by Lewis Sorley
Regarding the all-volunteer force, Vice Chief of Staff Bruce Palmer stated flatly: "Westy and myself—we wished we weren't doing it."3 Lieutenant General Eugene Forrester, who as a colonel had been Palmer's executive officer, confirmed that outlook. "I can truly say," he recalled, "that the Army did not want to do it. I think it was very candid on the part of General Westmoreland and General Palmer that they had hoped this cup would pass." Concluded Butler in his study of the issue: "This kind of high level contradiction contributed greatly to unsupporting attitudes" within the Army itself, giving "tacit support to resisting changes advocated to achieve the volunteer concept."4
By early autumn of 1970 President Nixon and Secretary of Defense Melvin Laird had had enough of passive resistance by Westmoreland and the Army. Major General John Singlaub recalled being told by Westmoreland that the President had advised him, "We're going to have an all-volunteer Army or we're not going to have an Army at all." According to Martin Anderson, a policy advisor, Laird "ordered" Westmoreland "to cease opposition to the all-volunteer force or risk dismissal."5 When Laird became Secretary of Defense, Westmoreland had been Chief of Staff for only seven months. Laird was not enthusiastic about his inherited Army chief, but "chose to live with him," wrote Laird's biographer Dale Van Atta. Van Atta added that "Westmoreland later complained in his memoirs that Laird never listened to him as a member of the Joint Chiefs. That wasn't true, Laird said; he listened... but he rarely agreed."6
Westmoreland decided he wanted to retain his job and so, at the October 1970 annual meeting of the Association of the United States Army, he announced in the keynote address that the Army was committed to "an all-out effort in working toward a zero draft–volunteer force."7 A few days later Westmoreland emphasized this message to his generals in a Weekly Summary article. "After almost 30 years of a draft environment," he said, "the Chief of Staff recognizes that to many commanders the volunteer concept is an emotional issue. Reducing [draftee] inductions to zero may have certain traumatic aspects; however, the time for emotionalism has passed. All commanders should once again examine their approaches to their mission and their personnel, their regulations and procedures, and their attitudes toward traditionalism and against change."
That declaration created its own problems within the Army. Such a "sudden change in direction," said Colonel Butler, "created many false impressions and produced what might be termed 'culture shock' among many professional soldiers," the result of changes "thrust upon the field."8
Just as Westmoreland had been wary of the volunteer Army overall, he was uneasy about many of the initiatives proposed by Lieutenant General George Forsythe, his (and the Secretary of the Army's) Special Assistant for the Modern Volunteer Army. Forsythe and a team of bright, able, and aggressive younger officers had studied the problem of recruiting a volunteer force and come up with some provocative findings. What was needed, they told Westmoreland, was a thoroughgoing reform of the Army and the way it operated. "We need to trust our people more. We need to open up a dialogue with them. We need to give them challenging and relevant work, and we need to free them in order to do that work. You can be as tough as you want with these guys, and give them as tough a challenge as you want, as long as it makes sense to them."9 The implication, of course, was that their proposed reforms were far from how the Army was then being operated. And, added Forsythe, "the real job was to convince senior Army commanders that Westy was serious about VOLAR," the Volunteer Army initiative.10
General Kerwin later concluded that the Volunteer Army office under General Forsythe "did not turn out well. They got a lot of zealots in there, guys who wanted to change the whole Army, period." Kerwin remembered as "just indescribable" some of the things they wanted to do.11 Forsythe understood quite well the controversial nature of much of what he and his staff were proposing. "I think Westy, at times, really wasn't sure if we were doing the right thing," he recalled.12
An emotional issue during these years was the policy on haircut length and styles. The youth culture of that time favored long and often unkempt hair, leading to dilemmas for those in reserve forces (who had to try to survive in two disparate cultures at almost the same time) that reportedly led some to acquire wigs of neat and relatively short hair to wear to military formations. In the Navy Admiral Elmo Zumwalt, recently installed as Chief of Naval Operations, decided to allow sailors to wear beards and mustaches, as they had in an earlier day. The Army was dead set against that. "We knew we could not go with beards," said Brigadier General James Anderson, then a lieutenant colonel assigned to SAMVA (office of the Special Assistant for the Modern Volunteer Army). "The gas masks would leak." Thus, he recalled, they decided on a haircut policy that included a specification that sideburns could not be lower than the bottom of the ear opening, determined to be the maximum length that would not interfere with the fit of a gas mask.
