Air University Review, March-April 1968

Marshall as Wartime Leader

Dr. Irving Brinton Holley

At first glance one might question why two such dissimilar books as The Second World War: A Military History and George C. Marshall—Ordeal and Hope, 1939-1942* should be yoked together for a joint review, but there is a rationale even if it is not immediately self-evident.  Can one truly appreciate a biography-in-depth, such as Pogue’s Marshall, without a working familiarity with the background, the grand panorama of events leading up through World War II?  For those of us who lived through the war, for the generation already mature when the crisis arrived, no synthetic chronology in retrospect is necessary.  For us, history is the event itself and not the written chronicle.  If one can recall, all too painfully etched in memory, the commingled mood of  consternation, dismay, and determination on the eight of December 1941, that grim morning after, then almost without the realizing it one has an invaluable context within which to real and understand Pogue’s remarkable contribution to the literature of leadership.  But what do those who do not remember the event?  It is worth reminding ourselves that fully half the men in uniform today have no meaningful memory of the war.  Few of today’s captains were even born at the time of the Munich crisis.  Yet it is precisely these young men who must recover World War II vicariously in the written word if they are to profit significantly from a biography of General George Marshall, however ably written it may be.  For this reason, the publication of Collier’s one-volume history of the war was welcomed: there is a crying need for such a book. 

A one-volume history of World War II is welcome for yet another reason.  Current events induce a myopia in all of us; today’s campaign tends to become the norm.  New threats, new problems, deadlier weapons, fresh heroes crowd the headlines.  At a time when the armed forces of the United States find themselves stretched woefully thin, pitters against a fifth rate (?) power in a relatively narrow through distant theater of action, it is decidedly useful to have a compact history in which the multiplicity of demands and the contradictory pressures of another more truly global war are drawn into focus within a single volume.

Moreover, Basil Collier’s credentials for writing such a book would appear to be impeccable. No cloistered scholar he. A novelist with several volumes to his credit, he served with distinction as a squadron leader in the Royal Air Force during “their finest hour.” Subsequently he was a Fighter Command historian, and more recently he has produced several volumes of military history and biography.

For many reasons, then, this reviewer approached Collier’s volume with enthusiasm; here at last was the promise of just the sort of book that has long been needed, a judicious, broad-brush treatment, comprehensive but concise, taking full advantage of the indispensable but too voluminous literature, official and unofficial, that has been pouring from the presses for the past twenty years. Unfortunately, these expectations were not fulfilled. This is not the long-awaited book.

To begin with, the point of view of Collier’s narrative is distinctly British, more particularly that of the British government. This in itself would not be detrimental if the author had faced the fact consciously and openly. Instead, the reader is left to discover the orientation for himself, largely by his unanswered queries about what the French or the Germans or others thought about any given problem. What is more, the book is marred throughout by an ill-concealed anti-American bias. Surely no fair-minded reader would resent explicit criticism of the position taken by the United States on a given issue if the case were put on its merits, pro and con, as seen from the historical perspective now possible. But Collier’s bias is of a more elusive character, often more a matter of tone than of assertion. Sometimes, however, his assertions are blunt enough, so much so as to leave the reader wondering how two readers of the same sources could find such different facts in them. Surely many readers will be surprised to learn that one of the important aims of America’s foreign policy in the 1920s was to “prevent her ally Britain from asserting naval supremacy throughout the world (p. 9)” One could, presumably, read such a connotation into the slogan “A Navy second to none,” but should one?

In Collier’s hands, even U.S. aid to Britain gets grudging treatment; the bases secured in return for 50 destroyers are described as “sacrifices.” When it comes to the Japanese declaration of war, one is left with the impression that President Roosevelt and his colleagues, in failing to take the stiff line advocated by Churchill, needlessly fostered Japanese aggression. And so it goes in chapter after chapter.

Partisan bias is only one source of irritation. Another is the freewheeling prose the author employs, repeatedly insinuating more than he documents. One example will serve to illustrate this practice. German fuel production improved somewhat in 1944, Collier writes, “because the Allies made fewer attacks on oil targets as a result of bad weather and their inability to frame a program of strategic bombing to which the commanders of their heavy bomber forces could be persuaded to conform.” (p. 421) There is a significant issue here, but is it legitimate history to toss off such sardonic allegations without a word of justification or supporting evidence?

