by Lewis Sorley
Surprisingly for a First Captain, in that senior year Westmoreland amassed a large number of demerits, forty-eight in all (more than he had accrued as a plebe), for such infractions as "giving the command of execution on the wrong beat" while marching and "causing cadet officers and guidon bearers to march out of step by reason of poorly timed command of execution at parade." As a result, in his senior year he ranked eighty-second in the class in conduct.
If his mother is to be believed, Westmoreland somehow escaped punishment for yet another parade-related transgression. She was visiting West Point once, she recalled, when her son forgot his sword for a dress parade. But, she told an interviewer, "her cadet son was able to maneuver so expertly while marching that no one noticed." This seemed highly unlikely, but hearsay evidence from Major General Clay Buckingham, Class of 1949, suggested its accuracy. "One of the stories circulating about him [Westmoreland] back then," said Buckingham, "was about the time when he, as First Captain, led the graduation parade for his class. Apparently in his rush to get ready, he had forgotten to put his sword in its sheath. Recognizing this only after he had gotten out on the Plain in front of thousands, he went through the entire ceremony making all the correct motions without his sword. No one in the audience noticed, but some of his classmates did notice and wouldn't let him forget it." Classmate Major General Gordon H. Austin later confirmed the accuracy of that account. He did not see the episode himself, he said, since he had been marching in one of the rear ranks, "but later everyone talked about it."
Despite such episodes, Westmoreland proved himself a fitting First Captain: dutiful, dedicated, capable if not brilliant, ambitious if not especially social, a father's pride, a model cadet leader. In West Point's yearbook Westmoreland's write-up was admiring: "A fine soldier and true friend is Westy. Modest, generous, tolerant, and possessing a good sense of humor, Westy has made many friends. His executive ability, conscientiousness, high ideals, good judgment and common sense, and his fearless determination—just glance at that chin!—have well fitted him for the position he has held as leader of our class, and as First Captain of the Corps."
IN WESTMORELAND'S CLASS was Benjamin O. Davis Jr., a black who would later become a high-ranking general officer. As a cadet he had been ostracized because of his race. A fellow officer later wrote to Westmoreland about this, saying, "We and those senior to us in the military have much to be ashamed about in those early years of our service." Westmoreland responded that Davis "was a victim of the times." This infuriated his correspondent, who shot back: "That he was. But he was also the victim of individual acts of thoughtlessness, of cruelty, and of cowardice for which individuals ought to answer in this life, and for which, according to our Christian faith, they will assuredly have to answer later."5
Another graduate, bringing the matter much closer to home, wrote to Westmoreland about how Davis "was inhumanely discriminated against throughout his cadet days with the silencing and its many peripheral consequences. In Davis's final year at West Point," he reminded Westmoreland, "that discrimination was sustained under your leadership as first captain.... I therefore urge you most strongly to issue a public apology to General Davis on behalf of our Army and the United States Military Academy." Westmoreland called that officer and told him that his "hands were tied," that the silence had been imposed on Davis and there was nothing he could do about it.6
THERE HAVE BEEN, over the years, a few West Point classes that stand out from the rest. Preeminent was 1915, the class of Eisenhower, Bradley, and other luminaries, with nearly 35 percent of the class becoming general officers. The Class of 1933 (which led the Corps during Westmoreland's plebe year) achieved over 24 percent generals. And Westmoreland's Class of 1936 also turned out to be one of West Point's most distinguished. It produced six four-star generals, seven three-stars, and sixty generals in all, representing nearly 22 percent of the class. Over 92 percent of the class served to retirement (or died while on active duty), a remarkable example of duty performed. For such records to be achieved, of course, the times had to be right—a big war coming up soon after graduation, with fast early promotions, combat experience, professional reputations established early on—and then, also very important, the ability to adjust to peacetime service until the next war came along.7
On Friday, 12 June, the Class of 1936—276 strong—graduated and was commissioned. General of the Armies John J. Pershing presented the graduation address. Westmoreland, who on behalf of his class had petitioned the Superintendent to invite Pershing as the speaker, was somewhat disappointed in the outcome, later describing Pershing as "an elderly man" whose address "was not delivered with any fire or enthusiasm." But at least Pershing had said, gratifyingly, that the Corps marched well.