Anderson and Major Peter Dawkins were the "action officers," as the Pentagon styled them, who took the issue to Westmoreland for decision. He approved the recommended policy, but astounded the young officers by telling them it was one of his toughest decisions, perhaps an indication of how wrenching for him was the social and cultural ferment of the day.13
The details of the haircut policy, its enforcement, and media interest in the matter were constant sources of contention and confusion. In a message to the field, Westmoreland said: "I have directed a thorough review of the Army's policies on hair styles to bring them more in line with existing customs among the respectable youth of today—not the hippies." General DePuy, as usual getting to the heart of things, said: "This is going to cause more trouble than beer in the barracks."
MOST MODERN VOLUNTEER Army initiatives involved elimination of practices considered harassing by young soldiers—signing out on pass during off-duty hours was discontinued, as was reveille in most cases. Others instituted privileges or benefits thought to appeal to younger soldiers, such as having beer in the barracks. James Binder, the longtime editor of Army magazine, characterized these initiatives as "the most thorough assault on things Mickey Mouse ever undertaken by the Army."14
All these matters were grist for the mill of Army Times, a civilian weekly widely read throughout the service. Its take on the new initiatives was not always what those responsible for the program might have wished, as one staff officer reported to General Forsythe: "The senior NCOs interpret the MVA [Modern Volunteer Army] as permissiveness," he told him, because they were being influenced by such Army Times headlines as "Booze in Barracks Says Westy."
Within the Army Staff, including General DePuy's office, there was considerable concern about planned initiatives for the volunteer Army in their total impact. One DePuy staffer wrote about the overall plan: "This is a visionary piece of work which bears little relation to the actual army. It promises more than we can or should produce.... It should be quietly ignored—the work being done in the personnel and training areas provide[s] about as much revolutionary change as the Army can stand." Thus his recommended course of action: "Bury [it]."
ALONGSIDE THE WIDELY publicized lifestyle changes were more important initiatives designed to improve Army readiness and the satisfactions of service. Perhaps the most successful ones involved training, both in decentralizing responsibility for planning training and in making it more interesting and challenging for the soldier.
The lead in these matters was taken by a Board for Dynamic Training, headed by Brigadier General (later General) Paul Gorman, himself a dynamic officer of impressive intellect, energy, and vision. The Board's starting point was challenging, as its main findings included a determination that "Army-wide, training is regarded as only marginally adequate." Among the problems, found the Board, were personnel turbulence, inadequate manning levels, inadequate budgets, and underqualified trainers.
Gorman observed that Westmoreland deserved much of the credit for the new training initiatives. Westmoreland directed that training be decentralized, most mandatory subjects eliminated, and the maintenance o
f training records simplified, along with initiatives to make training more interesting and challenging, more "dynamic," a term that, said Gorman, Westmoreland himself applied to the new board. Adventure training featuring such techniques as river rafting put some fun into the program and was well received by young soldiers.
