Candidacy for President: The possibility that I might one day become a candidate for the Presidency was first suggested to me about June, 1943.1 My reaction was of course completely negative, and my feeling was that the matter was never seriously considered even by the proposers. Actually the hard military campaigns of the war were at that time obviously still ahead of us, and any diverting of our attention to political matters would have been more than ridiculous.
The subject was again brought up in the middle of 1945.2 By this time the war was over in Europe and there was more than idle speculation on the part of visiting friends, newspaper representatives and non-career soldiers. I cannot recall, at that time, of any career soldier who mentioned the matter, possibly because they had concern, all being my juniors, as to the character of my reaction. This subject became one of more lively interest when, with a number of military associates of all services, I made a tour, at the direction of the President and the War Department, through several American cities. The purpose of the tour was to establish a more personal connection between the victorious army, navy and air force in Europe, and the people at home. Incidentally, the party accompanying me had representatives of all ranks from private upward.
We visited Washington, New York, West Point, Kansas City and Abilene, Kansas. For the first time newspaper representatives began quizzing me in public press conferences, in an effort to determine my attitude. I continued, as always before, to reply in completely negative terms.3
There was no question that I felt a very great sense of pride in the success of the invading forces in Western Europe. When we arrived at D-Day, June 6, 1945, there was no universal confidence in a completely successful outcome. Indeed most people thought that even should we, in some two or three years, eventually win, we would pay a ghastly price in battling our way toward Germany in the pattern of World War I, with its terrible memories of Passchendale, Vimy Ridge, Verdun and the like.4
Some newspapers went so far as to predict 90% loss on the beaches themselves. Even Winston Churchill, normally a fairly optimistic individual, never hesitated to voice his forebodings about the venture. He frequently repeated that if we were successful, that we could count any advance on the Allied part that would seize and hold Paris by mid-winter as one of the greatest and most successful military operations of all time.
Consequently, when on May 8, 1945 the confidence and enthusiasm of my own headquarters proved justified by completing the entire campaign in eleven months, I felt that the climax of my own personal career had clearly been attained.5 Anything that could happen to me thereafter would, in my opinion, be anti-climatic. I had some conversations with General Marshall and others about my desire to retire, but I did agree to remain temporarily as Military Governor of the American Zone in Germany, although at that time constantly recommending to the War Department, to the President and to Secretary of State Byrnes that as quickly as possible a civilian should be appointed to this post.6 My superiors expressed sympathy for the idea, but said that this could not be done until the Allies, including the Russians, would agree. I kept pounding away on this matter because of my feeling that after wars are over and matters of civil government come to the fore, the executive head of all organizations governing civilians should be, under the Western tradition, a civilian.
In any event, the Armistice in Europe provided an opportunity for many American visitors to come into the area. In the tradition of the past these people almost inevitably revised the proposition that a successful general should be considered as a possible candidate for the Presidency. I always had the feeling that most of these, at that time, had no interest in my possible qualifications or my personal philosophy of government. They were merely voicing interest in an individual who, because of the circumstances of the war, might finally develop into a popular public figure. At the same time, I think that they were very little impressed by my denials of any interest in politics or of any intention to get involved in political affairs. In these circumstances, while the matter never completely died out, it never reached a real crescendo of discussion and debate. One of the reasons for this was because President Truman was still in his first year of incumbency of the office.
At the end of the year, I was ordered back to Washington to become Chief of Staff of the Army. I informed the President of my hope to retire and unless he had a positive desire that I take over the office for a period, I should like to decline the appointment. He told me that the only other individual he could consider to take General Marshall’s place was General Bradley, who at that time was serving as the Head of the Veterans’ Bureau. He informed me also that he would need General Bradley in that post for at least two years, but stated that if I was still of the same mind at that time, he would accept my resignation and appoint Bradley to the post of Chief of Staff of the Army.
Under this circumstance, I retained the post of Chief of Staff until early 1948.7
By mid-1947 the pressure brought to bear upon me to secure my consent for seeking the Presidency had many times intensified. The nature of the argument presented underwent a change. No longer was the matter completely personal; it now began to involve also governmental philosophy. Since I continued to maintain my negative attitude toward the entire matter, I declined also to outline in specific terms my own conception as to the functions of government and my own satisfaction or dissatisfaction with the political scene as I viewed it.
