Education of a General – Chapter 06 – Professional Training

Publisher: The George C. Marshall Foundation

“It was the hardest work I ever did in my life. . . .I learned a thoroughness which [later] stood me in good stead through all the clamor and push and excitement [and] lack of time. . . .”

Again Marshall had extraordinary luck in timing. In retrospect it appears that he had to get his appointment to Leavenworth in 1906 or miss his career. In 1903 Brigadier General J. Franklin Bell had become commandant of the reopened schools at Leavenworth. Bell took great interest in them and worked hard to give them high professional quality and standing in the Army. Among other things, he insisted that regimental commanders, some of whom regarded Leavenworth as a convenient place to shuffle off deadbeats, select better qualified officers to attend the first course. That insistence may have helped Marshall get his appointment. In 1906 Bell became Chief of Staff. Still intent on upgrading Leavenworth, he directed that henceforth only officers in the rank of captain be assigned to the course. Marshall was appointed just before this order took effect. He did not become a captain until 1916 and then it would have been too late to have been named to Leavenworth until after the beginning of war. Had he missed out in 1906, he would have missed the ten years of intensive training and experience in staff work that prepared him for the important staff positions he


held during the war and brought him into close association with General Pershing, so important to his career. No doubt other paths could have led him to the top, but the course he actually followed was opened to him just briefly, just that once.

At the outset there was a small disappointment. Lily could not go with him right away. Additional quarters for married officers were under construction but would not be ready until mid-October at least. Meanwhile, the school adjutant suggested, Mrs. Marshall and her mother, Mrs. Coles (apparently then living with them, as she did off and on during all their married life), might “visit some rich relative.”

So Marshall came u p by himself in the middle of August and took bachelor quarters. He was not long in discovering that he had a hard road ahead. If the entire entering class of fifty-four were not top caliber, most were older and more experienced than he. They included, with him, nine future generals, the most outstanding of whom at that time appeared to be Captain Charles D. Rhodes, graduate of West Point, veteran of the Philippines campaign, and former member of the War Department General Staff. Rhodes, nearly evertbody thought, would certainly stand first in the class. George IMarshall had another opinion. Finding himself a definite underdog acted as a spur to his ambition. When he overheard two classmates guessing who were most likely to be kept on for the second year and found his own name missing from the list he reacted as he had long ago on hearing Stuart run down his prospects at VMI: he would show them.

When Elihu Root had reopened Liavenworth in 1902 as General Service and Staff College his aim, it will be recalled, had been to develop a training course for officers tabbed for higher command and General Staff duty. In 1906 Leavenworth was still not that, but the transformation had gone far, considering the novelty of the whole concept of postbaduate professional training in the American Army. Two exceptional officers were largely responsible, General Bell, commandant of the school from 1903-1906, and Colonel Arthur L. Wagner, instructor at Leavenworth from 1888 to 1904.  Wagner, “the first of our military men to write anything readable on tactics, was a kindly, friendly old


man who looked like a farmer dressed up in uniform.” Bell was tall (six feet two), large-boned, a vigorous, extroverted man who participated in sports with the younger officers and called them
and their wives by their first names-an unusual informality in those days and particularly in the Army, which maintained an extra reserve between ranks.

Bell’s great quality was his vast store of energy. Born in Kentucky in 1856, and commissioned in 1878 after graduation from West Point, he was still a lieutenant of cavalry at the outbreak of the Spanish-American War. Besides the usual garrison duty, he had served as professor of military science at Southern Illinois Normal University, where he had picked up a law degree. He had also been secretary of the Cavalry and Light Artillery School at Fort Riley. When the war came he was quickly promoted to temporary major of volunteers and in 1895 went to the Philippines. There he acted successively as chief of the Office of Information, chief engineer, and acting judge advocate, and made his way u p to temporary colonel. At that point he was given command of a volunteer infantry regiment and had a chance to prove himself as a tough, able soldier. He won the Medal of Honor and within a year was promoted to brigadier of volunteers. In 1901 while in command of the Department of Luzon, where he destroyed the rebel forces of General Malvar, he became brigadier general in the regular Army. When he took over as Chief of Staff in April 1906 he was not quite fifty it was just eight years since he had discarded his lieutenant’s bars?

