy&uot; Bennett, stood at the foot of the bed.

Their &uot;Buddy&uot; has been gone from his room for more than 27 years.

Yet, they still hold out hope their Buddy might return … return from a place far away … a place that had claimed the lives of more than 50,000 other young men.

Their eyes gleam and their voices ring clear when they talk about Buddy, the second oldest of their six children.

&uot;He could make a joke better than Bob Hope,&uot; said Mrs. Bennett. &uot;He was an expert shot, too.&uot;

Buddy also loved flying planes for his country.

On Dec. 22, 1972 – Buddy’s 30th birthday – this Eagle Scout, award-winning paperboy, devout Christian, hunter, fisherman, lover of life with the all-American looks vanished almost literally from the skies over Hanoi, North Vietnam. His B-52 Stratofortress bomber was shot down during a raid in the dying days of the Vietnam War.

Buddy was the co-pilot as the plane pierced the ink-black night sky approaching Hanoi, when it is believed a surface-to-air missile shot off a wing, forcing the crew to eject. It was his 160th mission, far more than many officers had flown and his third tour of duty in Vietnam. Some of his crewmates landed safely and were captured; one died as was he riddled with enemy bullets on the way to the ground; another hid for nearly two weeks before being captured.

But in the reports immediately following the incident, no word came about Buddy – whether he lived, died or was a prisoner of war.

Days later, the Bennetts learned of their son’s fate.

&uot;I couldn’t sleep that night; there was something wrong,&uot; said Louise. &uot;When the doorbell rang at 6 o’clock in the morning I had known something was wrong. I went to the front door and turned on the light. There were two officers; one man was a chaplain; one was a pilot.

&uot;I said, ‘I’m not going to let you in until you tell me if he’s dead.’ We never thought about missing in action.&uot;

When the word spread through the Bennetts’ household a young visitor became overwhelmed.

&uot;She leaned over the (upstairs) banister; the tears ran down her face, fell and splashed on the floor at my feet,&uot; Mrs. Bennett said. &uot;I’ll never forget that.&uot;

Soon, other relatives, friends, neighbors and many in the community knew and many brought food and kind words to the Bennetts’ household.

&uot;They told us not to give up hope,&uot; Mrs. Bennett said. &uot;They said if he’s going to be found, he going to be found in the first month (after being shot down).&uot;

In that first month, they busied themselves with their visitors, listening to the news and tending to Buddy’s affairs. They went to his base in California and returned with his yellow Buick Buddy nicknamed &uot;Puddin’&uot; for banana pudding.

The month rolled into years and each time the Bennetts hear of the remains of a serviceman being released from Vietnam or a report that an American might have been spotted still alive in captivity, their hope rises again for Buddy’s return either for a grand homecoming or a proper homegoing.

&uot;My attitude is that he could still be alive over there,&uot; said Mr. Bennett, a matter-of-fact man. &uot;I don’t know everything about his disappearance. If he is dead, then he’s up there (in heaven) waiting on us.&uot;

Buddy officially is one of the more than 1,000 soldiers to be missing in action.

It is that uncertainty about their son’s fate that has left his mother and father devoted to keeping the name of their son – and at the same time, the issue of the other sons missing in action – burning brightly in their memories.

A scholarship fund – now more than $60,000 – in their son’s name has helped more than a dozen students at Copiah-Lincoln Community College’s Natchez campus. Buddy graduated from Co-Lin in Wesson. The Bennetts personally attended the annual awards presentation on the Co-Lin campus recently, earning hugs from the three recipients. And, they have given their house after their deaths to be the residence of the Natchez campus dean.

A professorship fund of more than $250,000 promotes the sciences at the University of Southern Mississippi. POW/MIA signs, pins, pictures and slogans adorn the Bennetts’ necklaces, canes, windows, car bumpers, walls and other locations.

They even have kept &uot;Puddin’&uot; in tip top running condition.

The Bennetts have been to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., 14 times and pressed their fingers into the etched name of their son. They were instrumental in bringing the &uot;Moving Wall,&uot; a replica of the national monument, to Natchez. It attracted thousands. Each year, except for one, they have attended all the 27 POW/MIA rallies in Washington, D.C. Each Dec. 22, they ask the U.S. Senate to say happy birthday to Buddy.

A street in Natchez is named in his honor.

They even have traveled to Thailand to visit the air base from which Buddy flew his missions. Officials wouldn’t let them in, however.

&uot;A lot of people must have thought … ‘Why can’t they accept the inevitable and go on living?’&uot; Mrs. Bennett said.

A glimpse into the answer lies in a poem in a simple frame above a couch where the Bennetts often sit together.

&uot;Who Will Answer,&uot; one of Buddy’s favorite poems, has a verse that reads,

&uot;In a strange and distant hill a young man’s lying very still,

His arms will never hold his child because a bullet running wild has struck him down.

And now we cry: &uot;Dear god! Oh why, oh why&uot;

But Who Will Answer?&uot;

So, for each meal ever since Buddy’s disappearance, the Bennetts add to their blessing, &uot;Bring Buddy home safe and sound. We ask this in Jesus’ name.&uot;