Eisenhower in War and Peace Read online

  Eisenhower finished 61st in a graduating class of 164. The attrition had been 38 percent. One hundred and one young men who entered with Ike in 1911 had, for one reason or another, failed to complete the program. Without extending himself, Eisenhower ranked 57th in military engineering, 45th in law, 72nd in Spanish, 27th in drill regulations and hippology, 82nd in gunnery, and 125th in conduct. More important than class standing, though, Ike had learned the profession of a soldier. He knew how to march, how to handle a weapon, how to ride, and how to write an order. He knew the customs and traditions of the service, the organization, and the importance of teamwork and discipline. He was not thirsting for glory, but he understood the career he had embarked upon.

  Whether Eisenhower would be called to active duty was far from guaranteed. The Army had not begun to mobilize for war—the Wilson administration stoutly opposed any increase in appropriations; the officer corps numbered fewer than five thousand, and there was no shortage of second lieutenants.63 Considerable care was taken not to commission anyone with a physical disability—something that might cause early retirement and the payment of a disability pension—and Ike’s injured football knee posed a problem. When Colonel Henry Alden Shaw, West Point’s chief medical officer, initially indicated that he might not make the cut, Ike took the news calmly. “I said that was all right with me. I had always had a curious ambition to go to the Argentine (I was curious about the gauchos and Argentina sounded to me like the Old West), and I might go there and see the place, maybe even live there for two or three years.”64

  Colonel Shaw was struck by Ike’s detachment. Several days later he called Eisenhower back and suggested that it might be possible to commission him in the coast artillery—the most sedentary of the combat branches.

  “Colonel, I do not want a commission in the coast artillery,” Ike replied. Aside from keeping its equipment in readiness for an unlikely enemy invasion, the coast artillery provided “a numbing series of routine chores and a minimum of excitement,” in Eisenhower’s view. Given the choice, he preferred Argentina, and he assumed his military career had come to an end. “I wrote for travel literature and costs,” he recalled.65

  Colonel Shaw evidently took a liking to Ike. (General Omar Bradley said later, “Ike liked people and it is awfully hard for them not to like him in return.”)66 Shaw rejected the finding of his medical board, which had voted unanimously against awarding Ike a commission, and took the case to the War Department’s surgeon general, who ultimately agreed that Eisenhower “would be a good gamble.”67

  Shaw recalled Ike for a third interview. “Mr. Eisenhower,” he said, “if you will not ask for mounted service, I will recommend to the Academic Board that you be commissioned.” Ike replied that his ambition was to serve in the infantry, and Shaw accepted that. Not until he was chief of staff thirty-one years later did Eisenhower learn that Colonel Shaw (a former coast artilleryman himself) had overridden his medical board and taken Ike’s case to Washington.68

  Human events, Machiavelli noted, are half determined by fortuna, and from the beginning, fortune smiled on Ike. If Senator Bristow had not departed from congressional tradition and required competitive examinations for West Point and Annapolis, Eisenhower could not have attended. If Colonel Shaw had not gone to bat for him, he would not have been commissioned. Ike was confident in his ability when he graduated, but he had been given two valuable assists along the way.

  When the Class of 1915 was called upon in World War II, it met the challenge. Of the 115 men still on active duty, 60 became general officers. Aside from Eisenhower and Bradley, who became five-star generals of the Army, there were 2 full generals, 7 lieutenant generals, 24 major generals (15 of whom commanded divisions in combat), and 25 brigadier generals. The Class of 1915 is called “the class the stars fell on.” Yet they were no different from the West Point classes two or three years before and after. The Military Academy, for all of its shortcomings, trained officers for command responsibility. It fell to the Class of 1915 to lead the way.

