Some of the veneration in which Marshall is held rests on a high estimation of his mental capacity.  In the context of this inquiry, were his intellectual gifts such that none of should bother to compare ourselves to him or ever to aspire to his level of achievement?  The question of Marshall’s intelligence seems to have been debated from very early. Marshall’s older brother advised their father not to send George to VMI, where his stupidity would embarrass the family!  American general and mentor Fox Connor considered him “close to a genius,” while the brainy British Field Marshall Alan Brook was unimpressed by his intelligence, although his opinion of Marshall seems to have improved over time.  We understand today that people have multiple intelligences.  Marshall seems to have been especially strong in what is called executive function, bringing to bear the correct mental resources to suit a problem or situation.  An example of this may be Marshall’s ability to think in time-streams, which might be described as the ability to see events in a historical perspective as they were happening. This fueled his ability as a strategist, and it enabled him to conceive the future, imaging the post-war world even as he was beset with the problems of fighting the war.

Clearly, Marshall cultivated these abilities.  Whatever his native or natural intelligence, his mental ability as an adult was highly developed and remarkable.  His ability as Chief of Staff to give detailed briefings and answer long series of questions without notes left congressmen and journalists in awe.  He had undoubtedly developed this ability at the Infantry School, where he showed the instructors how to conduct their classes without any written notes.  Even so, for many of his admirers, it is not so much Marshall’s intellect as his character that made and that make him great.  Marshall’s integrity seems to have been self-evident to almost all who came into contact with him.  Both Congress and the President had absolute faith in the facts he presented, and little less in his judgment. Maybe most of all, they saw him as someone motivated by the truth and the national interest, rather than by personal self-aggrandizement or narrow concerns like that of service loyalty.

Next Post: Humility–Getting it Right

One reason we should not view Marshall as a model of perfection is that he did not do so himself.  The Forrest Pogue interviews contain some startling examples of this. In a conversation about Patton’s swearing and tendency to extreme, even absurd pronouncements and behavior, Marshall recalled his own occasional swearing in conversations with World War II subordinates.  This was apparently done for effect, or for emphasis, but Marshall said in the interview that he regretted resorting to bad language to make his point.  Since he set a high standard of respect for subordinates and he insisted on considerable correctness and even formality, he likely felt, in retrospect, that swearing went against the kind of gentlemanly and controlled conduct that he expected officers to display.

One of Marshall’s greatest challenges was his relationship with FDR.  As Army Chief of Staff, he was often frustrated at his inability to make his points clearly and forcefully enough to convince the president on some issue.  Roosevelt’s continuing belief in the airplane as a kind of military panacea was an example. Marshall had disagreed with FDR on this point at their first meeting of Marshall’s term as Deputy Army Chief of Staff.  Marshall’s willingness to dispute openly with the Commander in Chief is sometimes cited as an example of his rock-solid integrity, but Marshall himself recalled that, although the point had been made, it had not been carried, and Marshall would have to contend again with the President over the latter’s conviction that aircraft production by itself was the key to victory.  Marshall had also disagreed with Pershing at their first meeting in World War I.  Pershing had been scathing in his comments over a training exercise that he witnessed. Marshall openly challenged Pershing, even grabbing his sleeve to get his attention, and he went on to carefully describe the difficulties under which his division had been laboring, difficulties which Pershing and his headquarters had addressed mostly by finding fault.  This is another episode that is cited as evidence of Marshall’s integrity, but on tape Marshall recalled that the collisions he had with seniors (as when discussing the treatment of soldiers in France after the Armistice) were often brought on by temper as much as by higher motives. Marshall’s reflection on his own conduct suggests that these encounters could actually be pointless or counter-productive: examples of a tired, overworked, fed-up junior officer venting his frustration.

Another example of Marshall’s dissatisfaction with his performance occurred when he was trying to convince some senators of the need for more pre-war army appropriations.  As recalled by Bernard Baruch and recounted by Forrest Pogue, Marshall showed the “strongest emotion his friend had ever seen him display,” saying “I have utterly failed. I don’t know what else to do.”   Marshall’s frustrations on this point would continue until America’s official entry into war, and with the nation committed to war he would sometimes have to painstakingly quench overly-optimistic predictions of easy war and early victory.