2. Early Service
COMMISSIONED IN THE Field Artillery branch, Westmoreland was sent to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where he joined the 18th Field Artillery and gained the usual junior officer experience. He was motivated to pursue a military career, he would tell a later correspondent, "by a desire to serve my country" and to "break out of a parochial environment." In this first assignment he found that the officers were "some good, most mediocre" and the soldiers "could barely read or write." On the positive side were "good horses and mules and one motor vehicle," although the "weapons were antiquated." Those weapons were French 75mm guns, Model 1897, horse-drawn. For communications they still had carrier pigeons and the telegraph using Morse code. Meanwhile Hitler's planes and tanks were just a few years away from invading Germany's neighbors.
Classmate Bruce Palmer remembered some positive things about those early days: "We had a taste of the Old Army, a small, tightly knit band that had survived despite public neglect and non-recognition, and whose older officers and NCOs taught us a lot about what being a professional soldier was all about."1 Westmoreland's recollections were more negative, describing that Army as "backward" and lacking in "money, weapons, and public support."
Westmoreland's first battery commander was a senior captain, nicknamed "The Stud Duck," who was described by Westmoreland as "virtually incompetent." Allegedly he had failed the basic course at the Artillery School, although how he could have survived that and later advanced to captain is unclear. Things were held together in the battery by 1st Sergeant Bull McCullugh, "a boxing champ who could lick anyone in the outfit."
After a few months on the job Westmoreland wrote to his father dutifully, "I'm working quite hard at present." He cited some of the duties he had been assigned, including stable officer (with thirty-eight horses to supervise). Like most young officers, he was also learning polo, "lots of fun, but plenty of hard work." Nonetheless, he wrote, "Each afternoon, I am free to do as I like."
AT FORT SILL Westmoreland met a pretty and accomplished young horsewoman, Katherine Van Deusen, known as Kitsy, the daughter of Lieutenant Colonel Edwin Van Deusen, then Executive Officer of the Field Artillery School. "I took one look at him, and I've followed him ever since," she later said.2 Kitsy was then all of nine years old, but she asked Westmoreland (almost thirteen years older) to wait for her until she grew up.3 He did (after, during his service in Hawaii, a woman he wanted to wed married another officer instead).4
Westmoreland also became Scoutmaster of Fort Sill's Boy Scout Troop 37, and evidently a good one. In later years he often heard from youngsters, many of whom had become officers themselves, who remembered him fondly from those earlier days, and some even served under his command in various outfits. Among the Scouts in his troop was Edwin Van Deusen, Kitsy's older brother.
IN THOSE DAYS mounted officers (including horse artillery, not just the cavalry) could acquire private mounts in addition to their issue horses, but only with permission. Westmoreland accordingly asked to be allowed to purchase a mount from the Army Depot at Fort Reno, Oklahoma. That request was approved, and he acquired a three-quarter thoroughbred three-year-old mare named Polly Ann, a bay with black legs below the knees.
Westmoreland recalled that in those days "our daily lives w
ere built around the horse—fox hunts, polo, horse shows." This led to his first brush with Army aristocracy, as Lieutenant Colonel George'S. Patton, accompanied by Mrs. Patton, came down from Fort Riley to serve as judge at a horse show. Westmoreland was assigned as his recorder. "As he judged," recalled Westmoreland, "I kept track of his comments and gave him a summary of his evaluation." Westmoreland was suitably impressed, concluding that Patton "knew his horses and how they should be rode."