THE ARMY'S APPROACH to recruiting was also often controversial during the Westmoreland years, especially when a new recruiting slogan was adopted: "Today's Army Wants to Join You." General Forsythe observed that "many of the Army's older soldiers have bristled at that slogan, viewing it as a blatant capitulation to radical fads, a rejection of the traditional conduct of Army affairs." A powerful congressman, Representative F. Edward Hebert, incoming chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, was already deeply concerned about various volunteer Army initiatives. "I'm very fearful of this trend," he stated. "I'm afraid they're trying to make it a country club." He would not have been reassured by the views of the new Secretary of the Army, Robert Froehlke, who told a reporter that the plan was to allow "young men to have a life style in the Army to which they've become accustomed in their homes and communities."15
An issue of "Army News Photo Features" had a front-page headline: "Modern Volunteer Army Spirit: 'Soldier, You've Changed. We're Changing.'" On a copy of that publication General William DePuy had penciled: "Unmitigated disaster—we're in the hands of madmen."
AS CHIEF OF STAFF, Westmoreland issued several letters to the officer corps. The first, published in November 1969, dealt with integrity. "I want to make it clear beyond any question that absolute integrity of an officer's word, deed, and signature is a matter that permits no compromise," he wrote. "Competence and integrity are not separable."
There was a second letter, sent in April 1971 to all officers and this time also to all noncommissioned officers, addressing the topic of leadership. "We expect our people, from general to private, to be loyal, honest members of the team," he wrote, "dedicated to giving their best efforts to any assigned mission or task." This document was described in an internal memorandum of General DePuy's office as "a disaster—sent against everybody's advice," because it dealt in such entry-level basics as to be insulting to any but the newest Army leaders. "We must all be constantly concerned and involved with the welfare of our troops," Westmoreland instructed.
A third letter, sent in October 1971 to all officers, addressed the topic of special trust and confidence. "I want the policies and practices of the Army to reflect: More careful selection of commanders who can provide honest, forthright, and productive leadership and who will establish and maintain high standards."
Subsequently Westmoreland had the three letters printed up as a small pamphlet that could be issued to various recipients, and he later referred to them in his memoirs: "I stressed those aspects of leadership that I considered to be imperative."
Given these repeated admonitions to his officers to adhere to high standards of professional behavior, Westmoreland himself was involved in an episode that another senior officer found ethically troubling and disappointing. "I was president of a board to select new brigadier generals," recalled General Donald Bennett. The thirteen members of the board had the daunting task of choosing 65 officers for promotion from a population of 4,600 possible selectees. In a first cut they narrowed the field to about 130, then went through again and chose those to be promoted. "Westmoreland had written in a special efficiency report that [his executive officer] was an exceptional officer who should be selected for brigadier immediately." When the final list was sent in, that officer was not on it. Immediately afterward, said General Bennett, "Westmoreland called me in and said I had disobeyed his orders." Bennett observed that there had been many officers who had such comments in their files, and it had not been possible to select them all for promotion. Then he pointed out that Westmoreland had two choices: he could accept the board's report, or he could dissolve the board and appoint another that might come up with different results. "Then," said Bennett, "I saluted and excused myself without waiting for a reply."16
ON THE EVE of his retirement in June 1972 Westmoreland wrote President Nixon a four-page letter. Still fighting against the volunteer Army, he sounded a cautionary note: "I can give you no assurance that we will achieve our goal of a volunteer force by 1 July 1973." This final attempt to influence administration policy on the draft was futile at best. Secretary of the Army Robert Froehlke "recalled that the letter had 'relatively little effect' and further observed that 'because of the controversy that continued to attend Vietnam and [Westmoreland's] close identification with that unpopular war he was not effective as a spokesman for the Army in general.... '"17
24. Vietnam Drawdown
BRUCE PALMER RECALLED that "Westmoreland said he was Chief of Staff for four years while the Vietnam War was going on, and the White House never once asked his opinion about the war."1 While there were exceptions, those occasions were admittedly few and left Westmoreland feeling that the expertise he thought he could offer was neither appreciated nor utilized.