Not only was Marshall fallible, he viewed failure and mistakes as necessary to success. Marshall’s early successes as a cadet and junior officers had been largely motivated by his early mediocrity and a fear of failure.  When someone said that the number of mistakes being made in large army maneuvers called the value of the maneuvers into question, Marshall objected strenuously. It was those very mistakes that made them so valuable, he maintained, since this was how the soldiers learned. Marshall’s second wife recalled his habit of self-criticism.  “It was as though he lived inside himself and George Marshall was someone he was constantly appraising, advising and training to meet a situation.”  Marshall emphasized to his staff that they were to express their disagreements with him openly.  He made the same observation to Eisenhower in the preparations for Operation TORCH in North Africa.  In response to some of Eisenhower’s characteristically (at this point in their relationship) deferential correspondence, Marshall wrote back, “When you disagree with my point of view, say so, without an apologetic approach; when you want something you aren’t getting, tell me and I will try to get it for you. I have complete confidence in your management of the affair, and I want to support you in every way practicable.”

Next: Marshall’s Brain

Despite the forgoing, Marshall does not completely deserve his reputation for chilly detachment.  He could be cutting and dismissive, but this comes out most in cases of significant lapses in what he expected of officers in terms of decorum and dedication.  He was sometimes testing the people in front of him to be sure they could be trusted in their assignments away from his watchful eye.  An example of this is recounted in Eisenhower World War II memoirs, Crusade in Europe. On reporting to the War Department shortly after December 7th, Eisenhower reported to Army Chief of Staff Marshall and in a few words was given the assignment of deciding what to do about the Philippines.  Eisenhower took a couple of hours to compose his thoughts on paper and reported back with his answer, to which Marshal replied, “I agree with you,” adding only, “Do your best to save  them.”   Marshall subjected Eisenhower to an even sterner test when the Chief of Staff bluntly informed his War Department subordinate to banish ant thoughts of command and promotion.  The Marshall plan for Eisenhower was that he stay in the War Department for the duration.  On this occasion, Marshall was almost certainly testing Eisenhower’s resiliency and spiritedness.  Just as blunt as his boss, Eisenhower angrily shot back that he was a soldier who served where ordered, and that he did not need any reminders on this subject.  The enigmatic Marshall quietly smiled at Ike as he left the room.

Marshall had quiet and even private ways of expressing personal warmth. His immediate staff attested to his consideration and concern for them all as individuals. He regularly wrote to the commanders of remote installations giving news and encouragement.  His response to a letter from some Roanoke, Virginia schoolchildren on the subject of how he selected general officers is characteristically kindly and thoughtful, (and I hope that it is still read in the Pentagon). Most of all, and unlike many other people in power, Marshall never lost the empathetic imagination to anticipate the effects that strategy and politics might have on ordinary people, most especially the army rank and file.  When the vital question of whether draft enlistments would be extended was being discussed in the House in 1941, Marshall rejected a proposal to shift responsibility for this action from the congress to the president.  He said, “I think it would be most unfortunate to do that at this time because the soldier would feel that he had been victimized by a maneuver, by sharp practice, under cover of the law.” Years later, when MacArthur was relieved from command and testified to Congress that the American army in Korea was “fighting with no mission…[and] losses are going to be staggering,” an upset Marshall privately pointed out the effect such a statement by their former commander could have on the morale of the soldiers still fighting and “called upon to make a tremendous effort over a long period of time.”  Although a undemonstrative and a pragmatist, Marshall was often remarkable for a kind of large-scale, disinterested benevolence in action, akin to what the ancient Greeks called philia.

