by Perry, Mark
The decision had all the hallmarks of a Roosevelt maneuver. The appointment kept a conservative in the administration; sidelined the anti-Roosevelt Craig; marginalized Simonds, who in another year would be too old for the job; and rewarded Roosevelt’s allies in the House and Senate. More crucially, as Roosevelt calculated, keeping MacArthur on for another year not only provided a useful lesson for Pershing, Craig, and Simonds, but also would keep MacArthur front and center during a budget process that called for increased army spending. MacArthur, as both Senator Sheppard and Representative Byrnes had testified, had proven to be an effective lobbyist for the military—something that the progressive Roosevelt was not yet ready to do himself. If MacArthur failed in his quest to buttress military readiness, it would be the general’s failure, not Roosevelt’s, but if MacArthur succeeded, the administration could be credited with responding to the “prevalent war talk.”
It’s hard to believe that MacArthur didn’t know what Roosevelt was up to. The president’s decision to reappoint him chief of staff for the next year was a turnaround so stunning that it left Roosevelt’s allies speechless, yet even more convinced of his political genius. The chief of staff, they now realized, was being used. If there was a downside to this, it was that MacArthur, in a few short years, had restored his good reputation, with the so-called Battle of Anacostia Flats now a fading memory. That is certainly not what Josephus Daniels and Harold Ickes had intended, but it served Roosevelt’s purpose: “General Goober” was now the administration’s chief military lobbyist.
Thus, when the 1936 budget was approved by Congress the next March, four months after his reappointment, MacArthur celebrated while Roosevelt sat silent, if satisfied. “For the first time since 1922,” MacArthur wrote, “the Army enters a new fiscal year with a reasonable prospect of developing itself into a defense establishment commensurate in size and efficiency to the country’s minimum needs.” In truth, the increases were modest, particularly when compared with the breakneck rearming then taking place in both Germany and Japan. But modest or not, the budget increase began to fill out the army’s emaciated units. In March 1935, MacArthur was a hero. As one journalist wrote, MacArthur could now leave his job as chief of staff “in a blaze of splendid glory.”
Both the paeans to his talents and his now publicly acknowledged budget victory were enormously pleasing to the chief of staff, for they vindicated all he had worked for. In the midst of the Great Depression, he had not only saved the army’s officers corps, but also increased the size of the army. Yet, despite these signal victories in MacArthur’s career, none could outweigh the 1934 congressional decision to grant the Philippines commonwealth status, with the stipulation that the archipelago would be granted its full independence in 1946. MacArthur had had a hand in the legislation, insisting to the Senate that the commonwealth act include a provision for the continued stationing of American troops in the country. The defense of the Philippines, he said, was a matter of American honor and had been so since the United States had taken control of the archipelago in the wake of the Spanish-American War. What MacArthur didn’t mention, and didn’t need to mention, were his own ties to the Philippines and his personal loyalties to many of its political figures.
MacArthur had spent years in-country, first as a young officer of the 3rd Engineer Battalion in Iloilo Province (where he survived an ambush by Philippine guerrillas) and then as an aide to his father, in Manila. His familiarity with the Philippines, as well as a ten-month tour of Asia with Arthur that began in 1906, made him one of the army’s premier Far East experts. In this sense, at least, MacArthur was not unlike many other army officers who spent their careers moving from one assignment to another. MacArthur lived a life in transit: rootless, with his bags always packed. Born in Texas and raised in Milwaukee, he never had a true home. Undoubtedly most comfortable at Quarters Number One at Fort Myer when he was army chief of staff, he had nevertheless been happiest in Manila. He knew everyone of importance in the city, from rich lawyers and businessmen to Philippine patriots. His appointment to command the U.S. military’s Philippine Department, in 1928, was as great an honor for him as being named chief of staff one year later. Although he had kept his eye on events in the Philippines while he was chief of staff, he could do little to influence events there. MacArthur thus viewed his role in congressional approval for Philippine independence as a personal triumph. With the salvation of the officer corps and an increase in the army’s size, Philippine independence formed a trinity of victories.