Undoubtedly a large part of Collier’s difficulty in this volume stems from his defective use of the available sources. A survey of his documentation offers a clue: the book appears to have been written from a thin gloss of one layer of secondary accounts, and that layer is usually a British one. This reviewer would be quite willing to concede that in some particular instance the better part of a debated issue between, say, Montgomery and Eisenhower might, on the evidence now obtainable, lie with the former. But to pass judgment almost exclusively on the basis of accounts drawn from one side of the argument, as Collier seems to do, is patently unfair and unprofessional. For example, in the chapters on the conquest of Germany, the main source is a volume in the British official history, and the American counterparts are virtually ignored. Worse yet, in the chapters on the conquest of Japan, where the operations were often over overwhelmingly American, the same sources dominate. Of 62 footnotes in Chapter 21, only about a dozen refer to a scattering of American sources, while 28 cite one volume and 18 cite another volume in the United Kingdom military series.

Collier’s bibliography confirms this impression. Of some 228 titles listed, only about 72 appear to be non-British. The seven-volume Army Air Forces official history by Craven and Cate is not even listed, while French, German, Russian, and Japanese sources are limited to a handful. Most surprising of all perhaps is the neglect of Australian sources, which is disappointing from an author who has contributed to the generally excellent British official history.

On the other hand, the book does have its merits. Not surprisingly, the author is at his best when dealing with the air war on the western front. There is a good chapter on the Norwegian campaign, and the account of the shuttlecock desert war in North Africa is a model of clarity and compression, aided by a generous allotment of maps. Each of these chapters abounds in valuable insights. The relationship between the local theater and the larger global scene is appropriately emphasized, as is the relationship between air power and ground operations. However, logistical considerations in the theaters and production on the home front are inadequately treated. In sum, the difficult task of writing a one volume history remains to be done.

By contrast, Forrest Pogue’s second volume in his multivolume biography of General George C. Marshall is an entirely different kind of study. His first volume, subtitled Education of a General, covered Marshall’s career to the time of his selection as Chief of Staff. This one is confined to the years 1939-1942.

A multivolume biography, especially one appearing by installments, poses serious problems of organization and artistry. Although the author has endeavored to make this particular segment of his subject’s life a coherent entity, readers who wish a rounded portrait of Marshall the man must read all the volumes as a single narrative. This is not to suggest, however, that one should delay reading until the whole series is published; there are plenty of riches to be mined from this book even if one must wait for the complete account.

Although this volume represents only a truncated portion of the Marshall portrait, in many respects the years that it covers were the most important period of his career. The General himself regarded the span of months from the fall of France to Pearl Harbor as his most crucial period. Valuable lessons may be learned from the later wartime years of peak production and full mobilization, but the most important insights are those to be gleaned from the period when the nation was divided, the troops were untrained, and weapons were lacking. As Marshall put it: Study the first six months, not the last six. And it is precisely the virtue of Pogue’s work that he has written the kind of biography that can be studied in depth. Indeed, its most ardent readers will undoubtedly be those conscientious young officers who have discovered that the best professional education is what they dig out for themselves as they read, reflect upon, and reread books such as this.

No small part of the virtue of this book is the meticulous craftsmanship that has gone into its composition. As an Army historian in World War II and as the author of  The Supreme Command in the Army’s official history series, Pogue came to his task with years of experience and an impressive familiarity with the personalities and sources involved. Once embarked upon the biography, he spent thousands of hours interviewing literally hundreds of individuals—privates, generals, and statesmen—at home and abroad. He and a considerable staff of assistants went through a mass of official files, private diaries, published papers, and the like, in a way only possible for a subsidized enterprise such as this. But the sheer bulk of the evidence impressive as it may be, is not the most important  point. Far more significant is the approach taken. General Marshall himself set the pattern when he refused to make unilateral retrospective judgments on individuals. “I don’t think it would be quite fair because the officers would have no chance to answer. . . .” (p. 443) This generous spirit, so characteristic of the man, Pogue has faithfully adopted as his own.

On controversial issues, hostile critics are given their say, and opposing views are carefully cited. Throughout there is an ever tenored refusal to resort to stridency. For some readers this may appear as a fault, muting the abrasive clash of personalities to produce an unrealistically bland assemblage of supporting characters. Serious readers, however, will gladly trade a certain loss of dramatic intensity for the fuller, fairer record afforded here.

Inevitably, in a study of the period from 1939 to 1942, the dramatic focus gravitates to the Pearl Harbor episode and the sensitive question of individual responsibility for the disaster that marked the nation’s entry into the war. Here the author threads his way judiciously through the morass of evidence, the written record, the subsequent testimony, and the partisan literature which surrounds that event. It is by now an old story, told and retold; he imparts little that is entirely new, certainly no great revelations or fresh evidence of a spectacular nature. What he does offer is a clear narrative in which the mistakes and errors of judgment made by all parties, including General Marshall, are dispassionately described and assessed.

