Westmoreland: The General Who Lost Vietnam

by Lewis Sorley

  ONE OF WESTMORELAND'S young aides had a sister at Vanderbilt University in Nashville. Kitsy invited her to come and bring some friends on the weekend and to stay at the Westmorelands' quarters. She would then arrange dates for them with young officers on the post. One Sunday morning when they were guests Westmoreland came down to breakfast wearing a coat and tie, the better to make a good impression on the young ladies. Kitsy teased him about that for months thereafter.

  WESTMORELAND'S CONCERN FOR the well-being of his soldiers was genuine and almost without limit. During his tenure new branch exchanges and clubs were opened in the various barracks areas, along with a new craft shop, and branch libraries and an additional chapel were not far behind. A free post bus line for troop use was established, and a new theater was under construction. All this was designed to keep the troops not only busy and happy, but close to home. In his annual "State of the Division and Post Message" at the end of 1958 Westmoreland addressed a very serious and troubling problem. "It is a shocking and saddening fact," he wrote, "that in 1958 we lost the equivalent of a rifle company strength through deaths or injury in private automobile accidents."

  HAVING ARGUED WITH Maxwell Taylor about the Pentomic division concept, an argument he lost, Westmoreland then found himself obliged at Fort Campbell to implement the plan, the first Army division to do so. A later external critique described the multiple difficulties involved: "Predictably, Pentomic inherited many of the problems inherent in airborne units, most notably a dependence on other organizations for logistics and firepower and insufficient manpower, weaponry, and logistics for sustained combat operations. These problems were compounded by inadequate technology, particularly in communications equipment, fire control systems, artillery, and air transportable multipurpose vehicles, which collectively and perhaps individually made it all but impossible to wage the mobile, firepower-intensive warfare that justified Pentomic's organization."16

  Discussion of the Pentomic concept and its implementation led to a small lesson for Westmoreland in the workings of the chain of command. A meeting at Fort Bragg involved Lieutenant General Robert Sink, Commanding General of XVIII Airborne Corps, and the commanders of his two subordinate divisions, Major General Hamilton Howze of the 82nd Airborne and Westmoreland at the 101st Airborne. When the briefer had finished and was gathering up his papers, General Sink turned to Westmoreland and Howze and asked, "Aircraft here? Meet you in my headquarters in an hour and fifteen." Howze said, "Yes, sir." But Westmoreland responded, "I'm on my way to Washington. I have to meet Congressman So-and-so." The briefer watched what happened next: "Sink slowly picked up his hat, put it on his head with the three stars, and said, 'I'll see you in my office in an hour and fifteen minutes.'"17

  During this period Westmoreland spoke at an annual meeting of the Association of the United States Army, a prominent forum, where he adhered to the official position: "We find the Pentomic divisional organization well adapted to our mission. It is strategically mobile, flexible, and equipped with weapons and vehicles capable of supporting a variety of missions."18 Privately, he continued to denigrate it. "The day I left [the division]," he said in an oral history interview, "I signed a letter saying I had worked with the concept [of the Pentomic division] extensively, believed it to be unsound, and recommended that it be scrapped. That was done."19

  SERVING WITH PARATROOPERS was highly satisfying to Westmoreland. "These are the men with whom I have identified myself for many years," he said in a graduation address at the Army Chaplain School, "and I have the deepest respect for them. They are men who know what they are doing, and know the importance of it and take pride in their ability to accomplish the mission. There is no room in the paratroops for those who equivocate. Paratroopers must be forceful, affirmative, and enthusiastic."

  Westmoreland had brought seemingly limitless energy to commanding the division, setting a soldierly example, exhorting others to give it their best, and interesting himself in every aspect of division and post activities. "'When you work for Westmoreland,' said one of his longtime aides, 'you are always tired. But you're always satisfied that you've done your job the best it can be done.'"20 For his part, Westmoreland later recalled, "I never worked so hard in my life as I did during my days at Fort Campbell." But he was content with the results, stating later his conviction that "we had the number one trained and ready unit in the United States Army."21

  In a later self-evaluation he emphasized the qualities he had brought to the division command assignment. "I'm a very conscientious man and have always taken responsibilities very seriously," he said. "Every time I was given a job I put myself into it totally. I lived it. When I went to sleep at night, I thought about it. I woke up thinking about it. My life was totally enmeshed in the job I was given. And I worked long hours and had very little time for extracurricular activities." He was correct, of course, but those were not the only qualities later assignments would require.

  In the judgment of a former aide-de-camp to Westmoreland who later knew him well at several stops along the way, "Westmoreland was not equipped to be Chief of Staff. Division commander was his best role."22 Now, in the summer of 1960, Westmoreland was to leave the division for a much different, and differently demanding, post, that of Superintendent of the United States Military Academy at West Point.

  8. Superintendent

  IN EARLY MAY 1960 Westmoreland received a very important letter, handwritten on Army Chief of Staff stationery with a "Dear Westy" salutation, from General Lyman Lemnitzer. "The purpose of this note," it began, "is to let you know on an eyes only basis that I have recommended, and Secretary Brucker has approved, that you be assigned as the next Supt., U.S.M.A. [Superintendent of the Military Academy at West Point], effective upon completion of Gar Davidson's tour of duty about 1 July 1960. This is in recognition of your outstanding ability, your fine record and the splendid job you have been doing."