Leavenworth in the early days of its renaissance needed both the professional and thoughtful spirit of Colonel Wagner and the protective and stimulating enthusiasm of General Bell to survive the indifference or even hostility of Army conservatives, who called the school “Bell’s Folly” and found it unmilitary of Colonel Wagner to write books. Opposition on the part of older officers to “any studious preparation” Marshall recalled as having been “decided,” and he thought it “quite outrageous.” So did General Bell, who responded gladly to Colonel Wagner’s request, only a few months before the latter’s death, that the War Department “cause a ray of light to penetrate the skulls of some of these superannuated individuals, who have not kept pace with the


march of events, and who will give the detail at Leavenworth to the regimental idiot.” As Chief of daE, 1906-10, a period which coincided with Marshall’s four years at Leavenworth, Bell kept an uncomfortably close watch over his two successors as commandants of the Army Service Schools, Colonel Charles B. Hall (who was Marshall’s first regimental commander in the Philippines) and Brigadier General Frederick Funston (who had captured Aguinaldo and was to win later fame for his activities in Mexico).

The old Infantry and Cavalry School became within a year or two of reopening a general servke course which in 1907 was renamed the Army School of the Line. It was to this course that Marshall and all of the other officerJ appointed to Leavenworth were first assigned. By 1906 it was the rule that approximately the top half of the class of the Schooliof the Line was eligible for the second-year course in the Army Staff College.   This was the core of Leavenworth training and ‘the goal of the ambitious officer student.

Marshall was, of course, determined to be among those who stayed a second year. He taught himself to study hard and to take nothing for granted. “I finally got into the habit of study, which I never really had before. I revived what little I had carried with me out of college and I became pretty automatic at the business . . . [but] it was the hardest work I ever did in my life.”

Much of the work consisted of committing facts and formulas to memory and recalling and applying what was memorized in classroom recitations. T h e marking ‘on this work was stringent and meticulous. Each student found, his performance constantly weighed to hundredths of a percentage point and stacked competitively against the performance of, his classmate.  Differences could be minute, yet critical. One day, for instance, when Marshall made 100 on a map exercise, his friend, Second LieutenantFay W. Brabson, with a grade of 95.17, ranked forty-seventh.  Under the strain Marshall had difficulty sleeping at night. ‘‘I used to get up and shine my boots.; I had very shiny boots at that early period.” But there was no question that he was making the grade. Steadily throughout the year he and four class-


mates-Captain Rhodes, Captain Monroe C . Kerth, Second Lieutenant Royden E. Beebe (one of Marshall’s closest friends in the class), and Second Lieu tenant Harry L. Hodges-jockeyed for position among the first five.

Then, in the middle of things, Marshall, along with Beebe, Brabson, and three first lieutenants, had to take time out for examinations for promotion. Not to interrupt their classes, these were scheduled for the Christmas holidays. Brabson’s diary was eloquent with the misery of it all. Noting that he and a Lieutenant Hennessey had had a “dandy meal” with the Marshalls on Christmas Day, he reported back to the grind at once for the first of the written exams in engineering on December 27. On the twenty-ninth they were making road sketches. “So foggy we couldn’t see the bottom of the hill. It rained all day. A big drop would fall off your hat on your pencil as you wrote . . . . We were wet, muddy, and hungry while other people were doing what they pleased.” And the indignity was compounded on December 31, which was “Sunday but not a day of rest.” Indeed on Sunday there were two papers: military law in the morning, theoretical topography in the afternoon. The test on drill regulatiom wound matters up on January 2. Everybody passed.ll Marshall, promoted to first lieutenant as of March 7, was not sworn in until October 28.