In the final analysis Pogue finds that it was circumstance rather than specific individual misjudgment that precipitated disaster. By way of example, consider this evaluation of the fact that so many failed to appreciate the significance of the crucial Japanese messages intercepted and successfully broken by the chief Army cryptanalyst: “A more serious weakness was that recipients were not permitted to keep a file of copies for comparison and careful study. The intercepts had to be returned to the central file as soon as they were read and all but a master copy destroyed. As a result the cumulative evidence of Japanese intent was never spread out for examination at one time.” (p. 198) This kind of sober analysis may be far less dramatic than sensational disclosures about individual misdeeds, but it is more meaningful to the student of command.

If one reads history to learn, it is well to remember that more is to be gleaned from the study of processes than from personalities. In any future context, entirely new and complex personalities will dart across the stage in rapid succession. But the processes or institutional factors, while changing, will change more slowly, and procedures from 1941—such as the handling of secret information—will undoubtedly continue to offer insights in 1971 and perhaps for still later generations.

Interesting and informative as the chapters on the Pearl Harbor disaster certainly are, they do not represent the real heart of this book. The soul-searing trial of George Marshall is only a single facet of what is in effect an intensive study in command, a veritable manual on the art of leadership. In the space made available by a multivolume approach, the author is able to treat in lavish detail one episode after another illustrating Marshall’s techniques ‘for exercising leadership. These range from the evidently intuitive to the shrewdly contrived. And whether one aspires to be a future Chief of Staff or must settle for some lesser role, the insights offered here will more than reward the effort expended. Some of the subjects Pogue develops in depth can be suggested in a series of questions that every student of command will appreciate: How does one achieve a proper relationship with one’s civilian superiors? When does a proper subordination require one to speak out boldly? How can one best relate to and make use of a valuable but prickly personality (such as Bernard Baruch)? What is loyalty? How can one be effectively loyal to a superior (Secretary Woodring) with whom one disagrees and whom one probably dislikes? (“I can’t expect loyalty from the Army if I do not give it.” p. 22) How can one appear most effectively before Congress? (“Marshall acted and talked the way they believed a leader should.” p. 149) How does one deal with a mercurial President, with public critics, with the gentlemen of the press?

At another level, what is the difference between the regular enlisted soldier of peacetime and the citizen soldier of wartime, and how does one deal with them most effectively? (“Soldiers will tolerate almost anything in an officer except unfairness and ignorance.” p. 111) And how does one get the best results when confronted with the countless political sensitivities of the National Guard? How does one cope with soldier and home-front morale? (In what other nation would a Chief of Staff devote precious time every day to answering personally a half-dozen letters from soldiers or their families?) How can one be sure that the best men are promoted and the unfit are eliminated? How does one go about selecting, training, and testing that inner circle of advisers upon whom one must rely when there is no time for deliberation and verification?

As the narrative unfolds, anecdote by anecdote, one learns how a planning staff proceeds, how grand strategy is hammered out amidst conflicting pressures, why maneuvers are so necessary, and why physical fitness and stamina are no less important than brains. Here, too, one learns the tricks of the trade in practical ways, such as how to conduct an inspection.

From the book as a whole, taken as a study of command, one observation emerges inescapably: Behind all the skills or devices of leadership, as practiced by George Marshall, lay a single all-important, all-pervasive attribute—integrity. This point is made repeatedly in one way or another (“a decent regard for the opinions of others; a code of the gentleman to be observed” p. 40), but it is illustrated most forcefully in the account of Marshall and the “plucking board” appointed to eliminate old and ineffective officers. So self-effacing was the Chief of Staff that he urged upon the President his willingness to submit his own name and step aside for a younger man.

But Marshall was not replaced by a younger man, and for the future of the air arm this fact made a great deal of difference. The long struggle for a separate air force led almost inevitably to exaggerated accounts of the tensions and hostilities allegedly inhibiting the new service within the Army. In reality, Marshall was remarkably friendly to the Air Corps. True, he resisted the move for an immediate separation, but largely because he realized, correctly, that the necessary resources, especially the trained staff officers, for such a radical step simply were not available.

Probably the best measure of Marshall’s genuine appreciation of air power is reflected in his protracted struggle to prevent the President and even Secretary of War Stimson from stripping the Army of its meager input of aircraft in order to supply the British. Here again Pogue keeps the problem in perspective. In retrospect, with one’s view obscured by those hundred thousand aircraft produced in the peak year of 1944, one can easily forget how hard Marshall had to fight. It helps if one recalls that as late as April 1940 a House committee cut the Army’s allotment of new planes for the following year to a mere 57 items. Pogue drives the point home, and incidentally underscores Marshall’s appreciation of air power, in his account of how the General had to struggle to dissuade President Roosevelt from turning over to the British every other B-17 that rolled off the production line. A poor public speaker, the Chief of Staff could be eloquent when he spoke from strong conviction. And in one dramatic encounter he stunned the President into at least temporary acquiescence by grimly announcing that he had only 49 bombers in the entire United States fit for duty.

