Wednesday, March 25

Air Bruin


Thursday, January 28, 1999

Air Bruin

FEATURE: Bill Terry, who played basketball at UCLA in the 1940s,
can still remember his days in the Air Force when segregation

was still the norm

By Mara Schiavo-Campo

Daily Bruin Contributor

Roger "Bill" Terry sat in a large reclining armchair in the den
of his house. Several feet away on a coffee table stood a squadron
of Tuskeegee Airman figurines, some intricately crafted porcelain
and other plastic action figures your little brother might play
with.

A retired UCLA alumnus who graduated in 1942, Terry has many
memories of his time at the university. It was his life after UCLA,
however, that has earned him a place in the history books.

Terry kicked back in the chair, elevated his feet, and in an
unwavering, raspy voice began to recount some of the trials he
faced after graduation.

"When I was an officer I decided to see whether or not the Air
Force believed what they said about desegregation," Terry began,
stroking his chin as he spoke. "We found out that they had
segregated the field. All the Negroes were designated as trainees.
All the whites were designated as officers."

Although he was a "negro," Terry was no trainee. He was a second
Lieutenant and a member of the base squadron.

The Air Force’s segregation wasn’t just in title. "Officers" at
Freeman Air Force base in Seymour, Indiana enjoyed perks such as an
Officers’ Club and access to theatres. "Trainees" were limited to
their barracks, the hangers and the flying area.

In what is now commonly known as the "Officers’ Club mutiny,"
Terry and other African American airmen decided to test the Air
Force’s desegregation policy by presenting themselves for admission
at the door of the Officers’ Club.

"The guy at the door said, ‘You have to be an officer,’" Terry
continued, proudly recalling his tale of bravado. "I told him, ‘I
happen to be a member of the base squadron’ and gave him my
card."

Terry remembered the response as a simple one. "The guy at the
door said, ‘No niggers allowed. Go tell the others, too.’"

Terry and 104 other African American pilots who had attempted
the same protest were arrested. The charges? Mutiny, treason and
inciting a riot.

Terry’s very first encounter with the Air Force came shortly
after his graduation from UCLA. The Army had a call for a Bruin
Squadron. It was 1942, and the United States had officially joined
World War II some six months earlier.

A 19-year-old former UCLA basketball player with a degree in
political science, Terry had no trouble passing the Army’s written
and physical exams. He took an oath and was officially a member of
the U.S. Military.

Several days later Terry got a phone call from an Army
colonel.

"The colonel asked me, ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were
colored?’" Terry recounted.

A fair-skinned man with vague reddish undertones and a head full
of straight, platinum-colored hair, even now Terry’s appearance
provides barely a clue to his race.

"I said to him, ‘You didn’t ask,’" he declared poignantly.

At 6-foot-2, 175 pounds, the Army told Terry that he was too big
to join. But he had already taken the oath and could not be
discharged on those grounds alone.

The compromise came when Terry was invited be part of the Army
Air Corps’ – which later became the Air Force – first flight
training school for African American pilots, which had been opened
in Tuskeegee, Ala., in 1941.

"They said to me, ‘Come to Tuskeegee and we’ll teach you how to
fly,’" Terry said. And off to Tuskeegee he went.

Terry became a part of the Civilian Pilot Training Program and
in 1945 graduated in an airman class of seven. After graduation, he
and his classmates heard varying reports that they were going to be
sent overseas. Terry never did make it overseas. Instead, the Air
Force put him in jail – for the treason he had supposedly committed
while trying to get into the officers’ club.

As Terry and his fellow officers sat in jail in the spring of
1945, they had little concern as to what consequences they would
face.

"We had a friend whose mama was a maid at the White House and
was friends with Eleanor Roosevelt," Terry explained.

All Terry and his colleagues had to do was fly their friend to
the White House and have him explain the situation to his mother,
the maid. The message would eventually make its way to the
president, who would vindicate them.

