Ali on George C. Marshall

“I hope I won't be misunderstood if I say that he was a most un-American figure because he was so remarkably self-effacing. The United States has as many people as anybody afflicted with selfeffacement, but it usually springs from social discomfort or genuine shyness, for all that other form of shyness which, as somebody wisely said, is a sure sign of conceit. This man was not shy, but at the subordination of selfless teamwork was almost an instinct with him, and I suppose few men who take to soldiering took it for a better reason. Most Americans were willing to credit reports of his eminence but it was something they had to take on trust, for General George Catlett Marshall, of all the great figures of our time, was the least "colorful", the least impressive in a casual meeting and the least rewarding to the collector of anecdotes. He was a man whose inner strength and secret humour only slowly dripped through the surfaces of life, as a stalactite hangs stiff and granity for centuries before one sees beneath it a pool of still water of marvelous purity.”

“A high subordinate who worked with him assures me that in the history of warfare Marshall could not have had his equal as a master of supply: the first master, as this West Point colonel put it, of global warfare. … But to most of us, unifying the command of an army outpost or totting up the number of landing barges that could be spared from Malaya for the Normandy Landing is hardly still flashing as Montgomery's long dash through the desert, or MacArthur vigil on Bataan, or even the single syllable by which General McAuliffe earned his immortality: "Nuts!" A layman is not going to break out a flag for a man who looks like the stolid golf-club secretary, a desk general who refused an aide-de-camp or a chauffeur and worked out of an office with six telephones. Even though 1984 comes closer every day, this is not yet an acceptable recipe for a hero. Though no doubt when Hollywood comes to embalm him on celluloid, he will grow a British basso, which is practically a compulsory grafting process for American historical characters in movies. He will open letters with a toy replica of the sword of Stonewall Jackson (who was, to be truthful, a lifetime's Idol). But in life no such colour brightened the grey picture of a man devoted to the daily study of warfare on several continents with all the ardour of a certified public accountant. In a word, he was a soldier's soldier. Nor, I fear, is there any point in looking for some deep and guilty secret to explain his reputation for justice and chivalry.”

“There is a final story about him which I happen to have from the only other man of three present. I think it will serve as a proper epitaph. In the early 1950s, a distinguished, avery lordly, American magazine publisher badgered Marshall to see him on what he described as a serious professional mission. He was invited to the general's summer home in Virginia. After a polite lunch, the general, the publisher, and the third man retired to the study. The publisher had come to ask the general to write his war memoirs. They would be serialized in the magazine and a national newspaper, and the settlement for the book publication will be a handsome indeed. The general instantly refused on the grounds that his own true opinion of several wartime decisions had differed from the president's. To advertise the difference now would leave Roosevelt's defense unspoken and would imply that many lives might have been saved. Moreover, any honest account might offend the living men involved and hurt the widow and family of the late president. The publisher pleaded for two hours."We have had, "he said, "the personal statements of Eisenhower, Bradley, Churchill, Stimson, James Byrnes. Montgomery is coming up, and Allanbrooke, and yet there is one yawning the gap." The General was adamant. At last, the publisher said, "General, I will tell you how essential we feel it is to have you fill that gap, weather with two hundred thousand words or ten thousand. I am prepared to offer you one million dollars after taxes for that manuscript. General Marshall was faintly embarrassed, but quite composed." But, sir," he said, "you don't seem to understand. I'm not interested in one million dollars."”