Concentration on grades and ranking had perhaps only a tenuous relation to education or even professional training, but since it had a close and demonstrable relation to career, Marshall characteristically applied himself without distraction to the task at hand. After Lily arrived at the post he found in, her frail health an excuse, whenever he wished it, to stay home and study. The routine of the Marshall household seems to have been quietly domestic, as he liked it, and keyed to his hard work.

A classmate recalls that Marshall never dallied after work. When tactical problems might require a ride several miles out from the post Marshall would always lead the way home. “We never bothered to find the shortest way-all we did was to watch George Marshall, and he would go off as straight as a bee to a beehive and we would follow him. Except once we were stopped at one of those western streams that run way down


in the ground. They are narrow and wind around in that country. The banks were fifteen feet high and there were no bridges there except a railroad bridge-one: of those narrow-gauge rail­ roads. It had a couple of twelve-inch ‘. planks laid across it for peo­ ple to walk across. . . . When we got there Marshall rode his horse across tha t bridge. Nobody fol,lowed him.” The classmate, Major General Charles D. Herron, ‘1as to know Marshall all his life and find tha t this was a lifelong habit. “He never fooled around and he knew exactly the way borne.”

School was not all grind. There was stimulus, too, above all from a remarkable teacher, Major John F. Morrison, who at about the age of fifty had just begun an instructorship in tactics that was to leave a mark on the Afuerican Army. For years to come an officer who could say, “I was a Morrison man,” had a kind of professional pedigree that commanded general respect. Morrison, a West Point graduate, had failed to ride the wartime expansion of the Army to rapid promotion, perhaps because he never got along very well with other men. A captain when the war broke out, he advanced only one grade during three years in the Philippines, was still a major when .he ws assigned as mili­ tary observer to the Japanese Army, which was fighting the Rus­ sians in Manchuria. Not until he came to Leavenworth as assist­ ant professor in the military art department did he find the right place for the development of his considerable talent. A prickly original, he was happiest in the master-student relationship and made his greatest appeal to young uncommitted minds.

“The students all took to Morrison immediately,” Marshall said. “He spoke a language that was new to us and appealed very much to our common .sense.” The new language was in fact the language of thought applied to military problems in place of the traditional language of regulations. “Af ter listening to him it began to appear that the others were talking about technique and calling it tactics; that he talked the simplicities of tactics and cared (or_ maybe knew) nothing of technique. In the mak­ ing of problems we [had been] given minu te cuts on dozens of little errors in technique, un til we came to him, and then we lost shirt, pants, and shoes in one swat, for violating a fundamental tactical principle which none of us had recognized as such. Here-

tofore we could recite the principle but rarely recognized it in action.

“His problems were short and always contained a knockout if you failed to recognize the principle involved in meeting the situation. Simplicity and dispersion became fixed quantities in my mind, never to be forgotten. . . . Me spoke a tactical language I had never heard from any other officer. H e was self-educated, reading cons tan tly and creating and solving problems for himself. He taught me all I have ever known of tactics.”

Morrison was, of course, exceptional. But Leavenworth would I increasingly accept his lead away from the cut-and-dried learning by rote, to emphasize the solving of operational problems. In 1903 the school had adopted a method of map exercises newly developed by the French. Two officers out of a class were given problems to work out on a large glass-encased map and at the end of an hour or so were required to explain and defend their solution before the class, which also heard a critique from the instructor. In Marshall’s time classes used maps of the Franco-Prussian War based on Griepenkerl, whose work had been freshly translated at Leavenworth. Captain Matthew F. Steele, author of the classic American Campaigns, taught them strategy and military history.

From March through May each student worked on twenty problems in the tactics of combined arms. They had, for instance, to plan a change of direction in a march, a retreat after defeat, a rear-guard action, an attack on a prepared position, an advance-guard action, the forcing of a river line. Marshall ranked third in these exercises, behind Captain Phodes and Lieutenant Beebe.