  General Lemnitzer apparently felt it necessary to add a comment anticipating Westmoreland's disappointment that his next assignment would not include a promotion: "While this position will not carry three-star rank (all Academies are now 2-star) it is one of our most important assignments and we feel that you are the best qualified to handle it."

  Westmoreland seemed a surprising and unlikely choice for the position. He had no graduate degree, had not even attended any of the Army's own advanced educational institutions, and had no faculty experience at West Point (although he once received, but turned down, an invitation to come back as an instructor in the Department of Mathematics). He was realistic in writing to his longtime mentor and friend Major General Louis Craig, acknowledging that the new assignment "will indeed be a challenge and I am frank to state that I do not feel particularly qualified for the job at this juncture."1

  General Williston Palmer, now retired, who understood Westmoreland's intense ambition, wrote: "I cant see that it can hurt you at all to be the Supe for a couple of years; although I would never, if I had been the boss, have sent you there. There are bigger jobs for which you are ready. Still, as I say, it cant hurt you and perhaps it will be advantageous to sit in dignity and detachment for a while reappraising the world scene."

  On the way to his new assignment Westmoreland called on President Eisenhower at the White House. Ann Whitman, the President's personal secretary, was away at the time, but later reported being told "by some of the younger (and more impressionable) girls around here that he made a terrific impression and I am only sorry that I did not get an opportunity to meet him!"

  When Westmoreland arrived at West Point, he was not known as a scholar. Wisely he decided to concentrate on other aspects of the job, in particular post administration and efficiency. But he also had to deal with the Academic Board, so he began going to classes and labs. He would get the homework, borrow the textbooks, and sit in on a complete session each time he went. Over time he thus gained substantial knowledge of the various departments and their course offerings, as well as of their teaching faculty, giving hi
m an advantage in board sessions where every professor knew all about his own department, but relatively little about what was going on in the others.2

  Westmoreland's work during his first year received strong endorsement from an important source, retired Brigadier General Chauncey Fenton, President of the West Point Alumni Foundation. "Dear Westy," he wrote, "since 1925 I have heard 19 'State of the Union' messages to the officers at West point by 8 different Superintendents in the fall of each year. This morning I was privileged to listen to the most interesting, the most comprehensive—yet most concise, and the most effectively presented such discourse of them all."

  The next summer Westmoreland emphasized a Spartan life when he spoke to members of the new Class of 1965 during their Plebe Hike. "I think that it is quite common that there be rain on plebe hikes," he observed, "and I think there should be rain on plebe hikes." Reflecting on the entirety of their first summer as cadets, he added: "It has been said that the purpose of new cadet barracks is to make Mama's boy go home." And: "Second only to honor, I believe the mark of a West Pointer is that he never quits."3

  WITHIN WEEKS OF taking command he sent a contingent of West Point staff officers to Fort Campbell to be briefed on Operation Overdrive. Westmoreland also drew on some of those who had been his classmates at the Harvard Business School back in 1954, asking them to visit West Point and advise him on such operations as the Cadet Mess, the printing plant, and possible renovation of an old ordnance compound for use as a First Class Club (for the seniors).

  After his first year as Superintendent Westmoreland arranged the publication of a pamphlet, "West Point Points the Way in Post Efficiency," shotgunning it to a wide range of influential people. Citing his "command emphasis on management improvement," it stressed concentration on industrial or commercial-type activities, "which consume the bulk of our manpower and dollar resources," as areas that could produce the greatest benefits. Among the approaches described were many of those Westmoreland had introduced at Fort Campbell, including work measurement, engineered time standards, monitoring of employee performance, and work simplification.

  Matters of efficiency and economy were tracked at quarterly business reviews. As Westmoreland approached the end of his second year in the job, he heard from D. H. Rohrer of the General Electric Company after this corporate executive attended one such review. "The progress that has been made at West Point in the last two years in the industrial field is unbelievable," he attested. "Your officers have control of their businesses, and know where they are going and how they are going to get there."

  The workers at the various industrial facilities appreciated and responded to Westmoreland's interest and support, in particular at the printing plant. A staff officer later wrote: "Your picture still hangs in a place of honor. Since you were the first Superintendent to ever really visit the Printing Plant and take an interest in it, they refuse to accept the fact that you are no longer here."

  Westmoreland was also very proud of an efficiency of a different kind, telling the assembled staff and faculty on one occasion that he had caused the Military Academy Band in the aggregate to lose an impressive number of pounds.

