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General George Patton and Benjamin W Patton Benjamin W. Patton stands with his father, Gen. George Patton in 1978 at the North Africa American Cemetery in Tunisia. His grandfather, Gen. George S. Patton commanded the U.S. II Corps in 1943.

Benjamin W. Patton

For General Patton's Family, Recovered Ground

Famed World War II Gen. George S. Patton's grandson finds his calling in the ashes of his fathers journals

  • By Benjamin W. Patton
  • Smithsonian magazine, June 2009

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    Photo Gallery

    General George S Patton

    For General Patton's Family, Recovered Ground

    Explore more photos from the story


    Video Gallery

    Home Movies of the Patton Family

    Home Movies of the Patton Family

    The grandson of Gen. George S. Patton shares his family's home movies

    Related Books

    The Patton Papers: 1885-1940

    by Martin Blumenson
    Houghton Mifflin (Boston), 1972

    The Fighting Pattons

    by Brian M. Sobel
    Praeger Publishers (Westport, Connecticut), 1997

    In 1986, the year I turned 21, my father accidentally set fire to our basement. Until then he could often be found down there, in the office he'd carved out for himself in a far corner, smoking a cigar and working on his diaries. He'd been keeping them—dozens of identical volumes bound in red canvas—for most of his adult life.

    In the span of a few hours, the flames that rose from the smoldering butt he'd tossed in the wastebasket destroyed two rooms. My father suffered second-degree burns trying to rescue his journals, but nearly all of them were reduced to ash.

    A year later, a conservator handed us what was left of them, suggesting to Dad that he could review these scraps for an autobiography and start anew. Instead, my father—the namesake and only son of the World War II general George S. Patton Jr., and a decorated general and famously tough warrior in his own right—choked up. "I'm sorry, I just can't," he said. And he never did.

    Someone once told me that when a person dies, it's like a library burning down. My dad reversed the idea: the burning of his office extinguished something in him.

    History had always formed a huge part of our family life; the fact that my grandfather had kept thousands of pages of his own letters and diaries—later published as The Patton Papers—was no fluke. As kids, my four siblings and I were fed a steady diet of biographies. Wherever we lived—Kentucky, Alabama, Texas, Germany—we spent a lot of time trudging through battlefields and other historical sites. After the basement fire, assorted family relics dating back to the Civil War era were restored, cataloged and donated to museums. The oil portrait of my grandfather that was represented in the film Patton now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. Other keepsakes went to West Point and the Patton Museum in Kentucky, and each has a story. For just one example, there's a gold coin that my great-great-grandfather, Confederate Col. George Patton, carried in his vest pocket during the Civil War. When a Yankee Minié ball struck him during the Battle of Giles Court House in 1862, the coin deflected the bullet just enough to prevent it from penetrating his gut and likely killing him.

    A year or so after the fire, I offered to interview my father on audiotape. I wanted to do it partly for our family and partly for him. The loss of his journals had caused him even more sorrow than his retirement from the military six years earlier. I wanted him to be able to share his stories with someone who cared—and who found them inherently valuable.

    I was the right age to listen. My father had left for the second of his three tours in Vietnam about the time I was a year old, and my first memory of him is when we flew to Hawaii on R & R to meet him when I was about 3. My mother still teases me about my tugging on her dress at the airport and asking, "What did you say his name was? Daddy?"

    As a child, my father had been quite close to his own father: they rode horses, read poetry and even built a 22-foot motorboat together in the garage. But after my dad left for boarding school at 13, they communicated mainly through letters, most of which were a formal, man-to-man mix of advice and strategy. A 1944 letter written from Europe to my dad, who had just flunked math, captures the tenor of their new relationship: "Get as high a stand in math as you can before you hit the stuff you flunked on. In that way, you have further to retreat. It's just like war: in a delaying action, meet the enemy as far out as possible."

    During college, my father saw his father only twice—once before then-Maj. Gen. Patton left for North Africa as part of the secret Operation Torch invasion force in 1942 and again briefly just after the war, when my grandfather returned to the States for a War Bond tour featuring victory parades in Boston and Los Angeles. Then he returned to Germany, where he died December 21, 1945, at age 60, after breaking his neck in an automobile accident.

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    In 1986, the year I turned 21, my father accidentally set fire to our basement. Until then he could often be found down there, in the office he'd carved out for himself in a far corner, smoking a cigar and working on his diaries. He'd been keeping them—dozens of identical volumes bound in red canvas—for most of his adult life.

    In the span of a few hours, the flames that rose from the smoldering butt he'd tossed in the wastebasket destroyed two rooms. My father suffered second-degree burns trying to rescue his journals, but nearly all of them were reduced to ash.

    A year later, a conservator handed us what was left of them, suggesting to Dad that he could review these scraps for an autobiography and start anew. Instead, my father—the namesake and only son of the World War II general George S. Patton Jr., and a decorated general and famously tough warrior in his own right—choked up. "I'm sorry, I just can't," he said. And he never did.

    Someone once told me that when a person dies, it's like a library burning down. My dad reversed the idea: the burning of his office extinguished something in him.