While my appointment book would of course give a record of those individuals visiting my office to discuss this matter, I cannot now recall many of them to my mind. Three that did stick out in my memory were Douglas Freeman, the historian, Walter Winchell, the columnist and commentator, and Mr. Wadsworth, a Congressman.8 Each of these had a different type of approach. Douglas Freeman was deeply religious and opened his conversation with a prayer. He believed that government needed a shake-up; in his opinion complacency had overtaken the party which had been in power ever since 1932. Because of this he felt that the Democratic Party was neglectful of self-examination and as a result there was becoming evident examples of carelessness and, even worse,9 in the conduct of governmental affairs. He was very earnest and he placed his accent on the word "duty." He said that recent history would show that only a popular figure could defeat any Democratic candidate--and that I had the duty to make the race. He played upon this theme for a considerable time; as I recall he stayed more than an hour and called upon history to provide examples of the need for change. I had met Dr. Freeman several times earlier and had long talks with him. He paid me the compliment of saying that he knew I was not only reluctant to accept his counsel but that the whole idea of political involvement was distasteful. But he added that because I had a sense of duty and since he believed that I was both disinterested and honest and had shown good administrative capacity, he was sure I would see my duty and perform it. These thoughts were the subject of the prayer with which he opened the conversation.
Walter Winchell put the whole matter on a personal basis. He didn’t like the government then existing, he wanted it changed. He thought I was the only one that could do it. He didn’t care whether I was a Democrat or a Republican.
Mr. Wadsworth was more analytical, but he was fully as thoughtfully serious as Douglas Freeman. As in the prior cases, I told him that I had decided to do nothing whatsoever about the matter.
A few others who talked to me at that time were some from the newspaper world, Senator Vandenberg, and so on. The whole affair became more difficult. At a Republican dinner, which I had supposed to be entirely social and non-partisan, an attempt was made to portray me as an extreme New Dealer. The purpose of this was to show me as unacceptable as a Republican candidate. Whether traveling outside of Washington or in my office in the Pentagon, every day brought some new recommendation, conviction or opinion. The purport of each was that I simply had to run for the Presidency.10
Finally, in January of 1948 there came a letter from a man named Finder, one of the publishers of a newspaper in New Hampshire, saying that a group of which he was a part intended to enter my name in the New Hampshire primary of that year. I knew that I was going to refuse, but I also felt a compulsion to inform the public, through my answer, of why I would not allow my name to be used. A copy of that letter is attached to this memorandum. I still believe it was sound. After its writing, I felt that I had removed myself from the political scene for once and all, and thereafter I could feel free to do as I pleased since within a month or so I was to leave the office of Chief of Staff.11
I had already accepted an invitation to become President of Columbia University, the effective date to be the one on which my term as Chief of Staff officially was to end--I think it was about May 5th or 6th.12
Very quickly my belief that I had removed myself forever from politics was shattered. Suddenly there came to me a multitude of new suggestions, recommendations and importunities, this time almost exclusively from Democratic Party members. Up until the time I had written the letter in January the pressure had come largely from the Republicans. Now it seemed that the whole experience was to be repeated, but with the other Party. Numerous governors, United States senators, private citizens and others joined the campaign. Since I had already made my position clear--and in my letter I had not mentioned Party--I saw no necessity for repeating anything further. Nevertheless, as the late spring of 1948 rolled by, the pressure became almost unbearable. A telegram reaching me about July first seemed to demand an answer. I made another statement, which I did through the Public Relations Officer of the University, Mr. Herron. It was again negative and is on record--I assume a copy is now in the hands of Colonel Schulz.13
This had the effect of stopping, for the moment, most of the pressure from the Democratic side. Strangely enough, a new flurry came from the Republicans during the course of their National Convention, held that year in Philadelphia. Numerous telephone calls came into the office to the effect that certain individuals wanted to come over to New York at once to urge me to reconsider my decision and, as reported to me, to stop the trend toward Dewey. I refused to receive any calls or to discuss the matter further.
Quite naturally, after Dewey’s defeat in the fall of 1948, I again began to feel the pressure.14
With Dewey’s failure against Truman, who was then popularly supposed to be the weakest candidate that the Democrats could put into the field, the cry began to be heard that "We must find some new faces in the Republican Party if ever we are going to win a national election." Since we were again in the beginning of a Presidential cycle, most of the suggestions and arguments could be pushed off without trouble. But before many months the campaign began again to intensify. When Mr. Dewey ran for re-election to the Governorship of New York, he stated, in order to answer a charge that he was running again merely to enhance his standing as a candidate for the Presidency, that he favored me as the Republican candidate in ’52.15 This really put fresh fuel on the fire--and every day contributed something new to its heat.
