James T. Banning, Sgt., U.S. Air Force

Bruce Banning, founder of Bucket List Dreams, is the author of my brother’s story, as James passed away at an early age—in his mid-50s.

Jim… Jimmy… James… “Jungle”… however you knew him, he was born in 1948, the first of three children born to James and Dorren Banning. I was the second-born, and our brother Gary was the third. We were raised by two of the greatest people who ever lived—members of “The Greatest Generation.” We had a wonderful childhood, growing up in World War II-era tract housing during the 1950s. The ’50s were pure paradise in America. We were raised with discipline, structure, accountability, and, most importantly, standards.

I was comfortable with those standards, but Jim struggled a bit. He simply wasn’t very “neat.” He didn’t care much about pressed clothes or polished shoes, but he did better than average in school and had a strong work ethic. He was shy and compensated for it by being the funniest guy in the room. He often showed up at parties and events wearing hilarious costumes. He was popular, well-liked, and his circle of friends gave him the nickname “Jungle,” after the 1950s Hollywood character Jungle Jim.

After graduation, and to avoid the draft, Jim enlisted in the U.S. Air Force. He completed boot camp in Texas and then moved on to technical school. That is where things began to get interesting—and mysterious.

While Jim was in tech school, our parents began receiving phone calls from people all over our hometown of Monroe, Michigan. They were being visited by FBI agents. The agents came to our home for a lengthy interview and spoke with nearly everyone in Monroe who had ever known Jim. The military clearly had something in mind for him—something we were never able to define or understand—and Jim would never tell us. We never knew exactly what he did in the Air Force.

Jim’s military service was cloaked in mystery, and in many ways, he never truly left the service. He was required to remain ready for recall for the rest of his life. When he passed away, we found all of his uniforms stored away in perfect condition—shoes shined, everything ready to go at a moment’s notice.

We knew he worked in top-secret locations, underground or behind multiple locked doors. He once told me—asking that I not share it with our mother—that if the United States were ever taken over, his commanding officer was to shoot him, the others he worked with, and then himself.

This cloak of mystery followed him into civilian life. If he needed surgery, he was required to notify the FBI. On one occasion, he underwent a hernia repair, and sure enough, an FBI agent showed up and did not leave until Jim had fully recovered from the anesthesia and regained full cognitive capacity.

I believe this secrecy ultimately took a heavy toll on his life. Jim never married, lived alone, and led an almost hermit-like existence. He was always in control of himself—rarely drank, was extremely reserved, avoided risks, and had few close friends. He often ate meals at our parents’ home and saved his money to the point of frugality, though he was generous with his nieces and nephews. He lived conservatively in all things. Whatever secrets the government required him to carry, I believe they were more than he was meant to bear.

Jim died in his mid-50s. I have always felt sorrow for the life he lived. Compared to me—someone who often pushed boundaries—it seemed Jim never truly lived. I have long felt it was unfair for the government to place such a burden on one person and expect lifelong silence and loyalty. Others in his position may have walked away after their service, but Jim took his obligation seriously and remained loyal until his death.

One final moment stands out. During a family dinner, the conversation turned to UFOs—whether they were real or fictional. Jim said nothing until the discussion slowed. Then he calmly stated, “They are real. I can tell you they are real.” He offered no explanation and expected the subject to be dropped, which it was.

Who knows the truth. What I do know is this: Jim might have been better off being drafted and serving a short term in the Army. Perhaps his life would have been more fulfilled. What is certain is that everyone in our family loved him deeply, and he is still greatly missed.