    History had always formed a huge part of our family life; the fact that my grandfather had kept thousands of pages of his own letters and diaries—later published as The Patton Papers—was no fluke. As kids, my four siblings and I were fed a steady diet of biographies. Wherever we lived—Kentucky, Alabama, Texas, Germany—we spent a lot of time trudging through battlefields and other historical sites. After the basement fire, assorted family relics dating back to the Civil War era were restored, cataloged and donated to museums. The oil portrait of my grandfather that was represented in the film Patton now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C. Other keepsakes went to West Point and the Patton Museum in Kentucky, and each has a story. For just one example, there's a gold coin that my great-great-grandfather, Confederate Col. George Patton, carried in his vest pocket during the Civil War. When a Yankee Minié ball struck him during the Battle of Giles Court House in 1862, the coin deflected the bullet just enough to prevent it from penetrating his gut and likely killing him.

    A year or so after the fire, I offered to interview my father on audiotape. I wanted to do it partly for our family and partly for him. The loss of his journals had caused him even more sorrow than his retirement from the military six years earlier. I wanted him to be able to share his stories with someone who cared—and who found them inherently valuable.

    I was the right age to listen. My father had left for the second of his three tours in Vietnam about the time I was a year old, and my first memory of him is when we flew to Hawaii on R & R to meet him when I was about 3. My mother still teases me about my tugging on her dress at the airport and asking, "What did you say his name was? Daddy?"

    As a child, my father had been quite close to his own father: they rode horses, read poetry and even built a 22-foot motorboat together in the garage. But after my dad left for boarding school at 13, they communicated mainly through letters, most of which were a formal, man-to-man mix of advice and strategy. A 1944 letter written from Europe to my dad, who had just flunked math, captures the tenor of their new relationship: "Get as high a stand in math as you can before you hit the stuff you flunked on. In that way, you have further to retreat. It's just like war: in a delaying action, meet the enemy as far out as possible."

    During college, my father saw his father only twice—once before then-Maj. Gen. Patton left for North Africa as part of the secret Operation Torch invasion force in 1942 and again briefly just after the war, when my grandfather returned to the States for a War Bond tour featuring victory parades in Boston and Los Angeles. Then he returned to Germany, where he died December 21, 1945, at age 60, after breaking his neck in an automobile accident.

    My father turned 22 just days later, and the pressure to live up to his father's legend was already building. When he graduated from West Point the following June, an old veteran shook his hand and said, "Well, George, you'll never be the man your father was, but congratulations."

    One thing my father resolved to be was a family man. Even though he became a general himself and was often immersed in his military duties, he went out of his way to spend time with us. And while he never claimed to be an expert in anything nonmilitary, he was a first-class enthusiast. If he went hunting or fishing with friends or fellow soldiers, he often took me or one of my siblings along. He played the guitar at family parties (a self-proclaimed "three-chord man") and taught us how to ski, sail and play tennis. Sailing, he'd invite my friends and me to stay up half the night playing poker in an invariably smoke-filled cabin. He encouraged my brother George, developmentally delayed from birth, to compete in the Special Olympics and also become a champion barrel racer. During rare visits from my sister Margaret, who had become a Benedictine nun over Dad's initial protests, he'd get up early to pick blueberries for her breakfast. He wrote my mother silly but heartfelt poems.

    People often said he had the voice my grandfather wished he had—my grandfather's voice was high-pitched with a slightly patrician lilt, while my father actually sounded like George C. Scott. But even when I clashed with him as a teenager, I saw through his tough, hard-edged persona.

    At 21, I was just starting to appreciate the fact that my father was—and always had been—one of my biggest supporters and closest friends. Everyone had a story about him. With our audiotaping project, I would get to hear them firsthand.

    Over the next six years we spent many hours talking, with me picking his brain for every detail and vignette he could remember. Once we got going, it was as though a massive vault had been opened, and the stories began to pour out. He spoke of being bounced on Gen. John J. "Black Jack" Pershing's knee as a young boy, walking Gen. George C. Marshall's dog and being pulled out of school by his father to attend a talk by British soldier T. E. Lawrence (also known as Lawrence of Arabia). At 13, my father sailed from Hawaii to Southern California aboard a small schooner with his parents, a few of their friends and a professional mate. "We went through a school of blackfin tuna for four days straight," he told me. "They stirred up so much phosphorus [in fact, bioluminescent plankton] in the water that you could actually read a book on deck at night."

    He also told me about a fellow West Point graduate who had served under him when my father commanded the storied 11th Armored Cavalry ("Blackhorse") Regiment in Vietnam in 1968-69. His unit had performed poorly under fire, and the young captain asked to be relieved. After a long talk with my father—a colonel at the time—he changed his mind and asked for one more chance to get his outfit into shape before re­linquishing command. In a subsequent firefight, the captain earned the Distinguished Service Cross, the nation's second-highest award for valor in combat. "Although terribly costly to him, he chose the harder right rather than the easier wrong," said my dad. "And that's what wins battles. That's what wins wars."

    I didn't need to ask about the captain's fate. The John Hays plot at our family's farm in Massachusetts is just one of many that my dad named for soldiers killed under his command. To us, the hand-painted signs all over our property mark just how deeply Dad felt the loss of his troops. Even today, veterans come and quietly wander our fields.

