by Lewis Sorley
The study was, in classic Pentagon fashion, briefed all over the place, including to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Not much interest was found there, which was not all that surprising with Earle Wheeler as Chairman. His much-quoted summary of his outlook on the war took him in just the opposite direction: "It is fashionable in some quarters to say that the problems in Southeast Asia are primarily political and economic rather than military," he said. "I do not agree. The essence of the problem in Vietnam is military."59
In due course Westmoreland was also briefed on PROVN. Since the study emphasized that what he was doing was not working, and could not work, because it was having no effect on the enemy's covert infrastructure, Westmoreland could hardly find favor with it. He suggested it be set aside as a "study document" and also maintained that he was already doing most of what it recommended. Dr. Herbert Schandler, later a well-known author of historical works, was then a staff officer in MACV Headquarters. "I wrote Westmoreland's response to PROVN," he said. "We all thought it was great stuff, but we couldn't say that. We had to write things like 'there are some good ideas here for consideration' and so on. And we said 'we are implementing many of these programs already.' We had to say that—General Westmoreland wanted to show he was ahead of the game."60 Thus PROVN had to await another day and another commander. Only then, said Lieutenant General Phillip Davidson, as "son of PROVN" would it be implemented, and with gratifying results.
In the papers of Marine General Wallace Greene there is a document, "Force Requirements and Long Range Estimates for I Corps RVN," dated October 1966, when General Greene was Commandant of the Marine Corps. An annotation on the title page in Greene's hand reads: "A vital planning document which was a highlight of General Greene's association with the Joint Chiefs of Staff." Said the document: "The very base of the war is the people of Vietnam. The revolutionary development program is the most critical of all the tasks, with the others being ancillary or contributing."
That language was entirely compatible with the PROVN Study's findings, illustrating a matter of fundamental importance. Not later than the autumn of 1966 the leaders of both services involved in fighting the ground war in Vietnam—Army Chief of Staff General Harold K. Johnson and Marine Commandant General Wallace Greene—saw Westmoreland's approach as fatally flawed and agreed on a viable alternative.
William Colby, who later in the war would head American support for the pacification program, told a postwar audience that "General Westmoreland in Vietnam doesn't seem to have been able to think of anything else but to trade casualties with the North Vietnamese."61 And, he added, "for several years after we put our troops there we really hadn't figured out that the real nature of the war was at the villages. It wasn't until... 1968 that we really began to make progress in the real nature of the war there. The intervening years were just confusion and chaos."62
As the record illustrates, almost from the very beginning there was widespread unease about and outright dissent from Westmoreland's conduct of the war. One senior officer after another stated flatly that Westmoreland "does not understand the war," "never understood the war," and so on. But, and this was a critical factor, nobody in the chain of command was really competent to critique his performance. Lyndon Johnson had no understanding of military affairs whatsoever, nor did Robert McNamara. General Earle Wheeler was essentially a staff officer with virtually no troop leading experience, much less combat acumen.
General Harold K. Johnson, the Army Chief of Staff, was an authentic battlefield hero, and he was fundamentally at odds with the Westmoreland approach (expressed over and over again in trip reports after visits to Vietnam, in the PROVN Study, and later in a very extensive oral history), but he was not in the chain of command. As a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff he theoretically had some influence there, at least to the extent he could shape the collective viewpoint, but even then LBJ and McNamara were famously impervious to advice from the Joint Chiefs. Indeed General Wheeler was not even included in the White House Tuesday Lunches, roughly the functional (although highly dysfunctional) equivalent of the National Security Council, for much of the time LBJ was in office.63 Thus almost by default Westmoreland was left to go his own way.