  * * *

  a The River Brethren, several hundred strong, derived their name from their residence along the Susquehanna. Like their nonconformist Mennonite forebears they rejected infant baptism and the authority of the established church, and believed the Bible to be the true word of God. They distinguished themselves from the Mennonite faith by their insistence on baptism by trine immersion and their emphasis on the literal interpretation of the scriptures. The River Brethren, subsequently organized as the Church of the Brethren in Christ, dressed plainly and stressed the Spartan virtues of self-reliance and self-denial. They rejected violence, military service, alcohol, tobacco, and other worldly pleasures in obedience to God’s will. On the other hand, the accumulation of property was almost an act of piety. Prosperity was considered an expression of God’s favor. In a sense, the River Brethren were early evangelicals. The phrase “born again” was not in common usage at the time, but it would describe their belief that salvation through Christ is received by personal faith and repentance. For an extensive treatment of the River Brethren and their beliefs, see Laban T. Brechbill, History of the Old Order River Brethren 5–22 (Lancaster, Pa.: Brechbill and Stricker, 1972). Also see Kenneth S. Davis, Soldier of Democracy: A Biography of Dwight Eisenhower 10–13 (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1945).

  b “Hell is now in session in Abilene,” proclaimed the Topeka Sentinel in July 1867. After the Civil War, the tiny hamlet of Abilene found itself the western terminus of the Kansas Pacific Railroad, and the northern terminus of the Chisholm Trail. Cattlemen from Texas, eager to sell their range-fattened longhorns on the eastern market, drove their cattle 1,200 to 1,500 miles up the Chisholm Trail to the railroad at Abilene, where they would be loaded onto cattle cars and shipped to meat packers in Kansas City and Chicago. In Texas the cattle sold for two dollars to five dollars a head; in Abilene they brought ten and sometimes twenty times that much. Between 1867 and 1872 more than two million cattle were shipped from Abilene. In the peak year of 1871, six hundred thousand made the journey. In 1872, when the rail lines pushed south and west to Wichita and Dodge City, Abilene ceased to be a shipping point for Texas cattle.

  During its cattle heyday from 1867 to 1872, Abilene was America’s sin city. The typical herd consisted of 2,500 cattle. It required ten to twelve cowboys to move the herd on its long journey, and when they reached Abilene their work was done. They would be paid off, and after several months on the trail were eager to celebrate. In 1870, Abilene, with a permanent population of less than a thousand, offered seventeen saloons, six hotels, and a dozen dance halls. The local boot factory employed twenty bootmakers to keep up with cowboy demand; the Alamo saloon, Abilene’s largest and most famous, kept four bartenders busy pouring drinks. Drunken cowboys wandered the streets and shootings were commonplace. A pair of frontier marshals, Tom Smith and James Butler Hickok, brought a semblance of order to Abilene, but it was not until the railhead moved west to Dodge and Wichita that peace was restored.

  Samuel Eliot Morison, The Oxford History of the American People 756–57 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1965); Peter Lyon, The Wild, Wild West 75–76 (New York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1969); Larry D. Underwood, Abilene Lawmen 1–195 (Lincoln, Neb.: Dageforde Publishing, 1999).

  c When he assumed office in January 1953, Eisenhower made headlines when he announced that he was beginning cabinet sessions with a moment of silent prayer. (The suggestion had been made by Agriculture Secretary Ezra Taft Benson, one of the Twelve Apostles of the Mormon Church.) “I know that without God’s help we cannot succeed,” said Benson. “With his help we cannot fail” (quoting Lincoln’s farewell remarks in Springfield in 1861).

  d In Kansas City, Arthur roomed originally in a boardinghouse kept by a Mrs. Trow on Troost Avenue. Another young boarder was Harry Truman, from Independence. “Harry and I had only a dollar a week left over for riotous living,” Arthur recalled. David McCullough, Truman 72–73 (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1992).

 
e Eisenhower was within West Point’s requirements and so when he entered in June 1911 he provided his true birth date. In Clay’s case, the incorrect date (1897, not 1898) became part of his military record. I discovered the discrepancy in 1970 while researching Clay’s biography, and it is the only time I (or probably anyone else) ever saw General Clay flustered. “I hate to put anything like that on the record,” he said, “because it is so tied up with my whole legal existence—retirement, Social Security, the whole works.” I suggested I could not very well write his biography if I was not candid about his birth date, and he acquiesced. Before Clay died in 1978, he wrote the inscription for his tombstone at West Point and left blank the line where the date of his birth would normally have been inscribed. Several years later the official date was added by his son, Major General Frank Clay. Jean Edward Smith, Lucius D. Clay: An American Life 25–26 (New York: Henry Holt, 1990).