Palmer explained the neglect: "Because of the unpopularity of the war, the administration considered Westmoreland a political liability and treated him accordingly." Nixon may also have been intentionally isolating a challenger. "Both major political parties regarded him as a significant presidential threat because he was so well known nationally and internationally. A proud, sensitive South Carolina gentleman, Westmoreland was deeply hurt by the slights accorded him by administration officials, who rarely consulted him on Vietnam affairs."2
THERE WAS ONE AREA of crucial importance in which, although not perhaps specifically asked for advice, Westmoreland was able to wield determinative influence. That had to do with the progressive withdrawal of American forces from Vietnam. The first 25,000 were brought out in July and August 1969, followed by 40,500 more during September through December of that year.
These first increments occasioned a fierce controversy between Westmoreland and his successor in Vietnam, General Creighton Abrams. Westmoreland wanted to bring troops home as individuals, choosing those who had served the longest in Vietnam and were thus closest to the end of their nominal one-year tour. Abrams pushed for unit withdrawals. That would mean bringing out all those in a given unit without regard to how long they had been in Vietnam.
Colonel Donn Starry, then in Vietnam as redeployment planner for Abrams, recalled the point of crisis on this matter. Westmoreland "overrode his [Abrams's] strong recommendation to redeploy units as units instead of as individuals. Individual personnel redeployments destroyed unit integrity, increasing turbulence in units remaining. In the end, it caused leaders to go forth to battle daily with men who did not know them and whom they did not know. The result was tragedy."3
"Our fear," recalled Starry, "was that the turbulence rate would be so high that units would become ineffective. And that's what happened: I believe it caused most of the indiscipline in units which plagued us later." He remembered those events vividly. "The confrontation was a direct one between Abrams and Westmoreland. We did ourselves an enormous disservice." The Vice Chief of Staff, General Bruce Palmer, also weighed in, telling Westmoreland, "We went in by brigade; we should come out the same way," but that good counsel was also rejected.4
Starry added a personal note. "The night of the final rejection of our proposal to redeploy units instead of individuals, he [Abrams] and I sat long over scotch and cigars. Finally, his eyes watering, he turned to me and said, 'I probably won't live to see the end of this, but the rest of your career will be dedicated to straightening out the mess this is going to create.' How right he was."5
General Maxwell Thurman, whose later brilliant performance as head of Recruiting Command literally saved the volunteer Army, also had to deal with the consequences of Westmoreland's stance. "The 'fair' and 'equitable' policy," he confirmed, "was a disaster."6
***
DAVID HALBERSTAM REPORTED that, while Westmoreland was Chief of Staff, he was "deeply depressed about [the f
avorable press General Abrams was getting] and wanted to make a public statement saying that the gains which were being made under Abrams had been originated during his tour, and friends had to take him aside and tell him that the last thing a very troubled United States Army could stand at that particular moment was a public split between Westmoreland and Abrams."7
Others were also very aware of this jealousy. "Westmoreland lost my respect, pumping me when I got back from Vietnam," said Lieutenant General Sidney Berry. "'Damn it,' he asked, 'how does Abe get such good publicity?'"8
At home in his new role Westmoreland was finding it hard to come by not only good publicity but even respectful treatment. One historian reported that the senior officer corps was so thoroughly discredited by the Vietnam War that "in 1972 military audiences booed General Westmoreland from the stage, first at Fort Benning and then later at the Command and General Staff College."9
In retirement Westmoreland was also booed at the National War College, an almost unimaginable occurrence. But Dr. Jeffrey Clarke, later the Army's Director of Military History, witnessed it. "There was a tremendous amount of anger, especially among the young colonels," he recalled.10 Dr. Alan Gropman, Westmoreland's escort officer for the occasion, recalled: "The students, all of them, booed loudly." He also remembers what happened next: "Westmoreland went white, his hands gripping the sides of the podium. I was sitting in the front row, and I saw him put a nitroglycerine pill under his tongue. Then things quieted down, and he continued, with both the class and the speaker acting as if nothing untoward had happened."11 A contrary report was provided by Major General Lee Surut, who stated that he had "no recollection of students at NWC booing General Westmoreland. Since I was Commandant at the time, I would have remembered any such breach of conduct. The occurrence is highly unlikely."12