EFFECTIVE CRITICAL ANALYSIS of Westmoreland's conduct of the war was provided by Dr. Alain Enthoven's OSD Office of Systems Analysis, an entity much resented by many of the senior military leaders in the Pentagon during the McNamara years. Wrote Enthoven and his coauthor K. Wayne Smith, the way the war was being fought "tended to dissipate its resources on high-cost, low-pay-off operations that happened to be congenial to traditional Service missions in conventional warfare."64 "More attention to effectiveness in relation to cost," concluded these analysts, "might well have led to reductions in the billions of dollars spent on offensive operations and massive firepower displays—activities yielding small returns." Had even a small part of those resources been expended on more availing aspects of the war—they mention expanding territorial forces to provide better security for the local population, enhancing the effectiveness of the South Vietnamese Army by giving it modern arms, and other measures, "things which were later to be given priority—the course of the U.S. involvement in the war might have been altered sooner."65 McNamara got much input along these lines but, for whatever reasons, none of it seemed to result in any modification of the field commander's fixation on the large-unit war.
Westmoreland himself was unmoved by such logic, if indeed he was even exposed to it, maintaining even during his final days in Vietnam that the war there had confirmed his "belief that our major advantage in war lies in our superior firepower...."66
Meanwhile, in virtually ignoring pacification and the upgrading of South Vietnam's armed forces, Westmoreland failed to advance the security of the populace or the capacity for self-defense of South Vietnam's armed forces. He likewise failed to diminish the enemy's combat forces, despite his near-exclusive focus on that task, as the casualties inflicted were simply replaced. What he had done was squander four years of his troops' bravery and support by the public, the Congress, and even most of the news media for the war in Vietnam.
12. Atmospherics
THE FIRST ISSUE of Time magazine in 1966 hailed Westmoreland as the 1965 "Man of the Year." This had been in the works for some while, and in Honolulu Westmoreland had devoted considerable time to posing for a sculptor, Robert Berks, who produced a bust of him which was used instead of a photograph on the magazine's cover. A "Letter from the Publisher" said that fifty pounds of clay had gone into the bust and that Westmoreland posed for four sessions of an hour and a half each while on leave with his family. An accompanying photograph showed him in jungle fatigues, standing on the lawn at parade rest. While he posed, Time's Hong Kong bureau chief, Frank McCulloch, quizzed him for the article.1
As might be expected, much of the accompanying story was positive, describing Westmoreland as "the sinewy personification of the American fighting man in 1965" and quoting General Richard Stilwell's characterization of him as "just a very straightforward, determined man." Noted Time, "in the command he inherited, Westmoreland wears more hats than Hedda Hopper."2
Time's story was in many respects also cautionary, noting that communist forces in South Vietnam were increasing by as many as 7,000 men a month, for a total increase in strength during 1965 of 80,000, and observing of allied operations against the enemy that "so far, the results have been less than spectacular." The conclusion was ominous: "As the U.S. troop level climbs toward 400,000 men, as the price of the war begins to crimp Great Society programs and boost taxes, Americans may find it harder than ever to accept the long war predicted by the Administration."3
Colonel Spurgeon Neel, an Army doctor who had served with Westmoreland in Vietnam and in fact shared his quarters, wrote to Westmoreland about his reaction to the story: "You are the most important man in the world today." The Scribe writing the Class of 1936 notes for Assembly was predictably ecstatic, comparing him to Eisenhower: "Only one other West Pointe
r has made this honor, and he became President." Dave Palmer, the aide who had accompanied Westmoreland when he first went to Vietnam, wrote that it was "Westmoreland's finest hour."4
Dan Cragg, then in Vietnam as a sergeant, found the assignment fascinating. "When the colonel went to lunch I would read the notes dictated by Westmoreland for his 'History,'" he said. "I can recall occasions in the MACV conference room when Westy would doodle the device for a five-star general."5
ON HIS BEDSIDE TABLE, said Westmoreland, he kept family pictures and a number of books, including a Bible, a French grammar, Mao Tse-tung's treatise on theories of guerrilla warfare, Jean Lartéguy's novel The Centurions, and several works by Bernard Fall. This collection was mostly for atmospherics, however, as Westmoreland admitted that he "was usually too tired in late evening to give the books more than occasional attention."
