The Liberty Bell: Chairman’s Corner

Chris Reid, Independence Bank Chairman

Summer 2026 Edition

Nearly 25 years ago, I remember a conversation that will stay with me as long as I live. It was an early fall morning in October, and I was talking to my very best friend, my business partner, my dad. I recall he was very vibrant that morning and talkative, even though my mom said it could be any minute as he was on the cusp of death.

We had many conversations, as most families do, knowing death is imminent; conversations about regrets and the afterlife, but I knew this day was different. He said he wanted to tell me about one of his “most amazing adventures” in life. So, I listened, because Chubby didn’t tell this story very often, and when he did, he told it as big as it truly was, as I’d like to share it with you today.

It all began in a little town known as Spotsville, KY. As you cross the bridge coming from Owensboro on Hwy 60, down a small, narrow road on the right was a piece of land where a house once stood that shaped his childhood and character, making him the man he was. This place still holds a lot of memories for me and my family to this day. Growing up, my dad was a tall, skinny young boy who got the nickname “Chubby.” Fitting, right? He never missed a day of school, always had good conduct and made straight A’s. My dad was dedicated to whatever it was he was doing and he learned that at a young age. By the time he went to high school, his family moved to Henderson, KY, where he attended Holy Name. His passion and drive directed his focus on wanting to pursue a college degree with a focus in business. He told me the principal at Holy Name worked hard to help him find a scholarship since there were no family funds available for a higher education, but this didn’t stop him. At graduation, he received one offer from a Bible College with a plan to become a preacher. Public speaking was one of his worst nightmares, so he continued to search for alternatives and found the GI Bill, which offered servicemen a full college scholarship. So, he enlisted.

After serving four years in one of the military branches like his father, he joined the Navy during the Korean War. Once training was complete, Chubby was placed on an aircraft carrier as a deckhand and went into action immediately. On July 27, 1953, a truce was declared between the United States and Korea. With the signing of the Korean War Armistice, the ceasefire halted; the three-year war was over, and he had survived. This meant it was almost time to go home and he would get to utilize his scholarship and finally go to college. Even though the war had ended, his tour wasn’t complete so he would have to finish his time of service first. With no war and not much “work” to be done, my dad learned to play cards and apparently got pretty good at it. Chubby started sending extra money home to the family, way more than he usually sent. He was already proving to be financially responsible, I guess.

As he continued the story, he told me, “Several months after the war ceased, a fleet of helicopters landed on the carrier and the ‘lab coat’ scientist started bossing everyone around.” Their ship soon set sail to the Bikini Atoll Islands, and almost immediately, they started setting off atomic bombs. Chubb was amazed at the explosions as they watched on deck from a “safe” distance. He secretly wrote in his journal “boom” on the days they tested their weapons. It wasn’t until after some time that they finally moved the ship further away from the islands and the predawn routine began with putting on welding goggles and standing at attention on the deck of the ship.

On March 1, 1954, the largest nuclear device ever to be detonated by the United States and the first true thermonuclear bomb was ignited. Dad recalled that even with the welding goggles on, the sky turned from absolute blackness to the brightest day ever in seconds. He described it as “the largest mushroom cloud that kept rising to the top of the atmosphere until it appeared to go into space.” Even though the ship was 25 miles away, a tremendous shock wave hit the ship and nearly pushed every sailor to their knees on the deck. As they recovered and removed the goggles, a gentle and unusual rain started to cover the entire area. The sailors noticed small particles of sand in the rain and some realized this was from the islands that the bomb had blown up. Today, we know that the radioactive fallout spread an estimated 7,000 square miles because of the much larger than anticipated explosion.

The “lab coats” quickly started panicking and ordering the cleaning of the ship first, then the equipment and then each sailor. If the crazy Geiger counter clicked just one time, they had to clean the ship again. They threw everything they had on into the ocean, cut off all their hair and scrubbed their bodies until they bled. Finally cleaned of radiation, the carrier then sailed over the blast. What used to be a few islands was now a bomb crater 0.5 miles wide and 250 feet deep.

As much as they tried, realistically, there was no cleaning solution good enough to remove the nuclear fallout they endured. The “lab coats” suffered the same fate the sailors did: radiation sickness, skin burns and long-term health complications. Most died a horrible death from cancer in a rather short time. A few, like my dad, lived into their sixties, but most stationed on that ship carrier died at a very young age. No one was exempt.

After he told me the story, he paused.

In slow, hard words that he had trouble getting out, he wholeheartedly said, “NOBODY should have to do what I did to get a better education.” I couldn’t respond right away, but I knew what he was asking of me. I finally had the words to speak and told him I would try to make his dying wish a reality. I would work so that students had the opportunity at a higher education, no matter their financial situation, so that they didn’t have to endure what he and his shipmates did.

On October 11, 2001, my dad, “Chief” as I called him, died of small-cell lung cancer. He never smoked a day in his life, but he died just like most of the sailors and scientists did from that fateful day.

After those last moments with my dad, I talked to my mother, Mitzi, uncle Ed Reisz, who was our chairman at the time, and the Board of Directors to create the first Charles A. Reid scholarship in the amount of $10,000 at the very next board meeting. Immediately after that meeting, fellow board members Ernie and Jerry Davis jumped in and donated a generous amount of money into that same scholarship Trust. The Lanham family joined next, and Ed Reisz completed the initial group. Almost every director in the entire Bank joined in on the scholarship program, donating their personal funds to the Independence Bank Foundation to benefit young students in their communities.

To this day, the Reisz family continues to stay very involved with Bank Director Gail Reisz Branch, daughter of former Chairman Ed Reisz, donating generous scholarships in honor of her late father and her brother, Guy Reisz, who was also a former director.

Nearly every director had a story like Dad’s, enduring extreme hardships to better themselves, their families, their businesses and their communities. The initial $10,000 Charles A. Reid scholarship quickly grew to $100,000 per year in just seven years.

In addition to our directors, my brother Al Reid (award-winning teacher and historian), sought, found and collected the government payout to the U.S. Servicemen (approved by Congress) who died as a result of the hydrogen bomb testing. The payout was placed in its entirety directly into the Independence Bank Scholarship fund to further enhance the number of scholarships we award. Thank you, Albert.

25 years later, the scholarship program eclipsed $173,000 in 2026, and over $2M in total scholarships awarded. I know we have helped hundreds of smart, young and outstanding students achieve their educational dreams without facing undue financial hardships.

The Independence Bank Foundation oversees the Independence Bank Scholarship program and is run by my daughter, Lauren Reid Patton; Director and sister, Tracy Reid; my son, Jacob Reid; and myself. Our family continues to remain dedicated to fulfilling my dad’s final wish and honoring the lives of our directors and donors.

As I go back to this conversation with my dad, it too was a turning point that set off a chain of events in history. Little did I know that the first initial scholarship would grow to be what it is today. I also had no idea how many students would be helped or that so many giving individuals would step up to say, “I want to be part of this, too.” My dad’s last wish has become so much more. My family and I are honored to continue the Independence Bank Scholarship Program from my dad’s legacy and the legacy of many others who made it what it is today.

Like the fallout from that day in March of 1954, this too has had a ripple effect and impacted many in far-reaching ways we may never know. I am humbled by the Independence Bank Scholarship Program and I’m grateful for the man who had the vision to make it possible. He was right, what a “most amazing adventure” it has been.