But while MacArthur celebrated the U.S. decision to free its Pacific colony, Filipinos were more circumspect. Like the United States and much of the rest of the world, the Philippines were suffering the effects of a deep economic crisis that Americans could do little to alleviate. But more importantly, Philippine leaders were worried about the growth of Japanese power and the U.S. failure to recognize it. Japan had conquered Manchuria, and many Philippine leaders believed they were next. They had good reason to be suspicious. In the summer of 1934, Major General Frank Parker, the U.S. commander of the Philippine Department, reported to the War Department that the islands had recently been subject to an influx of male Japanese tourists, who spent their time traveling through the country, “mapping roads and photographing bridges and other points of military interest.” MacArthur read these reports and began to maneuver to have himself appointed either as Parker’s replacement or, better yet, as military advisor to the Philippine government. For MacArthur, the latter seemed like a perfect position: Not only would he leave Washington “in a blaze of glory,” but he would return to Manila in triumph as its potential savior.
In October 1934, in the midst of MacArthur’s study of strategy, Manuel Quezón, the head of the largest political party in the Philippines, visited Washington to discuss U.S. plans for his country. Quezón, a former insurrectos and aide-de-camp to independence leader Emilio Aguinaldo (who had surrendered to MacArthur’s father in 1901), had befriended MacArthur when the American had headed the Army’s Department of the Philippines in 1929. The Filipino’s visit provided MacArthur with the opportunity to reignite an old and important friendship. Spindly, handsome, and mercurial, Quezón was his country’s most prominent nationalist and an outspoken critic of American “colonialism,” which did little to endear him to American officials. “I would rather have a country run like hell by Filipinos than a country run like heaven by the Americans,” he had once said. But while other U.S. officials were uncomfortable with Quezón, MacArthur admired him. As summer gave way to autumn, the two made the rounds on Capitol Hill, then shuttered themselves in MacArthur’s office to talk.
Quezón, an economic reformer in the Roosevelt mold, told MacArthur about his dreams for the Philippine Commonwealth (an eleven-year self-governing period to begin in the autumn of 1935), but was worried about the Japanese, who were building one of the largest navies in the world. “General,” he asked, “do you think that the Philippines, once independent, can defend itself?” MacArthur didn’t hesitate. “I don’t think that the Philippines can defend themselves,” he said, “I know they can.” The answer must have come as a relief to Quezón, though it is doubtful he was as confident as his old friend. What Quezón really wanted was a promise that the United States would help him build a professional army. Without it, he said, the Philippines would be overrun by the Japanese. MacArthur pledged his support. “We cannot just turn around and leave you alone,” he told Quezón. “All these many years we have helped you in education, sanitation, road-building, and even in the practice of self-government. But we have done nothing in the way of preparing you to defend yourselves against a foreign foe.”
Quezón suggested that the United States appoint a military advisor to Manila, and he pushed MacArthur to take the job. MacArthur thought this a splendid idea. Two months after Quezón’s visit, the general broached the subject with Roosevelt at a White House meeting attended by George Dern. “Both of them were not only in complete sympathy but were enthusiastic,”
he wrote to Quezón. “As a consequence I am making definite plans to close my tour as Chief of Staff about June 10th and leave for the islands immediately thereafter.”
In the months that followed, MacArthur kept Quezón’s offer in mind, hoping to move up the date of his departure from Washington. That proved impossible. Even as MacArthur was planning to leave for Manila in June 1935, Roosevelt had extended the general’s term as army chief yet again—until October. Finally, on September 3, 1935, MacArthur met Roosevelt at Hyde Park to work out the details of his new assignment. The two had lunch together and talked for several hours, during which time Roosevelt confirmed MacArthur’s appointment as military advisor to the Philippines, adding that the general might also consider filling the role of U.S. high commissioner. The new office, which would have enormous powers and prepare the archipelago for independence, would replace that of governor-general once the Philippines became a commonwealth later that year.