A few days later Eleanor Roosevelt was informed of the
situation. There was, however, one unforeseen glitch in the
plan.

Eleanor Roosevelt received the news on April 12, 1945, the same
day Franklin Delano Roosevelt died.

"We were sitting in jail and here comes (President) Truman. We
said ‘We’re sunk,’" said Terry, a laugh in his voice as he
reflected on the irony of the story.

Terry spent about three months in jail, at the end of which he
was court-martialed and convicted of jostling. While it was a minor
conviction compared to what he was initially charged with, it was
enough to make him a convicted felon, stripped of his rights.

Before Terry’s drama-filled years with the Air Force there was a
somewhat simpler period of his life, his time at UCLA.

Set your calendars to 1940. America was just beginning to
recover from the Great Depression, and UCLA was an institution with
fewer than 25 buildings and about 11,000 students.

Terry was a 17-year-old student who had just transferred from
Compton Junior College. He lived at a co-op house on Oak Fair
Drive.

"We were just beginning to come out of the depression and the
jobs were not there," he said, citing that he had to keep several
jobs to pay the $50 quarterly tuition fees. "You got whatever you
could get. You could not get a job commensurate with your
education."

Terry worked several jobs, among them waiting tables at
fraternity houses and cleaning Janss steps.

Terry played basketball on the same team as Jackie Robinson both
years he was at UCLA. Yet, he hesitated to place too much
importance on his athletic career.

"Here I am an old man, but I can still see that athletics didn’t
make that much of a difference," he said.

He recalled how when he was a student, most athletes were
walk-ons.

Terry made no attempt to hide his disdain for the way UCLA
athletics are handled today.

"In those days if you wanted to play sports, you tried out," he
began, somewhat agitated. "These guys come here and they’re (only)
football players. It’s not fair to the students that are here to
learn. College is supposed to be for those who aspire to get an
education," he said.

After graduation and his tumultuous Air Force career, Terry
headed to USC to attend law school.

It was while registering for classes at USC in 1947 that Terry
discovered something really worth studying – the woman who would
become his wife.

Anna Williston was at USC getting her master’s degree when she
and Terry met.

"That’s the only thing I’ve got to thank USC for," Terry said
sarcastically, staying true to the Bruin spirit.

Three years later, in 1950, Terry and his wife had their first
son, Mark. Their second son, Jeffrey, who would eventually also
attend UCLA, was born in 1954.

Unable to join the bar and practice law because of his
conviction, Terry became a detective with the district attorney’s
office and later a probation officer before retiring in 1984.

For Terry, however, retirement did not mean an empty day
planner.

In 1990 he became vice president of the L.A. chapter of
Tuskeegee Airmen Inc., a group that organizes reunions for the
Airmen and gives out college scholarships.

Terry cited his reason for staying involved with the Airmen as
simply trying to maintain diversity in the Air Force.

"We want to get people interested in aviation, and further their
careers," he explained.

He later became president of the L.A. chapter, and from 1993 to
1996 was president of the national chapter. Currently, Terry is on
the Board of Directors.

These days, Terry spends his time helping around the house,
tending to his lawn and making appearances at various high schools
and colleges.

But since 1995, he is a changed man. He is no longer a
felon.

"If you’re right," Terry began, "You will be vindicated." His
vindication came in 1995 when his criminal record was expunged.

After 50 years of campaigning to get his conviction reversed,
and being told that the statute of limitations on his case had
passed, Terry’s record was finally cleared.

"It was a terrible wrong in the annals of U.S. military
history," said Air Force Assistant Secretary Rodney A. Coleman who
played a large part in getting Terry’s record cleared.

"Now, 50 years later I’ve got all my rights back," Terry said
with a tone of bittersweet victory. "But it’s too late."MANDY
SIU

Bill Terry, who graduated in 1942, played basketball at UCLA.
Afterward, he joined the Army and became a Tuskeegee Airman.

Roger Terry

Roger "Bill" Terry was a member of the Tuskeegee Airmen.

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