    What our taped conversations helped me realize was that my dad was every bit the soldier that his father was. He saw more actual frontline combat and was just as highly decorated by his country for valor. He commanded more than 4,400 men—the largest combat unit led by someone of his rank and age during Vietnam—and more than once landed in his helicopter in the middle of a battle, pulled out his revolver and led the charge. Along the way, he earned the nation's second- and third-highest medals for bravery—twice each—and a Purple Heart. When he retired to Massachusetts in 1980, Dad started a produce farm on the family property. Today, Green Meadows Farm, north of Boston, is a thriving organic operation with the participation of more than 300 local families.

    My father didn't boast about his achievements, and he didn't want to be seen as iconic. Maybe that's why he never worked in my grandfather's home office, with its voluminous library and perfect replica of Napoleon's desk. "Too much damn traffic," Dad would say. Then he'd head off to his plywood-walled office in the basement, every surface a collage of photos of fellow soldiers and family.

    Re-examining his life had always kept him engaged; now, our interviews revived him. Eventually, Dad gave the transcripts to a biographer, and a book about his life—Brian Sobel's The Fighting Pattons—was published after all.

    I disappointed my father when I chose not to follow him into the military, and I frustrated him even more when I dawdled about a career. But here's the strange thing: after our taping was finished, other families with stories to preserve began to find me.

    Over the past several years, I've found myself, camera in hand, sitting with the family of an African-American general on the eve of his 80th birthday; a well-born Bostonian who drove an ambulance in World War II and then moved out West to ride in rodeos and raise cattle; an aeronautical engineer and senior executive in the Apollo program who was among the first to propose a moon landing to President John F. Kennedy; even Manfred Rommel, former long­time mayor of Stuttgart and son of the famed "Desert Fox" of World War II. I found a career as a producer and film educator, much of which I devote to recording personal histories.

    After a long struggle with Parkinson's disease, my father passed away in the summer of 2004. He was 80 years old and had lived as full a life as anyone could. I'd like to think that, were he still here, he would respect what I'm doing and understand why I'm doing it. In fact, many of my film projects involve working with veterans. Things have kind of circled back.

    Every family has a story, and every member's story is worth preserving—certainly for the living family, but even more so for future generations. Experiencing history through the lens of another person's life can offer unexpected insight into your own. It gets you to think: What sort of mark will I make? How will I be remembered?

    The key is to start now, whether with a tape recorder or video camera. In her wonderful book The Writing Life, Annie Dillard tells of a note found in Michelangelo's studio after he died. I have a copy pinned up in my office. Scribbled by the elderly artist to an apprentice, it reads: "Draw, Antonio, draw, Antonio, draw and do not waste time."

    Benjamin W. Patton, a filmmaker based in New York City, can be reached at ben@pattonproductions.com.


     
    Comments

    What a simply stated re-telling of a life story and in the telling, revealing one's own path leading to the discovery of a calling. Bravo!

    Posted by Marian Roberson on May 19,2009 | 06:44PM

    hey ben... i read this piece and it really hit home...i lost my father at an early age and wished ive learned more about him...he was a quiet,loving caring man...a carpenter by trade..but loved his work....and tought me that if you find a job you love ...you will never work a day in your life.....i hold that dear to my heart ..i miss him very much. thank you for your story ben...it touched me. ive had the pleasure of working with you on several shoots. im a cameraman...and you were always a true gentleman before a prominent producer and i will always remember that about you ben. i have an 11 year old that i love more rthan anything ive loved before in my life, i will start to document what i can. thank you again ben...andcongratulations to you and your wife on your new arrival... god bless.. thomas belfiore

    Posted by tom belfiore on May 20,2009 | 03:23PM

    Ben; What a gift your reflections are. And this comes at the right meoment for me. I've been reflecting a lot lately on the importance of cherishing father-son relationships and family narrative. Sadly, my own son and I are not at a great place with each other just now, but i'm blessed with the opportunity to nurture and mentor 60 unrelated men in their pursuit of a sober life. Our respective journeys have much to do with doors opening and closing, and with our mysterious placement in time and geography. Thank you. Looking forward to our next encouter in Central Park with our dogs. Michael McAllister

    Posted by Michael McAllister on May 21,2009 | 09:55AM

    What a moving piece! it is an honor to teach storytelling with you. Onward into the narrative breach!

    Posted by Scott Kinnamon on May 21,2009 | 03:47PM

    The story and video by Ben Patton is a magnificent tribute to his father and to a wonderful and vibrant American family. Many years ago I spent a great deal of time with Major General George Patton, Ben’s father, as we worked together on my book entitled, “The Fighting Pattons,” the story of Ben’s father and grandfather in war and peace. George Patton was open and honest about his life, his family legacy and military career. Moreover, he was especially eager to share his profound love for his wife Joanne and his children, all of whom he spoke of constantly and with great pride. Watching Ben’s video I was taken back in time, once again listening to George’s voice. Even today, years after his passing I miss chatting with George, but through Ben I have been able to visit with him again and remember what it was like to know an American hero.