Next: Marshall’s Mistakes

The Fallible and Accessible George C. Marshall

To make full disclosure, George C. Marshall has been foremost among my gallery of personal heroes since I made my appearance as a “rat” at the Virginia Military Institute four decades ago.  You couldn’t escape Marshall at VMI in those days, and I suspect he is even more inescapable today.  The Marshall library is more active than ever, and since my day the Institute has built an ethics center named for Marshall.  As a cadet, I bought the Marshall mystique unreservedly, even before I knew very much about him.  In the years since I’ve come to know more, mostly through biographies. I’m also addicted to the speeches, videos, and other postings put online by the Marshall library.  I keep a small picture of Marshall on the wall in my office; his stern gaze, the simple uniform he wore so well, are reminders to me to stay on task, to try to be as worthy of my Constitutional oath as he was of his.  Most recently, I’ve enjoyed listening to and reading the interviews conducted by Forrest Pogue in the mid 1950’s.  These have given focus to a disquiet that I and other admirers have always felt about Marshall and his legend, which is that we have made of this man a figure almost too great for empathy or emulation.  In his own words, a different Marshall emerges, one who was fallible, who changed his mind, who was often dissatisfied with himself and frustrated (although always patient) about his own ability to make his point or exert the kind of influence over people and events that he wanted.  In this paper, I want peel back some of the layers of near-idolatry that have come to stand guard over Marshall’s memory, to give examples of the fallible and human Marshall, and to explain why I think it is so important to sometimes approach Marshall in this way.

Why is Marshall so remote?  It is partly his fault.  It is unsurprising that Marshall seems rather distant as a historical figure, since that is how he also struck many of his contemporaries, and that is generally the way he preferred it.  Like other men marked early for greatness, Washington and Charles De Gaulle among them, Marshall allowed himself few friends.  A northerner at VMI and a VMI graduate in an officer corps dominated by West Point alumni, the role of aloof outsider both came naturally while it was also promoted by circumstance.  As he moved up in rank, he disciplined himself to keep his distance from others, especially as he saw the need to purge the officer corps of those who demonstrated an inability to meet the demands of wartime. Still, his aloofness may have been overplayed.  The younger Marshall loved dancing and parties.  He took full advantage of the festive atmosphere that prevailed in Europe after the World War I Armistice.  As Pershing’s aide, he received many invitations to grand houses and lavish parties, and he seems to have enjoyed dancing, chatting up the hostess or other personable woman, dining and drinking the free-flowing and free champagne.  Even when he got older, he organized so many social events as commanding officer, as for instance at the Fort Benning Infantry School, that some of his subordinates thought he was overdoing it.  Marshall’s fondness for the organized social life of an army post may have reflected the fact that, between the death of his first wife in 1927 and he remarriage in October, 1930, he was a widower and unmarried.  If the mature Marshall sometimes seems chilly and forbidding, his first marriage may be partly at fault.  Marshall’s first wife told him on their wedding night that she was an “invalid” and not capable of physical intimacy.  It is possible that Marshall was completely celibate at least until his second marriage.  The unpleasant surprise handed to him by the first Mrs. Marshall, and the years of abstinence that followed must have had an effect on him.  What effect that was we can only speculate, since Marshall was too much the Victorian-era gentleman to ever allude to such matters, except perhaps in strictest privacy.  Marshall had confidants, “old friends” Philip B. Peyton, Charles D. Herron, and Frank McCoy   Still, it possible that he never discussed his sex life at all, except perhaps with his second wife.   The dissatisfactions of his personal life may have been a factor in Marshall’s extraordinary profession dedication.  One might draw an analogy to an episode in the life of the young Lord Nelson.  Wounded and depressed, uncertain of the prospects of his naval career, Nelson is supposed to have gone through a personal and professional epiphany. “I will be a hero,” he thought, in spite of sorrow or disappointment.  All that would count with him would be his zeal for king and country. Well, he never quite attained that degree of perfect selflessness (there was the middle-aged tryst with Emma Hamilton), but his dedication unto death is unquestionable. History records no such moment for Marshall, but it is not hard to imagine a similar idea growing on him as reputation and career grew and the wife of his first marriage sickened and died.  Marshall found happiness in his second marriage, but by then the habit of throwing himself into his work had grown on him. He was “going places,” but as with Nelson, it soon became no longer a matter of his private happiness or professional fulfillment.  The fate of his country might be in his hands.

Next post: Part 2: Duty and Humanity