Patton: the man behind the legend 1885-1945.

SPLENDID ANACHRONISM 

NO GENERAL lives with us more today than George S. Patton Jr.--perhaps in part because of what the author of this book calls George C. Scott's "remarkably accurate portrayal of the public figure" in the 1970 film. In the present work, Martin Blumenson attempts a portrait of the private figure--no easy task, because Patton so Thoroughly honed his image. But Mr. Blumenson is eminently suited for the job, having been a staff historian for Patton's Third Army--although he never met the general--and having edited two volumes of Patton's own papers.

"A man of diffident manner will never inspire confidence," Patton once wrote, adding that the leader of men "must be an actor" and "have the fixed determination of acquire the warrior soul, and is unconvincing unless he lives the part." Patton lived the part, and the result is that all know, or think they know, Old Blood and Guts. The aristocratic bearing, the absolute self-confidence, the dedication to the profession of arms, the profanity, the fierce scowl in so many of the family photographs reproduced here: All were part of the warrior soul.

"We, as officers of the army, are not only members of the oldest of honorable professions, but also are the modern representatives of the demigods and heroes of antiquity," he told his men on one occasion. On another, he told them that they held the glory of American arms, the honor of the Army, and the future of the world in their hands. "See to it that you are worth of this great trust." He told them that battle was "the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best; it removes all that is base." He knew, he said, that they would "do their duty."

Heady stuff indeed, and all part of the Patton legend. Yet, as Blumenson emphasizes, the aristocratic bearing was the only part of it that came to him naturally (for Patton was a patrician, and so had certain class characteristics offensive to the egalitarian mind today, as well as certain prejudices). The rest was of his own manufacture.

Blumenson concludes that much of Patton's "act"--or his character, if you prefer-stemmed from the dyslexia he suffered from as a boy. "The seeming confidence of his actions and supreme rightness of his decisions emerged, paradoxially, from his own sense of dyslexic inadequacy. Succeeding in his endeavors at a terrible cost to himself, Patton sought perfection and was never satisfied with his performance."

Compounding this "terrible cost," according to Blumenson, was the subdural hematoma Patton acquired from too many knocks on the head from polo and various horseback-riding and automobile accidents. He specifically attributes the general's moodiness and at times volcanic anger--namely, the famous incidents in which he slapped GIs he thought were malingering in hospitals--to this blood on the brain.

"Like those who are unsure of their abilities, he needed continual reassurance, recognition, praise," writes Blumenson. "He received less than he expected, less than he needed, less than he thought he deserved."

Now, Blumenson is a Patton partisan, with no intention of diminishing the Patton reputation. Nevertheless, the theory of overcompensation does not adequately explain Patton's creation of his own character, which more than anything was the product of his genius for leadership, and for war. Genius cannot be explained in terms of a man's humanity; a Welsh proverb has it that genius only genius can explain. What we are left with is a very entertaining and perceptive appraisal of the man.

He believed in reincarnation, in his destiny to be a great commander, and in the necessity for excellence to be recognized. He told his son, on the latter's appointment to West Point, to dispense with friends and be a lone wolf, and also to do his damnesdest "in an ostentatious manner all the time" to ensure recognition of his virtues.

Trained as a cavalryman, Patton believed mobility was the key to war, favoring even lighter armament on tanks if it enhanced speed. He instructed his commanders to lead in person, establish command posts far in front to save time, and keep plans simple and flexible. Discipline, cleanliness, and neatness guaranteed alertness. "Do not take counsel of your fears," he advised them. "Everywhere he went," writes Blumenson, "he made two types of talks, one full of profanity for the enlisted men, the other quiet and thoughtful for the officers."

One relishes Patton's good sense. He distrusted the Russians, calling them "simply savages," and declaring that at the conclusion of the war the Allies should drive them back to the Volga. "The whole damned world is going Communist," he wrote once, in exasperation. He was no friend of labor unions, and called the liberal Democrat "the lowest type of politician."

He was a splendid anachronism, and knew that at the end there was nothing for him to do but, as he put it, "wait for the undertaker and post-humous immortality." As Blumenson notes, "He died at just the right time, while his triumphs in the war remained fresh," and before he could self-destruct over de-nazification. The greates tributes to him were paid by his old friend and commander, Dwight Eisenhower, who in the early days of the war called Patton "indispensable to the war effort--one of the guarantors of our victory," and later by German Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt, who said, "Patton was your best."

A note on the pictures: There are two of Patton wearing genuine smiles, one when he is dancing with one of his daughters as father of the bride, and another with Eisenhower. Best of all, though is the one of Patton modeling the tank corpsman's uniform he designed, of dark green gabardine with a row of white buttons along the side, all topped by what is apparently a gold football helmet. By heaven, it was beautiful.