    Posted by Brian Sobel on May 22,2009 | 12:02AM

    Ben, After reading the article and realizing the true potential of passing on the story of ones family, my contribution as your cameraman makes me proud. The work we have done makes for interesting television, a benchmark that i believe the industry desperately needs. Working with you and your team has always been a pleasure. Let us continue our journey in bringing these important stories to fruition. Sincerely Kevin Malone Lighting/Cameraman

    Posted by Kevin Malone on May 22,2009 | 05:07AM

    Your video moved me beyond words. i am honored to have been given the privilege to view it. As a son of a WWII veteran I thank you and feel a thread of connection between us - 2 fathers who served our great nation in armed conflict - even though we never met. It has been a honor young man.

    Posted by joe sukle on May 22,2009 | 02:38PM

    Ben, thank you for your poignant article and film clip. I'm sure your Mom and the rest of your family enjoyed it as much as I did. I remember you telling me about the library fire around the time it happened. I always thought it unnecessarily cruel. I think your interviews with your Dad did a great deal to help resurrect his history and spirits/morale. I’m sure he was very grateful. Hearing your Dad’s voice again made me transcend back to the smoke filled cabin of the Arcturus III playing a game of “chance” as your Dad called it. We’d stay up half the night and then at about 5:30 A.M. he would start making a lot of conspicuous noise to wake up the college boys from their beauty sleep. I miss him and think about him. I always wanted to be my best around him. I suppose that’s indicative of a natural leader’s effect on people. A compliment from him would be encouraging enough for me to join in Pickett’s charge all over again. I’m looking forward to seeing him again in Valhalla.
    Sincerely, Jonathan Groome

    Posted by Jonathan Groome on May 24,2009 | 03:56AM

    Nicely done, Ben. I recorded my three year old singing and telling stories and put it on an ipod for Mom on Mother's Day. It can only increase in value IMO! Thanks for your honesty and spotlighting any family's history as important.

    Posted by JK on May 24,2009 | 01:00PM

    I have just read your article in the Smithsonian about your dad with great interest and curiosity. As you can see, I am a Patton-daughter of Alson Currie Patton, Jr. of Bells, TN. I have recently discovered that his grandfather,-my great gandfather- was named Alexander Washington Patton ( called a "scalaywag" who married a Cherokee Indian woman named Sarah E. Freshwater), one of Dad's brothers was named Benjamin, and another, Bernard has a middle name of Washington. Does your initial stand for Washington? Where did this come from? I know very little about my father's ancestors other than the family was located in NC and was originally, he claimed, from French origins.

    Currently I live in Florida, as do several of Dr. Bernard's children, and try to keep up with the family thru cousin Richard Roderick in St. Pete, also a military retiree. jpg.

    Posted by janet patton gardiner on May 24,2009 | 07:22PM

    Ben, Enjoyed your article very much. Thanks for sharing it with me. I am reminded that my father was an executive officer in the 419th in the 10th army under your grandfathers command during WWII and that he also played, as did all soldiers, an important role during the war. He left behind a legacy that my siblings and I are also proud of. I look forward to seeing your production on the television.

    Posted by Jay on May 25,2009 | 07:03AM

    Like Ben, I firmly believe that everyone has an important personal story to tell. Because of Ben, and people like him, the world is a richer place for having such stories told.

    Posted by Richard Lester on May 25,2009 | 07:36AM

    Ben--This is a really nice piece and I really enjoyed reading it. I thought I was the only working writer from our high school class but, alas, I'm not... and you've raised the bar considerably. Bravo...

    Posted by Whit Sheppard on May 25,2009 | 08:28AM

    I've already written you about the article, but now I write about the home movie. That too was very touching. It showed such a human side of the entire family (and even the Rommel Family). I enjoyed also the "Prayer for a Son". It reminded me of my own struggles although I was a daughter. My whole life was a war, and, perhaps it still is. I always faced the things I was most afraid of and made myself go through them, often telling my children that the only way to get through something you are afraid of is to go through something you are afraid of. Maybe I would have made a good soldier.

    Thank you again for this touching part of the Patton family

    Emily Armstrong

    Posted by Emily Louise Armstrong on May 29,2009 | 08:02AM

    Ben,Bravo again and again to you and this piece.it is perfect and shows your truth which I always loved. My own father turned 100 on May 4th and I am hoping I will see him for his 101st in 2010 before he passes on to his glory.He is a well loved man and your article makes me realize my own mortality more than anything else,and this is good.It also makes me realize the courage and selflessness of your mother,a most important figure.Much love to you and all your family. You are a star!!!

    Posted by bettina del sesto on May 29,2009 | 08:05AM

    Ben in the mid-1980's, your dad came into my office at the American Embassy in London and I will always remember him asking if I were "packing heat?". The real purpose of his visit was to request that my family look after your sister, Helen, who was studying at an acting school in London. It was our great pleasure to know Helen and love her dearly. When we first met Helen, it was at our home and your beautiful and gracious mom, dad and other sister (a nun) came by and we will never forget the opportunity to meet a dad that truly cared for his family. I had known your dad when he was a tactical officer at West Point in the 1950's. It was wonderful to see him again in the 1980's and a real privilege to read your story and view your wonderful video. Thank you for a wonderful tribute to a great soldier and father.