  f Grant famously said he knew only two tunes: “One was Yankee Doodle. The other wasn’t.” Horace Porter, Campaigning with Grant 83 (New York: Century, 1897).

  g Asking Ike what brand he smoked might have been like asking the 1850s Grant what brand of whiskey he drank. Eisenhower went cold turkey in November 1949 while president of Columbia. Asked by Clare Booth Luce how he accomplished it, Eisenhower reportedly said, “I simply gave myself an order.” Quoted in Merle Miller, Ike the Soldier 40 (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1987).

  h In 1945, at a wedding party in Berlin, Eisenhower inveigled Marshal Georgy Zhukov, General Vassily Sokolovsky, and General Lucius D. Clay into a contest of falling to the floor. “Here we were, the four of us, in dress uniforms, crashing down and desperately trying not to break our noses—which was not the easiest thing to do.” Clay, interview, COHP.

  TWO

  The Great War

  I suppose we’ll spend the rest of our lives explaining why we didn’t get into this war.

  —DWIGHT D. EISENHOWER,

  November 11, 1918

  At graduation, Eisenhower requested assignment to the Philippines—the only member of his class to ask for duty in the Far East. Instead, he was posted to the 19th Infantry—the famed “Rock of Chickamauga” regiment—stationed at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio.1 Trouble brewed on the Mexican border, and the War Department was bringing its forces in the region to full strength.

  In 1911, Mexico’s longtime president, Porfirio Díaz, was overthrown in a revolutionary uprising. A period of instability ensued, culminating in the seizure of power by General Victoriano Huerta in early 1912. The Taft administration maintained a hands-off policy, and was on the verge of recognizing the Huerta regime when it left office. But President Woodrow Wilson had other ideas. A former Princeton politics professor, Wilson was determined “to teach the Latin American republics to elect good men.”2 He withheld diplomatic recognition, and the situation remained in limbo until a minor incident at Tampico in April 1914 provided a pretext for the United States to intervene.a Congress granted Wilson authority to take military action, and on April 21, 1914, U.S. Marines seized the port of Veracruz, choked off Huerta’s supplies, and forced him to flee the country three months later. Huerta was succeeded by the constitutionally elected General Venustiano Carranza, whom Wilson eventually recognized as Mexico’s de facto government. But Carranza encountered stiff resistance from rebel forces led by General Francisco (“Pancho”) Villa in the north, and Emiliano Zapata in the south. The War Department was concerned lest further intervention become necessary, and Congress’s authorization to use force continued in effect.

  After a final summer in Abilene, Eisenhower reported for duty in September 1915. He was assigned to F Company, 2nd Battalion, 19th Infantry—one of two new West Point second lieutenants to join the regiment.3 His salary was $141.67 a month, plus modest allowances for subsistence and housing. Other lieutenants in the 19th Infantry—an exceptional group of gifted, ambitious officers—included five future full generals and one lieutenant general. Carl “Tooey” Spaatz commanded American air forces in North Africa, Sicily, and Europe, and later became the first Air Force chief of staff; Jacob L. “Jakie” Devers commanded Ike’s Sixth Army Group; and Walton H. Walker, Class of 1912, commanded Eighth Army during the Korean War.4 Wade Haislip commanded XV Corps in Normandy, then Seventh Army, and finally served as Army vice chief of staff. Leonard T. “Gee” Gerow, a graduate of the Virginia Military Institute, commanded V Corps on D-Day and later Fifteenth Army; and Robert Eichelberger commanded Eighth Army for MacArthur in the Pacific.

  Fort Sam Houston, founded in 1845 during the period of Texas independence, was the largest troop cantonment in the United States, and was considered a choice assignment. The winters were mild, San Antonio provided diversion, quarters were among the best in the Army, and the possibility of action along the Mexican border was always in the offing. The post was commanded by Major General “Fighting Fred” Funston, who headed the Army’s Southern Department. The shortest (five feet five inches tall), youngest (fifty), and most aggressive general on active duty, Funston enjoyed a legendary reputation as the nation’s preeminent combat commander. He had distinguished himself as a colonel of Kansas volunteers in Cuba, fought three years in the Philippines, and in 1901 had been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor and commissioned a brigadier general in the Regular Army for his role in the defeat and capture of Emilio Aguinaldo, leader of the Philippine insurrection. Most recently, Funston had commanded the Army’s follow-on occupation of Veracruz, and it was widely assumed that should the United States become involved in further hostilities, Funston would command the forces.