Sometimes Westmoreland portrayed himself as a student of military history, and in particular of counterinsurgency warfare. It is not clear how he might have come to view himself in that way. He had missed out on all the major military schools, had published no articles relating to military history in professional journals, was not known as much of a reader, and seemed unaware of commonplace matters in even such recent history as World War II.
When Charles MacDonald was ghostwriting his memoirs, for example, Westmoreland told him that "weather forecasting, predicting the monsoons, was a new departure in warfare."6 MacDonald was a distinguished military historian, as well as a veteran of World War II and the author of acclaimed volumes in the Army Center of Military History's "Green Book" series. He must have wondered what kind of a student of military history had not heard of the critical importance of the weather officers and their forecasts, for example, as Eisenhower pondered the Normandy landings.
WESTMORELAND WAS APPARENTLY determined that sometime during his tenure in command there was going to be an operation in which an American unit would make a "combat" parachute jump. In November 1966 he overrode recommendations from CINCPAC and 7th Air Force that a wing of C-130 aircraft be based somewhere outside South Vietnam for greater security. Westmoreland insisted that they be stationed instead at Cam Ranh Bay. "The thing that influenced me," he dictated for his history notes, "is the need to have the troop carrier wing close by if we are going to exercise our airborne capability, which we intend to do during the coming months."
When the 173rd Airborne Brigade was planning an operation he asked, "Why not include an airborne insertion?" They were not enthusiastic, but said they would look into it. Later he went back for an update on the planning, and again there was no mention of an airborne operation. He asked again, and again they said they would take it under consideration. When he went back for the third time, still no mention was made of an airborne assault. At that point, said his aide Major Larry Budge, who had observed this whole process, "Westmoreland lost patience and ordered that one be made part of the operation."
The jump was eventually programmed as part of Operation Junction City, conducted during February 1967. Jumping in with the airborne troopers was Catherine Leroy, a twenty-one-year-old French photojournalist, who concluded that, at least from her youthful perspective, the operation "clearly had no strategic value."7
Westmoreland visited the field headquarters for the operation and found that it had gone according to schedule, but with little to show for it. "I was surprised," he said, "that they had not run into more resistance and enemy installations. A ring of troops had been established around the heavily forested area which we thought was the location of the Viet Cong's Central Office for South Vietnam. But there is a possibility that we have been spoofed by the enemy."8
Evaluating the jump itself in his history notes, Westmoreland said that it had gone very well, with very few injuries. "The troops of the battalion that jumped were in very high spirits and proud of the fact that they could now wear a small gold star on their jump wings. General Deane, the brigade commander, was the first man to jump."
Some years later, when Vietnam magazine published an article about the operation that took it at face value, Rodney George wrote a heated letter to the editor. "You characterize this airborne insertion of troops as an actual combat operation into a hot LZ," he observed. "Nothing could be further from the truth! It was a publicity stunt that did not even need to happen." George revealed that the airborne troops had landed in a secured LZ that had been staked out and guarded for their arrival, preparations that he himself had taken part in as a member of the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment. "We watched those airborne troops descend into the LZ in which we were already positioned to ensure their safe arrival."9
Another very senior officer viewed the whole matter with some amusement, observing that the jump "lost some of its truly combat quality when it was learned that Life photographers had been prepositioned in the LZ so they'd get good shots of the parachutes coming down and be there on the ground to talk to some of the parachutists. It lacked some of the elements of a truly combat assault."
AMONG THE THINGS that troops found to buy, either in Vietnam or elsewhere in the region while on R&R, were very popular ceramic elephants, two or three feet tall and often garishly colored. Thousands and thousands of the things were bought and shipped home. The elephants could be deposited in the Army postal system, without any packing whatever, simply with an address tag, and would miraculously make it to their destination with seldom even a chip in the way of damage. Westmoreland acquired a pair of these artifacts and dispatched them to Lady Bird Johnson in Texas. Diplomatically describing them as "porcelain elephant garden seats," Mrs. Johnson wrote to Kitsy to say "it's so touching that a man with so much on his mind would ever have time to find elephants for us."