    Posted by Mike Houser on May 31,2009 | 01:32PM

    Read with personal interest your excellent work about your family. My family too, has a rich American background with relatives in Conn. in 1630, a revolutionary war officer given land in Kentucky, and then moving to Illinois, encounters with Abe Lincoln, and eventually trekking across the Plains to be one of the first to "found" Seattle in the 1850's. As I, too, began tape-recording my 90+ year old mother, and imagined I would place her stories into a permanent, printable family record. But, slowly, I became aware of the "other side" of this heritage I was part of...my pride faded as I learned about the arrogant disdain towards the Indians, the Chinese, etc., and coupled with the destruction of the environment to amass wealth from natural resources...I stopped writing...and still, sadly can't resume.

    Posted by sue champness on May 31,2009 | 05:10PM

    Ben,

    I eagerly read your recent article about your Father, as he was my Regimental Commander while I was in Vietnam. I, too, was in the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment, although at a much lower rank. While there, I had the privilege of meeting your Father on a couple of different occasions, and again at one of our reunions. He was a fine military leader.

    There is, however, one part of your article that I take umbrage with, that being the comments pertaining to John Hays. I was Captain Hays' track commander, and was a witness to the "talk" your Father remembered, which occurred in late August/early September, 1968. Prior to that, Captain Hays' unit, B Troop, had performed extremely well (in fact, B Troop recieved two Presidential Unit Citations). The "talk" occurred after two consecutive nighttime ambush patrols had contact with the enemy, however there was no measurable "body-count" of dead Viet Cong in the mornings. There were lots of indications of success -blood, drag marks, weapons, ammo,etc., but no "body-count". which. at that time in the war, was the ONLY official way to measure success. Captain Hays, being the gentleman he was, waited until the end of the "talk", and then asked your Father to relieve him of command, if your Father so desired.

    Captain Hays remained B Troop's Commanding Officer, leading his unit with pride and dignity, even for a longer period than the normal time an officer stayed in the field. In November, 1968, B Troop, again, had been chosen to hold off two divisions of North Vietnamese. which they did for three days. I was beside Captain Hays when he was killed.

    Perhaps because of the different perspectives that your Father and I had of those events is the reason we don't agree on the "talk" that occurred that summer, but it is nice to know there is a plot dedicated to Captain Hays by your Father.

    Posted by Paul Greany on June 1,2009 | 11:15AM

    I enjoyed the article very much. Interested in military history and personal experiences, I compiled my uncle's letters home from WWI in a book. My uncle was a veterinarian and served with the AEF in France. I am sending Ben Patton a copy of my book.

    Posted by Faye Brown on June 1,2009 | 12:05PM

    Ben - this is a very powerful story. I especially liked the video. Have you ever thought of expanding this into a book?

    Posted by John Musto on June 4,2009 | 08:13AM

    This is a great article! I too believe that everyone has a story worth telling.

    Posted by Christina on June 4,2009 | 10:17AM

    An incredibly moving story. Not only does Benjamin Patton tell the exciting tale of his outstanding family, but he paints a wonderful and personal perspective of American history. Mr. Patton's narrative is the sort that should be given to kids at school who think that history is a waste of time.

    Posted by Lena on June 4,2009 | 11:31AM

    Excellent article - a moving account of the personal side of the Patton family. Every family should attempt to keep such a family record. Bob Young

    Posted by Bob Young on June 4,2009 | 05:44PM

    Ben, thanks for sharing this -- your dad would not mind you didn't attend the academy. C.

    Posted by Chris Arriz on June 4,2009 | 07:14PM

    DEAR BEN MY WIFE AND I KNEW YOUR MOTHER AND FATHER WHEN I SERVED AS THE AIR LIAISON OFFICER AT FORT KNOX 1970-1973. WE GREATLY ENJOYED ACTING AS HOSTS FOR YOUR PARENTS DURING SOME OF THE GREAT PARTIES.MY WIFE THOUGHT YOUR MOTHER THE MOST GRACIOUS MILITARY WIFE SHE EVER MET.I DIDN'T NOTICE ANY MENTION OF YOUR MOTHER. WE WOULD BE INTERESTED IN ALSO HEARING ABOUT HER. FRED V GUNN

    Posted by LT COL FRED V GUNN USAF RET on June 4,2009 | 08:41PM

    I had the honor of meeting General Patton in 1978 when he introduced himself to a young Navy Physician in the Emergency Room at Jacksonville Naval Air Station. I didn't believe him at first when he told me he was General George Patton because you hear a lot of stories from people in the Emergency Room in the middle of the night. He could have dressed me down for my insolence and my naivete but instead he said "No, really! I am General Patton" and he showed me his ID. We enjoyed a brief conversation about the chaos going on around us and then he thanked me for my service to the country and to him. This was a fond memory of my days at JaxNAS. He was quite a guy.

    Posted by Michael Hutchinson, MD on June 6,2009 | 06:00PM

    Ben
    I feel blessed to have known your father and of course now you. Inside the proper General exterior beat the heart of a kind and loving husband, father, and friend. Please continue to share this side of him with the world. Great job! Gregg & Shirley

    Posted by Shirley Halliday on June 7,2009 | 03:47PM

    What an amazing article! As a history teacher I try to show the importance of oral histories in our lives! I wish everyone would sit down and talk to their families. We would learn so much about our families, our past, our futures, and ourselves. Thank you for sharing your story!