Finally, in December of 1950 President Truman called me on the phone to ask whether I would undertake the duty of commanding the allied forces to be established under the North Atlantic Treaty Organization.16 He and I both knew that this was a thankless job, but I was in complete agreement with the President that collective security arrangements for Western Europe had to be worked out in the least possible time and that America had to participate in the effort. By this time I had become deeply interested in my work at Columbia University and it was a tremendous personal disappointment to me to have to give it up. But I reminded him that I was a soldier and subject to his orders. But he emphasized that he wanted to persuade me that undertaking this duty would be a great public service. I felt that the European post was of such importance that, so long as he thought me best fitted for the job, I should have to undertake it at least until we had worked out its programs of raising, organizing, training and deploying troops. It was a demanding effort.
My first move was to make a "reconnaissance" visit to every capital involved. Since I did this in mid-winter, the task was difficult, but I met with the governments of the twelve countries involved and completed the trip in some eighteen or twenty days.17 I came back to report to the President, made a television speech to the public, and reported also to an informal Joint Session of the Congress held in the auditorium of the Congressional Library.18 Just before departing again for Europe, I called in a couple of members of my staff and told them that I was going to make a personal move and a statement which, if successful in its preliminary parts, would take me forever, and beyond any question, out of the political scene.
My purpose was to invite Senator Taft to come to my office to discuss what we were trying to do in Europe, and I told my associates that if Senator Taft would pledge his support to the idea of collective security in Europe, I would immediately make a statement to the effect that my return to active military service precluded any future speculation about the possibility that I would ever enter the political arena and that my answer, in advance, to any further importuning along this line would be a flat negative.
I invited the Senator to my office in the Pentagon and he came one evening around 5:00 or 5:30. My conversation with him was exclusively on the subject of NATO. I went through the whole history of the war and later developments in Europe, the operation of the Marshall Plan, the responsibilities and opportunities now lying before the Western World, and how necessary it was that we strengthen Western European defenses by welding them together in one machine. I thought also that American contingents and troops would have to be employed in Europe but as to their number I was not certain.
It happened, at that moment, there was an argument going on between the President and the Congress as to the President’s unrestricted right to station American troops wherever he decided they should go in the world. Congress was further pre-occupied with a debate as to whether there should be four or six divisions sent to NATO.
I told the Senator that with the details either of the Constitutional question or with the amount of forces to be sent abroad I had no interest at the moment. I said that until I could survey the situation more closely, I would not have any recommendation as to the size of the American forces that should come to Europe. I simply asked the Senator whether he could not agree that the collective security of Western Europe, with some American help, had to be assured. He declined to commit himself on the matter, repeating words to the effect that he was not sure whether he would vote for four or six divisions. I argued that this was of no interest to me whatsoever. I simply wanted to get his assurance of support in the work for which I was called back to active duty. He repeated his refusal to make the point clear and so finally we parted and, of course, I did not go through with the part of my plan that would have depended upon his affirmative reply.19
*******
For the next few months the whole matter seemed to lie fairly dormant, although now and then individuals of more or less importance arrived in Paris from America to give me their views about the forthcoming campaign. Starting in the fall of ’51, the whole matter came to the fore once again and this time the clamor was more intensified than ever before. Since I had never made public my particular political affiliations, the pressure came from both parties. However, it was more pronounced on the Republican side than the Democratic. One reason for this was a speech that I had made before the American Bar Association in St. Louis on September 3, 1949.20 In that talk I analyzed and discussed the so-called "Middle-of-the-Road" approach to political activity. This represented a profound conviction on my part and I repudiated any thought that the idea comprised any namby-pamby or fence-straddling viewpoint. Indeed, I argued that in great human affairs the middle-of-the-road approach was the only one that provided any avenue for progress and the extremists both of reaction and of so-called liberalism should be abjured like the plague.
A good many people remember this talk and felt that as opposed to the New Deal-Fair Deal philosophies of the 30s and 40s, it was sound Republicanism.
These Republicans all had one battle cry, "We must win or the two-party system as we know it will be destroyed." Behind this pronouncement was always one of a secondary character which was "Only a new, respected figure can carry us to victory. Of all the figures in sight you are the one that can do this without question."