Two weeks later, on September 18, Dern announced MacArthur’s appointment as the military advisor to the Philippines: “By direction of the President, General Douglas MacArthur is detailed to assist the Commonwealth of the Philippine Islands in military and naval affairs,” the order read. “He will act as the Military Adviser of the Commonwealth Government in the establishment and development of a system of National Defense.” Dern did not make public Quezón’s offer of monetary compensation—a little less than 0.5 percent of the total Philippine military budget—to MacArthur for this appointment. MacArthur accepted the offer, but only after the War Department’s adjutant general agreed to suspend the rule forbidding serving U.S. military officers from receiving monies from the nations they advise. Had the decision been made public, it would have been highly controversial. President Roosevelt approved the ruling. Nor did Dern mention Roosevelt’s suggestion that MacArthur also serve as U.S. high commissioner, but only because the final details of that assignment had yet to be worked out. Then too, as MacArthur discovered, his appointment as high commissioner would require congressional approval. When MacArthur queried Roosevelt on this in the wake of the Hyde Park meeting, the president responded positively, saying that the administration would sponsor a joint congressional resolution affirming MacArthur’s appointment. “I am inclined to hope,” Roosevelt said, “that there will be little or no trouble on the Hill.”
The problem for Roosevelt, however, wasn’t on Capitol Hill. It was with an American in Manila. Knowing that the present governor-general, Frank Murphy, would object to MacArthur’s appointment because Murphy wanted the high commissioner position for himself, MacArthur moved to head him off. MacArthur wrote to Roosevelt, claiming that Murphy’s views of the high commissioner’s role amounted to making him a “Super-President of the Commonwealth.” When Murphy learned of MacArthur’s allegations, the governor-general labeled them as “without foundation and unwarranted.”
The MacArthur-Murphy spat struck Roosevelt as unnecessary; if MacArthur had simply left well enough alone, he would have been named to the post without debate. But Murphy was a powerful figure in the Democratic Party, and Roosevelt couldn’t afford to insult him. The president quietly dropped MacArthur’s name for the high commissioner post, while confirming the general’s role as Quezón’s military advisor. MacArthur blamed Murphy ally Harold Ickes for the controversy, but the disappointment passed, dampened by the honors MacArthur received from the administration when his tenure as army chief lapsed. Secretary of War Dern made him the guest of honor at a War Department reception, where the secretary pinned an Oak Leaf Cluster on the Distinguished Service Medal that MacArthur had won during the Great War. More recognition followed, including a surprising accolade from John Pershing, read by Dern during the reception. “I have only praise for General MacArthur as chief of staff,” Pershing wrote. “He has fully measured up to that position.” But MacArthur’s proudest moment came after the reception when, during a Washington reunion, his old 42nd Rainbow Division greeted him with a standing ovation, a symbolic act of forgiveness for his Bonus Army actions.
CHAPTER 3
Manila
By God, it was destiny that brought me here.
—Douglas MacArthur
MacArthur left Washington on October 1, 1935, traveling west by rail to San Francisco with his eighty-four-year-old mother and his brother’s widow, Mary, who came along to look after her. An army physician, Howard Hutter, was assigned to Pinky, monitoring her increasingly perilous health. Dwight Eisenhower also made the trip, along with MacArthur’s aide-de-camp (his personal assistant), Major Thomas Jefferson Davis. MacArthur had prevailed on Eisenhower to serve as his chief military aide during his time in the Philippines, and Ike had felt that he couldn’t turn him down. But Eisenhower had hesitated long enough to gain MacArthur’s approval that Ike’s former West Point classmate, Jimmy Ord, would serve as one of MacArthur’s assistants. MacArthur and his entourage planned to sail for Manila on a leisurely voyage, boarding the SS President Hoover in San Francisco.