But when the year ended and all the rankings were averaged out, Marshall stood first in the class, as he had intended from the beginning? He was assured, of course, a place in the Army Staff College for the following year, but, even more important, his performance caught the eye of General Bell, who came from Washington to address the graduates. The General was at Leavenworth when a request came from the Pennsylvania National Guard for a regular Army officer to instruct the citizen soldiers during the summer. Bell recommended they be assigned several


instructors (five in fact were detailed) and that George CMarshall be one of them.

Marshall knew nothing about the prospect when he left Leavenworth with his wife at ,the beginning of July, planning a month’s vacation at a resort in Buffalo, Minnesota. Orders reached him on July 4 and directed that he report at once to Mount Gretna, Pennsylvania.  There he was assigned to the 13th Regiment, commanded by Colonel F. W. Stillwell.

Although only a week’s duty, it was of crucial importance. Marshall was such a success as an instructor, particularly in making the volunteers like their work and wish to excel in it, that he was asked to come back the next summer. And so began an association of several years with the National Guard from which Marshall picked u p invaluable experience in directing the maneuvers of large units. His success also vindicated General Bell’s faith in him and advertised the virtues of Bell’s old school. The young lieutenant’s stock stood high with the Chief of Staff.

The second year (1907-1905) at Leavenworth in the Army Staff College was a good deal less of a grind than the first, less fiercely competitive and more stimulating. Though Marshall continued to work hard it was no longer necessary to struggle for rank in class, and in fact no standings were given. Leavenworth was working against a weight of tradition to train officers not only ’to understand the principles of war but to apply them. One of Marshall’s classmates recalled the struggle. “It took a long time to make senior officers realize that if they didn’t make junior officers go through a process in which they alone must make decisions or make recommendations on which decisions could be based, they hadn’t done much.” For the first time students at the Staff College trained with the responsibility of a staff officer always in mind. Their papers were prepared for action with recommended solutions for command decision. “We were there in the midst of transformation and we knew it.”   

About half the hours of instruction were spent on military art. The class studied the duties of the General Staff, Von der Goltz’s book on the conduct of war, and the organization of foreign armies. They read some military history. They worked very hard on solving tactical problems and problems of troop leading.


They wrote papers on tactics and history and criticized them. (Marshall’s paper was on “Infantry Tactics in Defense.”) They reconstructed the Peninsula Campaign of the Civil War from official documents and plotted troop movements on large-scale maps especially prepared for them by the school’s engineering department.21 As chief of staff for General Lee they wrote orders for’ his withdrawal after Antietam; as General Meade’s chief of staff they submitted plans for action as of the evening of June 30, 1863. They became almost as intimately familiar with the details of the Franco-Prussian War. So well did they come to know the military topography of the battlefields around Metz that graduates who later fought there in World War I found they could sketch maps for their own actions from memory. Out of more recent history Major Morrison reported his own observations of the Russo-Japanese War, stimulating an interest in Marshall which he was to pursue on his own.

Of his experience at the Army, Staff College, Marshall said: “My reading of course was pretty helpful, as was my study of past operations. I learned how to digest them. . . . My habits of thought were being trained. While . . . I learned little I could use . . . I learned how to learn. . . . I began to develop along more stable lines. Leavenworth was immensely instructive, not so much because the course was perfect-because it was not-but the association with the officers, the reading we did and the discussion and the leadership . . . of a man like Morrison had a tremendous effect, certainly on me, and I think on most of my class.”

At the close of the school year in 1908 Major Morrison led the members of the Staff College class on a staff ride through the Shenandoah Valley to Get tysburg. Thirty-four officers, including
Morrison and Captain Steele, took horses from Manassas Junction and between July 3 and 15 rode to Bull Run, Gainesville, Delaplane, Front Royal, Middleburg, Harpers Ferry, Sharpsburg, Williamsport, Allegheny, and at last to Gettysburg. At each major stop instructors and students discussed the fighting that had taken place there. Six lectures at Gettysburg ended the tour, and Marshall gave the last, a review of the battle as a whole.