There was every conceivable kind of variation on which this theme was played and many tangential streams of argument went along with it.
As the months wore on, I stood my ground and kept on file in my office the letter I had written to Mr. Finder in January of 1948 and would insist always that the visitors familiarize themselves with the language I used in that letter.
I think the argument that began to carry for me the greatest possible force was that the landslide victories of ’36, ’40 and ’44 and Truman’s victory over Dewey in ’48 were all achieved under a doctrine of "Spend and spend, and elect and elect." It seemed to me that this had to be stopped or our country would deviate badly from the precepts on which we had placed so much faith--the courage and self-dependence of each citizen, the importance of opportunity as opposed to mere material security, and our belief that American progress depended upon the work and sweat of all our citizens, each trying to satisfy the needs and desires of himself and his family, and that instead we were coming to the point where we looked toward a paternalistic state to guide our steps from cradle to grave.
I believed this most profoundly, but I still hoped and believed that someone else could lead the Republican Party much more effectively and to a better result than I could. But because I did believe the basic truth I did go so far, in January ’52, to admit that I had always been Republican in leanings, and had always voted that ticket when given the opportunity to do so.21 On the second point, the identity of the individual who could lead the Republican Party to victory was the place where all argument was now focused. Rallies were held around the country--cables and letters told me about their purpose. A group of about twenty Congressmen sent me a petition in February to become a candidate--and so on and so on. What impressed me more than anything else was the extent of real grass roots sentiment for me to become a candidate.22 I had seen enough of the Presidency to realize that any serious-minded incumbent of that office is bound to feel the weight of his burdens and soon come to feel that its frustrations and disappointments far outweigh any possible personal satisfaction any one could have in holding the position. Consequently I had no struggle with any personal ambition of my own. Beyond this, it was clear that by next election time I would have passed my sixty-second birthday. Ever since the end of 1941, I had been occupying posts both in war and in peace of great importance and I was eagerly looking forward to a period when I could, with my family, live a somewhat more restful and leisurely life.
Always with friends I brought out these points; always they were brushed aside by people who had become in some instances almost fanatical in their conviction as to my duty to become a candidate for the Presidency.
Respecting every other candidate then campaigning actively or passively for the office, those who came to see me were pessimistic, if not even scornful, of their ability to win the national election.
Bit by bit my confidence that I alone should make a negative decision was worn away--I have always been particularly sensitive to any insinuation that I might recoil from performance of any duty, no matter how onerous. But to persuade me that it was a duty to stand for election was an entirely different matter.23 I cannot at this moment remember the names of all those who came to see me. Among them were Lodge, Clay, Bill Robinson, Jacqueline Cochran (who brought with her a two-hour film of a Madison Square Garden Rally gotten up by private citizens), Herb Brownell--and many others.24 On the Democratic side, the man I remember best was Senator Brian McMahon, who came to see me in the late fall of 1951 and who used much the same arguments that the Republicans did.25
Finally one thing became clear. Either I had to decline flatly and unequivocally to stand for the nomination or I had to leave my present post. Our work at NATO had progressed satisfactorily and in the past fifteen or sixteen months we had gotten command and staff systems well set-up, training schools started, the EDC Treaty initialed by all the governments, and finally I decided to resign my present post and turn it over to another soldier.26
I reached the United States on June first and informed my friends that if the Republicans and their supporters saw fit to nominate me, I would make the race. I refused to seek delegates--in fact to this day I have never consciously requested any individual in the world to vote for me. But I did make myself available for people who wanted to see me. This compelled me to make a number of talks--the first of which was on a rainy day in Abilene about the first week of June; thereafter I was stampeded by invitations to speak but went back to 60 Morningside at Columbia to spend a few weeks.27 There, and later in Denver, when I went about the middle of June, a number of delegations visited me and we had discussions about the political scene, but there was no "electioneering" as such.28
As time for the convention approached, I told my friends that I did not want to go to Chicago. I felt that the business of nominating a candidate belonged to the convention and its delegates. The whole prospect was completely distasteful to me. But all the friends that I have mentioned and hundreds more kept hammering that it was my duty to allow myself to be seen, to receive visitors at my hotel suite and to chat with them on a friendly basis. This I did. By the time the voting for candidates rolled around I was completely worn out and heartily sick of the whole business.29
When the balloting was all done, I was the Republican candidate for the President, but I still was not completely confident that my decision to allow this effort to go forward was a wise one.