    Posted by Jessi Dickinson on June 7,2009 | 10:33PM

    Ben

    As one who has served in an organization for over three decades that seeks to build marriages and families that leave a great legacy, I so enjoyed the stories of you,your father and grandfather. Plato has said, "What is honored in a land will be cultivated there." You have done well in honoring both your father and grandfather. Their legacies are legendary! And it's good for us to hear and see you honoring them with the gifts and abilities that God has given you!
    Well done!

    Posted by Dennis Rainey on June 17,2009 | 10:11AM

    Stacy Labriola (my daughter) sent this to me. Read all of it with great interest. Will listen to you this coming Sunday morning. Good luck. From your frined in Brevard, NC.

    Posted by Linda Eyres Delzell on June 19,2009 | 05:09PM

    Mr. Patton,

    Bravo! A concrete example of how to establish a Family Heritage. My take-away was how much fun your parents had in life given the combat deployments, multiple moves, et al.

    Semper Fidelis,

    Allen Ford

    Posted by LtCol Allen S. Ford USMC on June 21,2009 | 06:02AM

    My husband and I heard your story on NPR radio this morning. I must admit that it was a fitting tribute on this Father's Day and I eagerly rushed to my computer to follow the links that it gave to read more of your story. I knew of your grandfather only through history books, the History Channel, and of course through the interpetation of George C. Scott's portrayal of him (which made me have the deepest admiration of both the man and the actor). Unfortunately, I was unaware of the family left to carry on as I am sure many of my generation are. This was a very welcome surprise to find that your family's legacy has been preserved through you to pass on to the future generations and thoughtfully shared with the rest of us. Your father sounds like a wonderful man in his own right and I appreciate the opportunity to see him through your eyes. Thanks also to your mother for sharing all of her memories and tapes to let their life together shine. So much is written about the soldiers who make history and not so much about the families who were left to wonder, hope, and worry about them while they were gone but still had to maintain a sense of normalcy and survive as a family back home. Thank you again for such a well written and obviously heartfelt work. I look forward to reading more from you.
    Sincerely,
    Peggy Ladd

    Posted by Peggy Ladd on June 21,2009 | 07:42AM

    I only caught the tail end of your interview on Fresh Air.

    At age 60, I've lost all my uncles who fought in WWII, two in the US Army, (ETO) and one in the Merchant Marine (Atlantic convoys).

    So I try to help a WWII vet friend who was a young AAF IFF radar tech (ex-Army Signal Corps) in the PTO.

    To get rid of "pests", Harold Levy and his buddies would requisition tommy guns, grenades and satchel charges, then go out and flush out the Japs who were taking pot shots at them.....

    It's hard to work on delicate, precision equipment when you are being shot at...

    He got so good at this, that the Army converted him into a full time tommy gunner... he was on an attack transport, headed for Kyushu, the day we dropped The Bomb.

    Harold was branded early on, as a "pre-mature anti-fascist" security clearance wise, because of his active supportof the Abraham Lincoln Brigade as a teenager... otherwise he might have taught radar or have done research in the field.

    So Harold was one "Lefty" who was not against The Bomb, in the early 1960's. as it probably saved his LIFE.

    Before shipping out, Harold spent time at Muroc, learning his trade, so he got to see the first jet fighters and other experimental aircraft. So much for his "questionable' security clearance....

    A small vignette of The War.

    Semper Fi

    Jesse

    Posted by Jesse Carroll on June 21,2009 | 08:42AM

    Ben.congratulations on your son!!!!!!!! nice,huh???and of course hearing from you nice too.....have just read all of the "above" comments...goodness...could comment on so many of them but won't...... so meaningful and Ben, so sincere...your wife must be so proud of you, as would the "old men"...... will probably be in touch as we live here in a retirement "place" in Ponte Vedra Fla, and have just read thru our "book" of service men (oh, so many gone)..but have three who talk about your grtandfather,,,etc... the book is a gem....hug that family... jmg

    Posted by jane gibson on June 21,2009 | 08:46AM

    Served in Third Army with 26th Infantry Division.Published my memoirs 5/1/09 titled "General George S. Patton's Typical Soldier" after encouragement from your sister Helen whom I have been in contact since 2004 via email and phone.
    Sold first printing of 115 books in weeks and are planning a second printing.Book is dedicated to your sister Helen and all who served under General Patton in the Third Army.
    The book contains maps,pictures,actual battle descriptions and is interspersed with letters sent home and saved by my Mother.Helen's comment was "I feel sure that Grandpa would be proud of his typical soldier.He would have loved the title."

    Posted by Thomas W. (Wally) Clarke on June 21,2009 | 09:33AM

    This is a very nice peice, and i very much enjoyed reading it. Thank you for sharing your accountings with us all.

    Posted by Nell Whitney on June 21,2009 | 10:47AM

    Ben I was honored to first post your father's name on the National WW2 Memorial Registry. My mother met your grandmother at a war bond selling luncheon in Chicago in 1943.Your grandfather broke military protical to salute my cousin Medal of Honor Recipient USMC Sgt.Daniel J.Daly in Paris during the months after the armistice.Greetings.

