from:Hamden, Ct. USA
REMEMBERING PEARL HARBOR Day of Infamy: 'I was one of the lucky ones' Local vet was co-pilot of first plane shot down by Japanese By BILL SANDERS
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution Published on: 12/06/07
With the day that would live in infamy unfolding a few hundred feet below him, Army Air Forces Lt. Roy Reid dismissed his buddy's initial assessment of what was going on in this place called Pearl Harbor.
"That black smoke below, it wasn't cane sugar burning," Reid told Lt. Roy Taylor. Joey Ivansco/AJC Roy Reid, 87, at his home in Jasper.
Bullets hit the plane, and the cockpit filled with smoke. Reid would have to land the B-17 bomber amid pandemonium. Seconds later, with the front half of his airplane on fire, the back half of it missing, and that black smoke now everywhere, Reid did what he'd been trained to do: He hit the brakes.
Dec. 7, 1941, with all hell breaking loose, Reid applied parking brakes before climbing out of the plane, onto the wing and jumping 12 feet to the ground. To this day, he's not really sure why he bothered with the brakes, other than one thing: That's what co-pilots did. It didn't matter what was going on. Reid, who now calls the hills of Jasper home, is one of the last — if not the last — person who can tell the story of the first airplane to be shot down at Pearl Harbor. Overall, few American planes were shot down because few ever made it off the ground to begin with.
Reid and the rest of the eight-man crew were coming into Hawaii from San Francisco. Many combat soldiers have seen worse, Reid, now 87, will tell you. Ground troops almost always saw more horrors than those flying above. But those few early morning minutes were worse than anything else Reid would see during World War II. And it certainly ranks among the most historic.
Sixteen years ago, Reid compiled the notes he had made during the war into his account of Pearl Harbor Day. It was published in the Air Force Magazine on the 50th anniversary. "In that short period of a 14-hour-plus flight.
I saw more action, witnessed more significant events, and felt more strange reactions than in my previous 21 years or, for that matter, in all the years since," Reid wrote. "I have seen much aerial warfare in the intervening years and experienced many of the emotions I felt that day, but never with the same intensity. Fifteen minutes before we finally came to a sudden stop on the East-West runway of Hickam Field, we caught our first glimpse of land. It was Diamond Head, a welcome sight. We all looked forward to spending the rest of the day on the beach at Waikiki.
As we approached Oahu, Lieutenant [William] Schick began taking pictures with a small camera he had brought along. It was 8:00 a.m. I remember the exact time, because I had to fill out a status report on our engines every hour on the hour... "What I saw shocked me. At least six planes were burning fiercely on the ground. Gone was any doubt in my mind as to what had happened. Unbelievable as it seemed, I knew we were now in a war. As if to dispel any lingering doubts, two Japanese fighters came from our rear and opened fire. "Lieutenant Schick, who had been hit once while in the plane, had managed to get out, but a bullet fired from a Japanese plane had struck him in the head. He was picked up by an ambulance and taken to the hospital but died later that day. "We then ran for the protection of the nearest hangar.
Inside the hangar, a sergeant had just opened a door counter in the supply section and was laying out .45- caliber automatics and loaded ammunition clips. We each grabbed a gun and a couple of ammo clips and headed for the back door. The sergeant yelled at us to come back and sign for the guns. One of us hollered back something along the lines of, "Forget it — there's a war on!"
There was no need for the .45s as it turned out. The attack was confined to the air.
Reid ends his account with this: "The next day, I climbed up into the cockpit of our plane. I discovered four bullet holes in the armor plate behind my seat. I was one of the lucky ones on the Day of Infamy."
Reid now lives with his wife of 66 years, Shirley. He stands up straight. His hair is now white, but still all accounted for. And he likes a firm handshake, though not one as firm as he once did. Eighty-seven years of living will do that to a person. He'll talk about his war experience to anyone who asks. But he rarely brings it up. And he has no survivor's guilt — never did, never will. Today won't bring an incredible amount of anything for Reid . This morning, he'll wake up, have some breakfast and it won't be different from any other day. Almost, anyway. "The one exception is I get a few phone calls from friends that recall my experiences on that day," he said. "It's not an emotional day." For some who've been through war, having no survivor's guilt and an emotionless day on such a day as this is hard to imagine. But living after war is a personal thing. Living 60 years after war — that's a thing to celebrate.