While in Rippon, West Virginia, Marshall and a companion


had stopped at a house for a drink of water. The residents, peo-ple named Osborne, asked them to stay for dinner. Something about the occasion made it especially heartwarming and memorable to the young lieutenant. Perhaps it was the unexpected touch of home life in the midst of the camping trip, or perhaps it was the charm of an excited little girl who was twelve and couldn’t get over the fact that soldiers on horseback had stopped at her house. In any case Marshall every year thereafter sent a note or gift to the Osbornes. Years later when he became Chief of Staff, he found that the little girl, now grown up, was working as a secretary in the Pentagon, and he made her the receptionist in his office.

The staff ride ended the school year, but Marshall presently learned that he was to stay on at Leavenworth as an instructor. One of five from his class unanimously proposed by the Academic Boards of the Leavenworth Schools, he was to teach engineering and military art. There was one difficulty: he was only a first lieutenant (and a very junior one at that); by the order of 1906 all of next year’s students would be captains. Major Morrison undertook to get around the difficulty by asking the War Department for special permission. Permission was given, Marshall understood, by General Bell himself.

As he indicated by his work with the Guard in Pennsylvania and now in the next two years demonstrated at length, Marshall had unusual talent as a teacher. H e might perhaps have been a great one, and he himself sometimes regretted that he had not set out on an academic career. I t is arguable at least that a good part of his impact on the Army was actually as a teacher. Besides Leavenworth, he had extremely influential teaching assignments later at the Infantry School at Fort Benning and with the National Guard on several occasions. More than that, his method, his style, in staff and command posts was to direct men by trying to make them see the way to go. “Me had the ability to make everybody understand”-so said one of the lieutenants in the 13th Regiment of the 3d Brigade of the Pennsylvania Guard in which Marshall was an instructor during the summer of 1908. The National Guard lieutenant, M. W. Clement, who later became president of the Pennsylvania Railroad, remembered more


than fifty years later the fresh wind of new ideas that blew into the regulation-stuffed Guard with Marshall and his fellow regular Army instructors. “A new world in military affairs opened itself up to the minds of the militia men.”

Like every good teacher, Marshall was also learning. At Leavenworth two more years of association with Morrison, as well as with such other distinguished instructors as Captain Steele and Captain Clarence O. Sherrill of the engineering department, deepened and extended the lessons of his student days.  In the summers he went back for duty with the Pennsylvania militia, where he had a chance to apply his theories, work out the problems, or some of them, with actual bodies of troops. It was ideal grounding for a staff officer.

Of his experience in putting on maneuvers with very limited time, restricted maneuver areas, and volunteers who had to be treated with rather more than regulation courtesy, Marshall said: “I learned a tremendous amount about how to do a great deal in a short time. Troops were arriving one day and going into maneuvers the next. We were running eight to ten maneuvers on the road. I shall never forget the lesson I learned from the human reactions and from what goes to make attacks, apart from maps.”

He also learned something of the unreadiness of the militia generally for war. From Pennsylvania, which was one of the few states having well-organized and fairly well-trained units, he went to Fort D. A. Russell outside Cheyenne, Wyoming, to take part in one of eight combined regular Army and National Guard exercises held in the summer of 1908. The maneuver was not large-all eight that summer involved less than fifty-five thousand men altogether-but it drew Army units from posts in South Dakota, Minnesota, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Colorado, Kansas, and California, and militia from Colorado, Utah, and Wyoming. T h e Wyoming maneuvers went badly, and the umpire commented that some of the militia “never had a sufficient number of companies together for battalion drills, much less regimental drills, and camps.” As for the reiular Army, many of their officers showed a clumsiness in handling troops that betrayed their lack of experience.