MacArthur had departed the nation’s capital in an unexpected “blaze of glory,” but it’s unlikely that he felt vindicated by his service with Roosevelt. The general had reached the highest command in the U.S. military, and although he was still too young to retire, he must have thought that the most important days of his military career were now behind him. MacArthur might have yearned for a political career, but he had never taken the steps to organize a campaign or approached Republican leaders for their support. Perhaps MacArthur realized that despite his desire to be president, he was actually ill suited for the job: He didn’t study politics, had never been involved in a political campaign, and had never formed or articulated any clear views on pressing domestic issues. An observer could read MacArthur’s personal papers without once tripping over an opinion on taxes, the economy, or the federal budget—three issues that are the mother’s milk of American politics.
Another reason for MacArthur’s reluctance to throw his hat into the political ring was that the general’s boss, Roosevelt, remained both a popular president and a talented politician. It seemed unlikely that MacArthur would replace him. For his part, while Roosevelt viewed MacArthur as a political competitor, the president wasn’t overly worried about a MacArthur candidacy. And why should he be? It would be not only difficult for MacArthur to criticize the New Deal as candidate MacArthur, but impossible. The general had been a part of the program, which is why Roosevelt had kept him on as chief of staff to begin with. Traveling west to San Francisco with Eisenhower, Davis, Ord, and the MacArthur family, MacArthur would have never admitted that he had been outmaneuvered by Roosevelt—“tamed” by him—but he had.
Clear evidence of this political maneuvering came halfway through his trip across the country, when MacArthur received word that Roosevelt had appointed General Malin Craig as MacArthur’s successor. The information came in a telegram from Assistant Secretary of War Harry Woodring, who added that MacArthur would revert to his former two-star rank. He was now Major General MacArthur.
Reading the telegram, MacArthur exploded. He burst out with “an explosive denunciation of politics, bad manners, bad judgment, broken promises, arrogance, unconstitutionality, insensitivity, and the way the world had gone to hell,” wrote Eisenhower, who witnessed the tantrum. Roosevelt had outfoxed him—appointing Pershing partisan Craig as chief of staff when MacArthur had done everything he could to make certain that George Simonds would be the successor. The appointment of Craig also promoted the candidacy of General Hugh Drum, a Pershing ally who was next in line for the chief of staff position after Craig. MacArthur had it right: When Roosevelt had extended MacArthur’s tour, back in June, it was only to make certain that Simonds was eliminated as a candidate for the chief of staff job. It was all a matter of timing. Had MacArthur been replaced in the spring of 1935, Simonds would have been a leading candidate, but six months later, MacArthur’s protégé was too old.
Roosevelt later explained his maneuver to aide James Farley:
Yo
u see, General Douglas MacArthur, during his service as Chief of Staff, had been trying to have all his favorites placed in responsible positions. He was arranging it so that he would be succeeded by Major General George S. Simonds. Last spring Simonds had four years left to go before retirement and could have served out the term of a Chief of Staff. I had to think fast, so I asked MacArthur to stay until October on the representation that I needed him to assist in the formulation of legislation relative to the War Department . . . [Roosevelt hadn’t told Secretary Dern of his plan because] he might have mentioned it, innocently, to someone in the War Department and pressure might have been brought to bear to force the appointment of Simonds while he still had four years to go.
But as it turned out (and as Roosevelt surely knew), there was more to the story than simply making certain that MacArthur wouldn’t be able to dictate his own successor.
Roosevelt’s appointment of Malin Craig as army chief of staff had a profound impact on the American military, supplanting MacArthur’s “gang”—which is how Eisenhower described them—with Pershing’s “Chaumont crowd.” Among those who would benefit was George Marshall. Craig’s promotion crucially shifted Marshall’s career path. Rather than being sidelined, as Marshall had been under MacArthur, Marshall was now being included with the other army colonels who would serve as the next generation of senior officers. None of this was news to MacArthur, but he was nevertheless enraged by Woodring’s telegram. It was not simply that Roosevelt had maneuvered Craig into the chief of staff’s job, but that the president had also cleared the army’s underbrush of MacArthur’s most important disciples. This next generation of leaders would prepare the country for war and lead the military in battles in Europe and the Pacific. MacArthur could not know this at the time, but this new leadership would mark a thoroughgoing transformation in military thinking. It was not Craig or Simonds (or even Drum) who would lead the army, but George Marshall.