  Eisenhower’s reputation as coach of West Point’s junior varsity preceded him to San Antonio. Shortly after he arrived he was approached by the headmaster of a local prep school, the Peacock Military Academy, to coach the school’s football team for the princely salary of $150. “Munificence itself,” said Ike in retrospect.5 But Eisenhower was at his first duty station and unfamiliar with Army routine. Assuming his duties would be round-the-clock, he politely declined the offer. The fact is the Army started its workday early and usually finished training by noon. Afternoons were devoted to maintenance, horse and motor stables, administration, and athletics, all of which were supervised by the unit’s noncommissioned officers (NCOs). Officers traditionally had afternoons to themselves. Ironically, Ike’s reluctance to coach brought him to the attention of General Funston, an old friend of the headmaster’s. With calculated informality, Funston walked into the officers’ club shortly afterward, headed for the bar, and asked to no one in particular, “Is Mr. Eisenhower in the room?” Ike acknowledged his presence and Fighting Fred, to the consternation of the post’s junior officers, invited him for a beer.

  Eisenhower, first row, left, as coach of the Peacock Academy football team in San Antonio, 1915. (illustration credit 2.1)

  “Mr. Peabody tells me he would like you to coach his team at the academy,” said Funston.

  “Yes, sir,” Eisenhower replied.

  “It would please me and be good for the Army if you would accept his offer.”

  “Yes, sir.”6

  That fall Ike coached Peacock Academy to a winning season. The next year, 1916, he shifted to St. Louis College, a Catholic preparatory school that had not won a game in five years. Under Ike the school tied its first game, won its next five, and narrowly lost the city championship. Eisenhower’s coaching reputation was established. For the next ten years orders to coach various Army football teams would follow him from post to post.

  In October 1915, less than a month after reporting to Fort Sam Houston, Eisenhower met and immediately fell in love with nineteen-year-old Mary Geneva Doud, better known as Mamie, the second of four attractive daughters of John and Elivera Doud of Denver, Colorado. Like a number of affluent Coloradans, the Douds wintered in San Antonio, were well acquainted with the military community, and often attended social events on post. Like Ike, Mamie was a total extrovert: full of life, frivolous, flirtatious, and the center of attention at any
social gathering. The attraction was mutual. Mamie thought Eisenhower, who was six years older, was “just about the handsomest male I had ever seen.”7 Ike found Mamie’s outgoing personality and delicate looks enchanting. “I was intrigued by her appearance.”8

  The Douds inhabited an entirely different world from that with which Eisenhower was familiar. John Sheldon Doud’s ancestors landed in America in 1639, were among the founders of Guilford, Connecticut, were uniformly well educated, and prospered commercially. John’s father (Mamie’s grandfather) established a successful meatpacking firm in Chicago in the 1870s and made a fortune. John graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in mathematics, founded his own meatpacking firm in Boone, Iowa, and made an even larger fortune. In Boone he married sixteen-year-old Elivera Carlson, daughter of affluent Swedish immigrants, and established a substantial household. “It was a very comfortable life,” Mamie’s younger sister Mabel (“Mike”) recalled. “We had a cook, a nurse, and a yardman. We also had a houseman. He worked inside, but sometimes if the yardman didn’t come, he worked outside. And he drove for us.”9

  In 1902, when Mamie was six years old, John Doud decided to retire and move to Colorado. He had accumulated over a million dollars ($20 million currently), and, with no income tax to contend with, believed he had more than enough to live prosperously. After initially sampling life in Pueblo and Colorado Springs, the Douds moved to Denver, where John purchased a fashionable mansion in the affluent Capitol Hill section, just east of the statehouse. There were six bedrooms, white Corinthian columns, broad verandas, and a paneled billiard room in the basement. After Ike was elected president, the Doud house at 750 Lafayette Street became the summer White House.