    Posted by Justin L. Daly on June 21,2009 | 01:04PM

    HI Ben. It was a great pleasure working with you and your students last summer at the farm. I remember your father with fond memories. I first got to know him when we was both on the BOD of the Hamilton Historical Society in the 80's. I was also the scoutmaster of troop 35 in Hamilton, at the time, and he offered for the troop to camp out anywhere on the farm. We did camp several times and each time he would come visit us and offer us water in the barn and asked if all was well. Both he and your mother comtributed a great deal to the well being and history of the town of Hamilton. Thanks for sharing your memories of him and it has inspired me to start doing a simular thing with my family history.
    Sincerily Butch Crosbie

    Posted by Arthur 'Butch' Crosbie on June 22,2009 | 09:00AM

    Thanks for sharing this touching and honorable tribute to the memory your Grandfather and Dad...

    The closing remarks of this story with a "Prayer For A Son", sent a clear message to the world the very heart of your Dad..
    HOW fitting..

    Posted by LeVerne L. Kidd on June 26,2009 | 07:50AM

    I met General Patton in 1971 when I was a second lieutenant in Germany serving as a safety officer on Vilseck's Range 80 tank qualification range. He was a hard charger in training and well respected by his men. This is a fine tribute by his son.

    Posted by Michael Schmieg on June 27,2009 | 10:49AM

    Dear Ben,
    Thanks for the correspondence; sorry I missed the live appearance but will pick it up. The article in SMITHSONIAN was fine writing and I really enjoyed details I did not know about a hero. Though I never met your grandfather, I faced the library at West Point with his likeness; no one can say he and I can't find it!
    Sorry you can't meet Sgt Earnest Noble Grace this go-round; maybe later; I'll see that his story is documented and we thank you for the suggestion.
    All best wishes, gene

    Posted by Eugene V. Grace, M.D. on June 28,2009 | 10:57AM

    Ben i remember your father with fond memories. i enjoyed driveing for hem in a jeep M151 at forthood texas. 1st OLD IRONSIDES october / november of 1963 i was E5 at the time. i am looking for the day to see hem up ther one mor time. THANK YOU FOR SHARING

    Posted by Dennis P Hussey on July 9,2009 | 07:05AM

    The picture of you with your father at the North Africa America Cemetery is being circulated throughout the staff of the American Battle Monuments Commission. For those not familiar with the work of ABMC, we operate the nation's 24 overseas military cemeteries, including the one on the edge of the ancient city of Carthage in Tunisia featured in your article. We invite all Americans to visit any of our sites--they are all are historic treasures, maintained beautifully. www.abmc.gov

    For the few readers who may not already know, your grandfather (General George S. Patton, Jr.) is buried at our Luxembourg American Cemetery.

    Posted by Charles Krohn on July 10,2009 | 10:57AM

    Ben,

    Thank you for sharing a cherished son’s remembrance of your dad. A fortunate son indeed. Your dedication and devotion –heartfelt; “…a library burning down…” averted. This ab extra friend has the fondest memories of time spent with your dad and mother. We met North-of-Boston circa 1983; your dad and mother Joanne most gracious and uncommonly genuine.

    There are so many anecdote’s all of George’s close friends could share –each ‘story’ a demonstration of George’s gentile friendship in the best Baconian traditions of truth and affection. Among this antediluvian sailor- warrior’s fondest recollections: a solitary walk with your dad on the sacred ‘Ground’ that is Green Meadows. George’s testament to those he held dear, those precious few --men for others lost in conflict far from home; their tablets, a fitting --Siste Viator.

    Later that evening, we stood in what I assume was your GrandFather’s study; looking down through the War rooms, a museum nonpareil in its setting. Your dad and I stood quietly in the VietNam room; both transported to another time and place. The ceiling display at once invoking cherished memories of events and camaraderie nonpareil; as well --the lament that is our legacy; remorse: ‘…the adequate of Hell…’

    That evening was this warrior’s first ‘Welcome Home’; granted by a Major General! Not surprisingly, the second granted by your mother Joanne, nearly two decades later --a tribute conferred upon VietNam Vets that evening [‘01] at the NSMT production of “…Letters From Nam…”

    ‘Recovered Ground’ --thinking your destiny discovered, your dad, gone from sight only, is telling your story in his ‘good’ voice to the Angels.

    Thank you again for your contribution –for your having made a difference. The General, an icon in spite of his protest; and, a Fortunate Dad –indeed.

    Warmest Regareds,
    John H. W. Nelson Ferrara
    LT. US Navy [formerly]
    IC ’70-‘71

    Posted by John H. W. Nelson Ferrara on July 11,2009 | 01:56PM

    Dear Ben,

    just a wonderful article. Your father gave me and my classmates entering the U. S. Army and Armor Branch on June 6th, 1973 our first piece of Armor Brass insigna at a luncheon hosted by him in the West Point Mess Hall. I have worn it and cherished it always. As you already know, your Father was very special. No disrespect to the other services, Soliders are special folks. Keep up the great work and good luck.
    with Best regards for continued success,
    Timothy Tapp
    USMA Class 1973

    Posted by Timothy Tapp on July 14,2009 | 10:48AM

    Thanks you Ben for writing the story and making the video of your family. As an army brat of '20,with a husband of'24 and being widow of '46 I appreciated it all. I was at your parents wedding. I urge my family members still around to leave his or her story for coming generations as a legacy. We need the past to build the future. god bless your family.