  He himself was always very conscious of maintaining his own physical fitness, with racket sports being a favorite activity. Major General Neal Creighton, then a captain on the faculty at West Point, was on the roster of those occasionally scheduled to play tennis with Westmoreland. After several such sessions he received a call from Westmoreland's aide, Captain "Sam" Wetzel, with a surprising suggestion. "I understand that some of your matches with the boss have been pretty one-sided," said Wetzel. "Don't you think it would be better if the general won a few more games?" He then booked Creighton for another game with Westmoreland a few days later, suggesting that he "make it come out 6–3, 6–3 in your favor, and both the General and I will be a lot happier." Creighton did as instructed, later noting that he "found it very difficult to accomplish the score rigging that Sam desired, but I came close."4

  SUPERINTENDENTS AT WEST POINT have considerable power and authority, especially over cadets. But there are limits, as Westmoreland found out in the course of one ill-considered initiative. At one point "he announced from the poopdeck [the balcony where the Officer in Charge and the Brigade Staff sit during meals] in the Cadet Mess that Playboy was licentious and lascivious, and he would not permit cadets to receive it," recalled Richard Chilcoat, First Captain of the Class of 1964. "Two weeks later he had to back down—he could not interfere with the U.S. Mail." Apparently the Tactical Department had been withdrawing copies of the magazine before they were delivered to cadets, a practice that when exposed was hastily discontinued.

  In another initiative that at first was seen as controversial, though it eventually worked out well, Westmoreland sought to establish a source of funding for programs and facilities needed at West Point that were not provided for in appropriations. His concept became the Superintendent's Fund, to which friends and alumni could contribute money for special projects. Among the enhancements thus funded were an amphitheater at Trophy Point, historical panels at the Cadet Library entrance, an upgraded ski slope, and an electric carillon for the Cadet Chapel.

  DURING HIS THREE YEARS as Superintendent Westmoreland worked hard at cultivating General Douglas MacArthur, then living in Manhattan. Soon after arriving at West Point, Westmoreland wrote to MacArthur asking if he might come to call and enclosing a similar letter from Kitsy making the same request of Mrs. MacArthur. "Since you were one of the Academy's most distinguished Superintendents I would like to ask you if you would permit me to call upon you at your convenience to discuss with you, in a general way, West Point and your perspective of the job that I have inherited," he wrote. "I am fully aware of my inexperience in an academic environment and it would be helpful for me to have a discussion with you." In due course the Westmorelands were invited to lunch at the Waldorf Towers apartment where the MacArthurs were spending their retirement.

  In responding to Westmoreland's request, MacArthur had reminisced a bit. "I know just how you feel at assuming the Superintendency," he wrote. "I shall never forget my first meeting with the Academic Board. Every member had been an instructor or professor when I was a cadet. But you need have no fears. You have a host of friends backing you such as Babe Bryan and Earl Blaik. Such men do not pick the wrong man."

  Westmoreland had the good fortune to be the host when MacArthur gave his famous "Duty, Honor, Country" speech to the Corps of Cadets, and marveled that he had done so "speaking without notes." Apparently Westmoreland had not yet realized, as Mrs. MacArthur later revealed, that her husband had spent weeks memorizing and rehearsing the speech with her as the audience. Westmoreland sent printed copies of the speech, some autographed by MacArthur, to hundreds of people.

  MacArthur was passionate about Army football, as were many other "old grads," and Westmoreland—like every Superintendent —received much "good advice" and intense scrutiny of his management of that sport. In fact, he reported, when he called on President Eisenhower (Class of 1915) at the White House on his way to take over at West Point, Ike urged him to "buck up the football team." During his superintendency the football program was moderately successful, compiling winning records of 6–3-1, 6–4–0, and 6–4–0. But where it really counted, in Army-Navy games, the team's record was 0-3, including a humiliating 20-point thrashing in his final season.

  Major General Carl McNair was once, as a more junior officer, escorting a couple of congressmen to West Point. They attended the football game on Saturday afternoon and were seated in the Superintendent's Loge. Of course the Westmorelands were there, with Kitsy "dripping minks and looking very stylish," remembered McNair. Every time Army made a good play Kitsy would leap to her feet, clapping and cheering. Her husband, ever serious and self-contained, never moved from his seat, just reached up and pulled her down by a mink tail.

  Kitsy was widely liked and admired by the West Point community, where she involved herself in many aspects of
post life. Cadet Mark Sheridan met her while he was hospitalized for repair of torn ligaments. "An incredibly beautiful and sweet woman appeared at my bedside," he recalled. She asked how he was doing and how he felt about West Point. "All my life," he said, "this is where I wanted to go and this is the school I wanted to graduate from." Then she asked, "What do you think of the Supe?" "With all due respect, ma'am, I think he's a prick." Kitsy: "That's my husband." Pause. "Pardon me, ma'am, that's my morphine talking."5

  Secretary of the Army Stephen Ailes saw clearly Kitsy's importance to her husband. "Westmoreland had no sense of humor," he noted. "But he was blessed with a really wonderful wife." On one visit to West Point, said Ailes, everything went wrong. The Westmorelands' dog went to the bathroom in the middle of the guest room, and his wife had to clean it up. Then, when the visit was over and they'd been taken to the airport, the aircraft had a problem and they couldn't leave as planned. So they trooped back to West Point, just when the Westmorelands thought they were rid of their guests. "We had drinks, beans and hot dogs in the kitchen," recalled Ailes, "and it was the highlight of the visit." Kitsy handled it all with grace and aplomb.6