General Arnold and his enthusiastic young subordinates were, if anything, rather too successful in their pleas for air power. Pogue makes it clear that they oversold Marshall on the B-17 and its potential. For many years previously, official thinking in the War Department had regarded the Philippines as indefensible. Then late in 1940, under Marshall’s lead, this policy was reversed. Doubtless the presence in the islands of such a strong personality as MacArthur and Marshall’s own emotional attachment stemming from his early service there had something to do with the decision. But Pogue flatly asserts that Marshall’s “overrating of the current capacity of the heavy bomber” also helped develop the notion that the islands could “play a key role in deterring further Japanese expansion toward the south.” (p. 186)

The high price of this “success” in selling air power to the Chief of Staff was almost immediately apparent. General Lewis Brereton, who was selected to command the new air concentration in the Pacific outpost, was appalled to discover that his bomber force was to be built up long before adequate fighter aircraft would be available to defend it. The swift destruction of Brereton’s forces by the Japanese invaders scarcely a year later would seem more than enough to have shattered Marshall’s unrealistic expectations. But he did not lose faith in his aviators. Even when they squandered the time given by a nine-hour advance warning and lost half their airplanes on the ground, he continued to be a generous advocate of greater air power and further autonomy for the air arm. In passing, it should be remarked that the author sheds no new light on this long-unanswered historical question why MacArthur’s aircraft were caught so flatfooted.

Despite the disasters in the Pacific, General Marshall soon gave concrete evidence of his continued belief in both air power and his airmen by his thoroughgoing reorganization of the Army in March 1942. Not only did he choose a tough and colorful flyer, General Joe McNarney, as the principal draftsman—better said “hatchetman”—of that reorganization, but the structure that emerged, the Army Air Forces, marked the real beginning of meaningful autonomy for the air arm. The author’s detailed account of the skillful tactics Marshall employed to push through this massive reorganization is a textbook in itself. He tells how the coup was planned, how the opposition was circumvented, and, above all, the price the Chief of Staff had to pay in human relationships.

Certainly no single feature of Pogue’s book makes a greater impression than do his reiterated accounts of the enormous pressures—moral, social, physical—that must be borne by those in command. The anguish of the Chief of Staff when compelled to dismiss faltering officers, the shattered friendships, the recrimination of wives and families—all are poignantly described. So too are his relations with such difficult personalities as General Hugh Drum, General “Vinegar Joe” Stillwell, and, of course, General Douglas MacArthur, all of whom stand revealed in skillfully drawn sketches garnished with anecdote. There are happier sketches, such as those of Marshall’s warm relations with Sir John Dill, chief British representative in Washington, and with a rising young staff officer named Eisenhower. But, friendly interludes apart, the emphasis is on the tension, the crushing burdens, under which the Chief of Staff labored as he sought to reconcile the exigent demands of an invasion of North Africa and a secondary theater in the Pacific, where the unexpected reverses at Guadalcanal threatened to absorb an incredible share of available resources.

Read this book. Do more than read it: Study it. Though it is only a fragment of the Pogue portrait of General George Marshall, it is an important fragment; one sees the man, warts and all, sometimes ill-tempered, sometimes gravely mistaken, but unfailingly a man of remarkable strength of character, a true leader.

Durham, North Carolina

* Basil, Collier, The Second World War: A Military History (New York: William Morrow and Co., 1967, $8.95), xvi and 640pp,
   Forrest C. Pogue, George C. Marshall— Ordeal an Hope, 1939-1942 New York: The Viking Press, 1966, $8.95), xviii and 491 pp.

Contributor

Dr. Irving Brinton Holley, Jr. (Ph.D., Yale University) is Professor, History Department, Duke University, and a colonel in the Air Force Reserve, in which he takes an active part in the reserve affairs.  He enlisted in the Army, rose to staff sergeant as an instructor in aerial gunnery officer in the First Air Force and in technical intelligence at Headquarters Air Material Command.  He was on the faculty of the Industrial College of the Armed Forces from 1945 until he accepted an appointment at Duke in 1947.  Professor Holley is the author of  Ideas and Weapons (1953) and Buying Aircraft: Air Material Procurement for the Army in World War II, as well as of numerous articles and reviews in professional journals. 

Disclaimer

The conclusions and opinions expressed in this document are those of the author cultivated in the freedom of expression, academic environment of Air University. They do not reflect the official position of the U.S. Government, Department of Defense, the United States Air Force or the Air University.

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