A slightly more senior officer in the regiment with Westmoreland was Camden McConnell, USMA Class of 1931, who remembered a horse adventure that did not turn out so well for Westmoreland. One duty was to take the school horses to summer pasture. Since horses are well known for their skittishness, the technique was to take a large number of soldiers and only a few horses to establish the camp. Then, when the first contingent of horses had settled in, a few more horses would be added, then a few more, and so on. Eventually the entire herd would be in residence and pretty calm about the whole change of venue. On one occasion when McConnell and Westmoreland were accomplishing this somewhat tricky maneuver, however, McConnell had to leave temporarily to take care of some business elsewhere. That left Westmoreland in charge, with the result that the herd soon "stampeded across the main post with the loss of many horses and destroying the golf course." Fortunately the resulting investigation found —"naturally," said McConnell—no fault on Westmoreland's part because "that's just how horses are."5
When Westmoreland was a cadet his father had written to him suggesting that after he graduated, if the Democrats won, "You should have some pull in your advancement in the Army through Jim Byrnes and [John] McSwain," a senator and house member respectively. Almost right away Westmoreland sought to take advantage of some of that political capital, asking to be designated a diplomatic courier and sending that request not through military channels but via Congressman G. Heyward Mahon Jr. When the matter reached the Adjutant General he was not impressed, responding in January 1937 that "the assignment desired by Lieutenant Westmoreland is one requiring considerable maturity and experience," whereas "Lieutenant Westmoreland, having been graduated from the United States Military Academy last June, has less than one year's commissioned service." Not approved.6
After three years at Fort Sill Westmoreland was ordered to Hawaii. He accordingly requested authority to ship his private mount, and in due course Polly Ann was assigned passage aboard the U.S. Army Transport Meigs. A private named Jerry Reel was put on orders as her attendant for the voyage, while Westmoreland traveled separately aboard another Army Transport, the Grant.
IN HAWAII WESTMORELAND found the troops, and duties, much like those at Fort Sill. The artillery was armed with British three-inch guns, and "the division was more interested in unit athletics than training. We went through the motions of training and had athletics and fatigue (police) in the afternoon." Westmoreland gained battery command experience, leading Battery F of the 8th Field Artillery. Then, though a mere first lieutenant assigned as a battalion operations officer, Westmoreland told his father that he "ran a battalion for all intents and purpose[s], since a lieutenant colonel was in command who had little to offer."7
There was still plenty of old Army. Westmoreland was invited to act as Honorary Whipper-In on the staff of the Artillery Hunt. Besides serving at the Hunts, he was told, he would assist at hound exercise. Westmoreland also reported in a letter to his mother "a terrible thing"—his horse died very suddenly, apparently the result of an abdominal obstruction. "Very unfortunate for me," Westmoreland observed somewhat coldly, "especially since I had no insurance on her."
In Hawaii Westmoreland received what turned out to be his only formal Army instruction (except for post–World War II attendance at parachute school), acquiring a certificate of proficiency testifying to his successful completion of a special one-month course in mess management conducted by the Quartermaster Corps School for Bakers and Cooks.8 Surprisingly, Westmoreland later seemed rather proud that he had missed the usual professional development opportunities at the Command & General Staff College at Fort Leavenworth and the Army War College.
EARLY IN 1941, after two years in the islands, Westmoreland left Hawaii for a new assignment with the 9th Infantry Division at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. There, he recalled, "Amazing things began to happen to our Army." One of the most significant was that a military draft brought into the ranks what Westmoreland described as "a cross-section of the young men from our society—good men," quite a contrast to his view of the troops he had been working with.
But Fort Bragg was just a prelude, as by then the Wehrmacht had begun its rampages across Europe and everyone in the Army expected that the United States would eventually join the war—even if the American public opposed that idea right up until the 7 December 1941 Japanese attacks at Pearl Harbor.
3. World War II
THE ARMY MOBILIZED immediately upon news of the Japanese attack, and within days Germany had also declared war. It would take one more year for Westmoreland to enter the fight. At the age of twenty-eight he found himself in command of the 34th Field Artillery Battalion of the 9th Infantry Division. In North Africa Westmoreland's 155mm towed howitzers caught up with earlier deploying elements when they arrived in Casablanca on Christmas Eve of 1942.
