Few commanders have made as lasting an impact on American history as General George S. Patton, Jr. A nuanced commander admired for his military brilliance and respected for his relentless leadership style, Patton was something more than a field commander—he was a symbol of combative American determination in some of the 20th century’s most defining moments. His life was a patchwork of military greatness, private idiosyncrasies, and contentious moments that continue to fuel debate today.
Born in San Gabriel, California, to a prosperous family with a rich tradition of military service, Patton was seemingly predestined for battle. Priced out of college his junior year, though, he had a rough start in his formal education—reading and spelling were difficult for him, and some researchers have theorized that he probably suffered from undiagnosed dyslexia. Still, he gained a profound interest in the history of war and warfare, as well as strategy, fueled by tales of his Civil War warrior ancestors.
After a short time at the Virginia Military Institute, Patton was sent to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. Although he found academics difficult at first, his persistence was rewarded, and in 1909, he graduated as a second cavalry lieutenant. A year later, he married Beatrice Banning Ayer, a Boston industrialist’s daughter—a union that would last him the rest of his life.
Patton’s early life in uniform presaged the larger-than-life personality he would eventually become. He participated in the 1912 Stockholm Olympics in the modern pentathlon, placing an impressive fifth, and went on to design the U.S. Model 1913 Cavalry Saber, a weapon that would carry his name. His enthusiasm for fencing and polo, usually played with mad abandon, established him as a man of physical courage—and an ever-lengthening list of injuries.
His first experience of actual combat was in 1916 with the U.S. Army’s incursion into Mexico to take Pancho Villa prisoner. As a member of General John J. Pershing’s staff, Patton commanded a motorized raid that killed three of Villa’s soldiers—the first use of automobiles in combat by the U.S. Army. The bold attack gained Patton national recognition and initiated his connection with motorized warfare.
World War I would take Patton’s military career to even greater heights. With Pershing, he was sent to France and became the first man to be detailed to the new Tank Corps. He didn’t merely train America’s initial tank battalions—he fashioned them, creating uniforms, developing tactics, and leading them into combat. Wounded by machine-gun fire in the Meuse-Argonne offensive, Patton refused to be evacuated until he had made his report to his commanding officer. For this act of bravery, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.
During the interwar period, Patton became one of the Army’s loudest advocates of armored warfare. With distinction, he graduated from the Army War College in 1932 and continued to rise in ranks, being assigned command of the 2nd Armored Division as clouds of another world war gathered.
During World War II, Patton’s aggressive philosophy reached its ultimate proving ground. He developed the Desert Training Center in California to train troops for North African campaigns, then commanded the Western Task Force in the successful Allied landings at Casablanca in 1942. His Seventh Army next year pushed through Sicily with unparalleled speed, capturing Palermo and then Messina—outmaneuvering both Axis defenders and his fellow Allied generals.
But it was in France that Patton cemented his legendary status. Leading the Third Army in 1944, he directed a swift and unyielding push, freeing town after town. His bold maneuver during the Battle of the Bulge—reversing direction to unleash his troops north to rescue the besieged 101st Airborne Division at Bastogne—was a stroke of military logistics and instinct. Infamously, when told of orders to capture the German city of Trier, Patton reacted, “Have taken Trier with two divisions. Do you want me to give it back?
Patton’s successes on the battlefield were matched only by his unpopular style of leadership. Abrasive, demanding, and prone to acting on impulse, he led from the front and insisted on his troops doing the same. He often battled superiors and was given to taking matters military into his own hands—even if this involved breaking rules.
In a stateside affair at the Desert Training Center, he allegedly drove a half-track vehicle to a local jail and threatened it with guns mounted on it to get two of his arrested men released—an incident that summed up his take-no-prisoners attitude perfectly.
His image, also, was a part of the legend. Patton was never seen without his signature ivory-handled sidearms: a .45 Long Colt revolver he bought in 1916 and a .357 Magnum Smith & Wesson. The latter, which he wore when dressed up, had two notches cut into its handle, said to represent lives lost in the course of his early campaigns.
Sadly, Patton did not die on the battlefield but as a result of a car crash. On December 9, 1945, outside Manheim, Germany, the general was paralyzed when a low-speed collision crushed two vertebrae. Although he initially indicated a quick recovery, a blood clot eventually killed him on December 21. His funeral in Luxembourg was attended by officials and those whose lives were freed by him.
Patton’s legacy has survived him in a multitude of ways. His posthumously released memoir, War as I Knew It, is still considered an influential work of military literature. The 1970 biographical film Patton, starring George C. Scott in his signature role, won seven Academy Awards and solidified the general’s status in popular culture iconography.
Now, Patton rests at the forefront of the Luxembourg American Cemetery in Hamm, looking out over the rows of American soldiers he had once commanded. Even in death, the man who never retreated from battle stands ready, leading symbolically one last time from the front.