The umpire recommended further encampments and rnaneuvers. Many others had been recommending the same thing for many years. Yet, for the most part, both the states and Congress remained more sensitive to the expense than to the military need. Some state maneuvers were held every year, beginning in 1902 (except 1905, when Congress voted no money at all), and combined Army-militia exercises took place biennially and would continue u p to World War I. Every Secretary of War since Root recognized that the militia-not the regular Army-would constitute the bulk of the nation’s defense forces at the outset of any war. The regular establishment was, as Root put it, “the mold of form and the guide of practice for that greater army of citizens which will take up arms in case of war.” General Bell, and after him General Wood, urged the use of the Army as instructor for the citizen army, Early in 1908 a Division of Militia Affairs was set u p as part of the War Department General Staff, to plan and supervise the organization and training of the National Guard. If General Bell had had his way, Lieutenant Marshall would have been made assistant to the chief of that division and put in charge of National Guard training plans, but Bell was overruled by the Assistant Secretary of War, who felt that the job should go to a West Pointer.  The quality of the militia gradually improved. Yet the intent of the War Department to make of it, by federal regulation and training, an effective adjunct to the regular Army continued to be frustrated by inadequate resources, not least the inability of the Army itself to spare the instructors.

For George Marshall the relationship with the National Guard was a mutually happy and constructive one, and would continue. At Leavenworth the young instructor had achieved an eminence-if
a relatively humble one-had proved himself and found work that he enjoyed. He could relax a little. “I went out to some of the dances and saw people around. I was not working at night as I had before. But most of the profit to me came out of experience in dealing with other officers, with whom I am happy to say I got along very well. I did some hunting. I had hunting dogs to which I was much devoted. I rode practically every day.  I bought a horse and trained it, I wanted to learn how to do that.


That required a great deal of time, of course, particularly in the riding hall, which I didn’t like very much. But I undertook to try to train the horse.” His old arm injury apparently handicapped him in training because he could not check the horse when it stumbled. For the same reason he was never rated an expert horseman.

In the summer of 1909 Marshall, while on duty with the Pennsylvania National Guard at Somerset, found time for a brief visit with his parents at their home in the adjoining county. It was the last time he saw his father alive. His father’s affairs were in better order than they had been four years before. An effort by stockholders of the Percy Mining Company to show that he had misused funds of the company over a period of several years was met with a detailed accounting in January 1909 which apparently satisfied the court.  In 1908 George Catlett had been selected as one of, the state’s delegates to the Democratic National Convention on a slate pledging all-out support to William Jennings Bryan.

That same summer of 1909 Lieutenant Marshall and his wife visited her relatives in the “Green Mountain section” of Albemarle County, “as they called that isolated part . . . beyond Carter’s Bridge fifteen miles south of Charlottesville.” I t was one of those seemingly magic times when mood, circumstance, and experience combined to make him unusually susceptible to his surroundings, and he found himself yielding to the enchantment of the old South. All during his boyhood his Virginia and Kentucky ancestry had been drilled into him and he had seemed to resist it. For four years at VMI he had absorbed much of the military lore and spirit of the Confederacy while he was set apart as a Yankee. In his marriage he had heard much about his wife’s Virginia family and had been moved to defend the antiquity and gentility of Uniontown. Even now in Albemarle he thought he was viewed with some reserve as a Yankee and recalled that to Uncle Julian, the family retainer, he was in particular “Miss Lily’s” husband, a dubious quantity, until one day when he performed a routine trick of campcraft and Uncle Julian decided that he “would do.”