Westmoreland took an unsuspected chance in evading orders upon arrival. He had been designated commander of troops aboard ship during the voyage. When they reached port, he was summoned by General Patton's chief of staff and told to get the troops ashore immediately. Westmoreland "urged a delay in disembarking so the New Year's dinner could be enjoyed, but to no avail," he later recalled. So he went back and gave the order to leave the ship, but designated his own battalion to stay aboard and police up the ship "after enjoying the prepared feast." Only later did he learn that the reason for the order to disembark immediately was that "German bombers were reportedly on the way to strike the docking facilities at Casablanca."1
The 34th Field Artillery remained in Casablanca until 17 January 1943 before departing for Port Lyautey and then, with various intermediary stops, finally entered battle on 22 February. Recalled Westmoreland, they were in "almost continuous operation against the enemy" until 10 May 1943. He would later speak of World War II, where "there was some very severe fighting, on a sustained basis, contrary to Korea, and contrary to Vietnam, where fighting was sporadic and not sustained."
General Patton had inspected Westmoreland's battalion while they were at Casablanca. As he was going through one of the battery messes he noted how they were using immersion heaters (designed for heating dishwater) to heat C-Rations in the can. "General Patton had never seen this before," said Westmoreland, "and was profuse in congratulating the mess sergeant on his initiative. The mess sergeant's chest was so puffed up that he was rather unbearable to his colleagues for weeks thereafter."
Another Patton visit made quite an impression on Westmoreland and, very obviously, on some of the 9th Infantry Division's staff. "One day," Westmoreland said, "General Patton arrived at the command post with his pearl-handled [actually ivory] revolvers, riding boots, pink breeches, and shining helmet, looking like a military fashion plate." The division commander, Major General Manton Eddy, greeted Patton, with the staff following behind. Patton's first words were, "Manton, I'm getting goddamn sick and tired of the lack of progress this division is making. I want you to get off your ass and start moving." Then, pointing to the staff, Patton continued, "And I want you to get these bastards out to the front lines and get them killed." Well, said Westmoreland, "those words had a sobering effect on the division staff. That evening they hauled the G-1, the personnel staff officer, out on a stretcher as a psycho case and he never returned."2
Westmoreland and his troops were also exposed to a version of the notorious Patton speech, the one made famous by George C. Scott in the movie Patton, describing what he saw ahead and what he expected in training and attitudes. "Men," said Patton, "all this stuff you've heard about America not wanting t
o fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of horse dung. Americans, traditionally, love to fight." Westmoreland said the film well represented the original except that Patton delivered it in a high, squeaky voice. It was nevertheless effective. Patton was "erect and always immaculately dressed," said Westmoreland. "His language was abrupt, profane, and gory. He got and kept the attention of his troops, and he and his speech became matters of constant conversation and discussion for weeks thereafter."
ALTHOUGH HE EVENTUALLY served in three wars, Westmoreland was never decorated for valor. He had a fine hour, though, in leading the 34th Field Artillery Battalion during fighting in Tunisia, where they earned great distinction.
In February 1943 the unit encountered and dealt brilliantly with a challenging combat situation. Over a period of four days the entire battalion made a forced march of 735 miles from Tlemcen, Algeria, over the Atlas Mountains to Thala, Tunisia. The move began in a snowstorm, proceeding "in bitter weather over tortuous and almost impassable mountain roads," and ended a hundred hours later when the troops went immediately into battle against elements of the German Afrika Corps, helping to stop the enemy's breakthrough at Kasserine Pass. That feat resulted in the Presidential Unit Citation for the battalion, a high honor in recognition of valorous service. The citation noted that, "although enemy forces were entrenched only 2,500 yards distant and there were only three platoons of friendly infantry in front of the artillery, the unit maintained constant and steady fire with such deadly effect that enemy tank units were dispersed and driven back."