    Posted by Marie W. Parmly on July 21,2009 | 08:32PM

    Hello Ben. I had the privilege of meeting both of your parents at their home in Hamilton shortly after your dad returned from Vietnam in the early 70's. I lived not far away in Marblehead. I met them once again a few years later at Fort Knox when he dedicated a replica of my husband John Hays' armored vehicle in front of the General George S. Patton Sr. Museum. My then 4 yr. old daughter Lauren helped me cut the yellow ribbon. We cherish wonderful photos of your dad holding her on that very special day. The warm family man you spoke of in your article certainly shone with her. Lauren is married and living in MA. She has 2 sons, the oldest is 8 and bears his grandfather's name.
    As you might imagine I enjoyed reading the article about your dad and your rich heritage very much. It was written with love and one can tell by a very caring son. Of course it was a surprise to read the conversation as told to you between my late husband and your father. "Duty, Honor, Country" ring clear. The soldier's response in "Post a Comment" was meaningful to me as well.
    I wish you the very best and send warmest regards from the extended Hays family. Sincerely, Leslie Hays Campbell

    Posted by Leslie Hays Campbell on July 25,2009 | 11:11PM

    iN 1946,I WAS A 19 Yr old Pfc Driver at Ft. Benning,Ga in a Support Unit for the Post.On one night mission, picking up recent Graduates from West Point,which we had dropped off earlier in the day,I felt, and heard, one of my vehicles tires blow-out! I sounded our signal for such action, the convoy stopped and the Convoy Commander came back to me to find out why I did so and my problem.Since we transported personell by seating 12 in the rear truck body plus one in cab with the driver, all riding with me had to be spread out among the other vehicles.I helped with this and indicated I'd swith my tires and come in upon completion.
    The young 2nd Lieutenant riding in the cab with me stated he would stay and give me a hand as he knew what changing inner duals entailed.I expressed my aappreciation as the Convoy left.
    We fell to and the Lieutentant, not much older than I, worked as hard as I and getting just as dirty. When we finished,and stood up looking at each other, I said "you dont know how much I appreciate that, Lt." and looked at his name tag for the first time. It was "Patton".so I continued with his name. He replied "You're welcome. I know about dual wheels."
    Then, of course, I asked."Any relation to "Old Blood and Guts?"He replied" Hes my Father". I grinned ,saying " I'm a fan'.He grinned also,saying "Me,too".
    We loaded up,I took him to his quarters and as he got out he wished me good luck. As I drove to our Motor Pool,I thought he'll be a good officer because he cares about the troops.
    In 1952, when I was commissioned from 1st Sgt to 2nd Lt.I recalled that inccident many times and tried to do as well.

    Posted by Lee B. Philmon, Major (ret'd) on August 29,2009 | 09:22PM

    I served under your father in Vietnam. I remain honored with that distinction as well as with his commanding officer signature on my Purple Heart certificate.

    Posted by Robert E. Rhodes on September 14,2009 | 10:07AM

    I served with your father in Vietnam and it was a great honor to go forward with a man who knew his decisions affected all around and in his command. It was a privilege.

    "allons"

    Posted by Dennis M Pedersen on September 22,2009 | 03:00PM

    I came into the 11th ACR, one commander after General Patton and enjoyed the stories of his command by those still around. By all reports, he was a very amazing man.

    The 11th ACR, Blackhorse, (both in Viet Nam and later in Fulda, Germany) was definitely the best unit I ever served in over my 28 years in the Army and Army Reserves; no question.

    Allons!

    Regards,

    Burton G. Parker
    LTC, USAR (Ret)
    llth ACR Regimental Asst S-4, 1970-1971
    11th ACR Regimental Rollup Force, 1971

    Posted by Burton G Parker on September 30,2009 | 05:45PM

    Dear Ben,
    To see your Dad again and hear his voice, even if by video, brought tears to my eyes. I was fortunate enough to serve as Armor School Chaplain during some of your Dad's time at Ft. Knox, 1971-1973. From the day I met him until now, it was the greatest experience of my career. I was proud to bear the title of Gen. Patton's Chaplain. There are no words to describe his lovely wife, Joanne. She remains a model of every Army wife should be, kind, generous, caring and loving to all, especially to enlisted men and women. I look forward to your book and hope what I submit may be helpful in its writing. Gen. Patton told me of his reaction to the movie, "Patton," tears and all. I remember when George C. Scott came to your house for dinner. Golden days and nights, and I thank God for all of them.
    Glenn L. Myers
    Chaplain (Col), U.S. Army Retired

    Posted by Chaplain (Col) Glenn Myers on October 29,2009 | 10:52AM

    Sir, I met your father in 1988 in Fulda Germany. He was coming through on a tour and they selected six of us to meet him. I have no idea how they went about the selection process, but I was one of them. While meeting us (sort of like an inspection I guess) the only thing he asked me was, "are they treating you right" I honestly was scared you know what less, and replied that they were. He seemed to care about all of us and also seemed to be a very nice man. It was my honor to meet him, thank you for sharing the article.

    Posted by Blake Wood on November 7,2009 | 10:00AM

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