They stayed, he and Lily, in “a large but plain Reconstruction-


era white clapboard dwelling, . . . then the home of Miss Sally Coles” (Lily’s aunt). T o this house, in which Lily’s mother was then also living, came cousins, neighbors, friends-Coleses had lived in the county for a hundred years-to talk, mostly about old times, which in the changeless atmosphere of this isolated area seemed not so very old. Their talk measured a tiny but complete world. They discussed and solemnly debated how far it was “between ‘Woodville’ and the post office at Esmont, between ‘Old Woodville’ across the way and the little old red brick Episcopal church near Keene, where all of them attended services, between the ancient portals and great spreading yews of their ancestral homestead, ‘Tallwood,’ and ‘Warren,’ a disputed nine miles south of the James. Miss Sally recalled that, standing in the churchyard at St. Ann’s, she had heard distant cannon on that Palm Sunday morning of April 9, 1865 (the day of, the battle of Appomattox Courthouse). There had been a rumble as of thunder far away, across the river to the southwest. They were sure it was Lee’s army. As they entered church the firing was becoming desultory. It was quiet when the ladies, and the children, and a few old men returned to their paint-chipped, mud-flecked carriages and to their old, uncurried saddle horse. . . As they scattered to ride homeward, they did not know they had
heard the last guns before the surrender.”

The young lieutenant fell in love with this little world, its graciousness and hospitality, the charming serenity of the country, the horseback rides down tree-lined country lanes, the canoe trips on the James. He expressed his devotion in characteristic fashion, in action. He borrowed a buggy, “tied a handkerchief” on one wheel, measured the circumference of the wheel, and with the help of some neighbors set out to map the county. Day after day he pursued his project, measuring the distances “between plantations and crossroads, between infrequent hamlets, and innumerable fords, by counting the revolutions of this wheel.” Then from his computations he drew a map which still exists, a singularly energetic tribute to aromantic moment.

From the years 1908-10 come almost all of Marshall’s military writings-a surprisingly meager and routine production. He helped prepare a manual on Cordage and Tackle and con-


tributed to Captain Sherrill’s Map Making and Topography. As an associate editor of the Infantry Journal, he collected material about the school and articles by its instructors. He himself wrote
only one piece-an account of the preparation under his supervision of a detailed contour map of the Missouri National Guard camp near Nevada, Missouri. Although Marshall had a lifelong interest in professional military writing and would often go out of his way to encourage it, he had little facility in writing himself. This deficiency he tended to attribute to poor teaching. Yet it may be assumed that in any case his bent was not in that direction; his creativeness remained that of a teacher, stimulating and supporting others.

In 1910 he completed his four years at Leavenworth, a period in which many of the strands of his future career were woven. Among the officers he came to know well was Captain John McAuley Palmer, grandson of the General Palmer of Civil War fame. Palmer, who became a lifelong friend and exerted considerable influence on Marshall, was one of his students. So were Captains James W. McAndrew, Le Roy Eltinge, and George Van Horn Moseley, who held the posts of chief of staff, deputy chief of staff, and chief of Supply (G-4) at General Pershing’s GHQ in World War I. When he initially came to First Army Headquarters he found that he had taught the chief of personnel (Bugge), the chief of intelligence (Howell), the chief of operations (McCleave), and the chief of the Air Service (Billy Mitchell). T h e chief of supply (DeWitt), the deputy chief of staff (Kerth), and the senior troop movements officer in operations (Fuqua) were former Leavenworth classmates. An associ-
ate on the Leavenworth staff, the only other teaching lieutenant, was Walter Krueger, with whom he had served in the Philippines. In the engineer company stationed on the post was another lieutenant, nearly a year older than Marshall but his junior in rank, Douglas MacArthur.  The two men were of course brought together from time to time in the social life of the post but they did not know each other well. Marshall knew much better an older officer, Lieutenant Colonel Hunter Liggett, who commanded a battalion of the 13th Infantry stationed at Leavenworth. After class Colonel Liggett would frequently


work through some of the lessons with the lieutenant, of whom he became very fond.36 SIX years later Marshall was his aide in the Philippines; ten years later his chief of operations in the First
Army in France.


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