During this time Westmoreland also got the first of a number of feelers from people in the publishing industry about his interest in writing a memoir. Responding to Arthur Sylvester, then the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs, Westmoreland said, "I don't believe I ever consciously thought of myself as a potential author. If the thought is intriguing now, it is because I am fortunate enough to be serving in the eye of a storm like none other in history."
WESTMORELAND LOVED TENNIS, and in Saigon he played often. An aide-de-camp recalled that one of his duties was to arrange tennis partners for the General. "I did not play with him myself (I was a better player)," said Captain Robert McCue. "I think he played primarily for the exercise." It was clear, though, that Westmoreland took his tennis seriously, even dictating descriptions of various encounters for inclusion in his history notes. One such entry records a game "with the British Ambassador, mostly during a pouring-down rain." An occasional opponent was Major General Joseph McChristian, the MACV J-2, who remembered that Westmoreland would be on his side of the net, you on yours, no handshake, just, "Let's go." They'd play two sets, then shake hands. "Thank you," Westmoreland would say, and off he'd go.
Mishaps on the tennis court were the closest Westmoreland came to being wounded during his four and a half years in Vietnam. In March 1966, attempting to break a fall, he fractured a bone in his wrist and had to wear a cast for six weeks, something he found annoying, but also significant enough to be the subject of a cable he sent to General Wheeler. Columnist Jack Anderson wrote that Westmoreland should have been "at the front" at the time, a comment that infuriated Westmoreland, who observed in his memoirs that "it seems to be an American custom to make anyone in the public eye a ready target for any carping critic. That I sought relief from my fourteen- to sixteen-hour day and seven-day week by an occasional set of tennis, played in the stifling heat of the lunch period, apparently disturbed some people," and he named Anderson specifically.10
Westmoreland also noted that "a repatriated prisoner of war later wrote me that North Vietnamese guards taunted the prisoners that 'Westy' would rather play tennis than fight."11
Westmoreland's calendar for the years in Vietnam shows tennis games two or three times a week, with the preferred venue the Cercle Sportif, a club centrally
located in Saigon. That created certain problems in terms of image and public relations. Westmoreland would show up at noon, just as, observed Robert Komer, all the reporters were having their breakfast. Eventually, harassed (in print) by Peter Arnett and Kelly Smith, Westmoreland gave up his membership in the club, angrily telling Arnett, "You'll be happy to learn that I have quit the Cercle Sportif and tennis." Arnett blurted out that, at his wife's urging, he himself had only recently joined the club. Then: "Westy looked at me with narrowing eyes and said, 'Well, maybe they gave you my slot,' and turned away."12
IN MID-AUGUST 1966 Westmoreland's family moved from Honolulu to the Philippines, where Kitsy, Rip, and Margaret took up residence in a duplex at Clark Air Base. Stevie, having graduated the preceding June from the National Cathedral School in Washington, returned to the United States to enter Bradford Junior College in Massachusetts. Westmoreland's attitude toward Hannah the dog as a member of the traveling party had by this time improved sufficiently that she even got mentioned in his memoirs as part of the move to the Philippines, although once again she had to keep a low profile.
Having the family in the Philippines, much closer to Vietnam than they had been in Hawaii, was a great benefit for Westmoreland. In November 1966, for example, he wrote to his mother that he had "been able to get over about every two weeks for a short visit." But these were, inevitably, difficult family years. Kitsy told an interviewer of her particular concern for the children and their relationship with their father. "I don't want him to miss the years in which his children are growing up," she said. "I don't want him to look back when it's all over and say, 'What happened to my children? I never really got to know them.' Yet, deep down, I know that's exactly what's happening." Westmoreland's sister, Margaret, recalled that during these years the children "resented their father's being away in Vietnam."