Marine Corps heroes, once accepted, tend to remain enshrined. Such is the case of Major General Smedley Darlington Butler, whose service began in 1898 with the Spanish-American War and ended in 1931—with a reprimand in lieu of a threatened court-martial. Those dates span probably the most colorful earner of any officer who has ever worn forest green. Butler ad more than his share of time in combat and in foreign expeditionary duties; received two Medals of Honor; saw detached service as the Commissioner of Public Safety, to dean up Philadelphia during the “roaring Twenties”; and commanded a brigade sent to China during a period of domestic turmoil that threatened American lives and property. The hawkish, penetrating stare that brought Butler the nickname “Old Gimlet Eye” has transfixed readers of Marine Corps history for more than half a century.
Despite such a brilliant career, Butler failed to receive nod for the Corps’ highest post when the 14th Commandant of the Marine Corps (CMC), Major General Wendell C. Neville, died in office in 1930. Many thought 'hat Butler—as the senior major general in the Corps and with his spectacular record—deserved the position and cried “Foul!” Some of these suggested that a coalition of civilian politicians and shore-based admirals had torpedoed Butler—convincing President Herbert C. Hoover and Secretary of the Navy Charles F. Adams to bypass Sutler in favor of the mild-mannered and uncontroversial H. Fuller, a Naval Academy classmate of the new Chief of Naval Operations, William V. Pratt. A more bailed and less hagiographic examination of Butler’s career, however, suggests that in this instance the politicians and admirals acted wisely, and in the best interests of the naval services and the nation.
In his autobiography Old Gimlet Eye—written with Well Thomas—Butler claims to have presented himself to the CMC, Brigadier General Charles Heywood, in 1898—flushed with patriotism after the U. S. declaration of war against Spain. By his account, Butler claimed to be 18 years old, rather than the truthful 16, and he was accepted for a commission after a cursory interview. The commissioning procedures for Marine Corps officers in the 19th century were indeed slipshod at times, but a bit more administrative work and background checking occurred than Butler admits. Elected to Congress in 1896, Smedley’s father—Thomas S. Butler—served on the powerful House Naval Affairs Committee. This committee and its counterpart in the Senate held tight-control over both the Navy and Marine Corps, especially in matters of budget and manpower.
Smedley D. Butler may suggest that he fooled the Commandant by lying about his age in order to receive a commission, but it is more likely that Heywood had discussed the young man’s application with his congressman father and gained the elder Butler’s approval. Heywood was no fool. He understood the benefits of having an ally for the Marine Corps on the House Naval Affairs Committee. In short order, the youthful Butler received rudimentary military training at the “Eighth and Eye” Marine Barracks in Washington, D.C.—and soon found himself in Cuba with Huntington’s battalion.
Performing well for his superiors, Butler decided that being a Marine offered more exciting possibilities than earning an engineering degree—his father’s preference— and elected to remain in uniform. Years later in his published memoir, Butler reflected on the experience in Cuba with a pointed comment about his contemporaries who earned their commissions by attending the U. S. Naval Academy: “that group on the Guantanamo hilltop was about the most genial, loyal little band of comrades I’ve every known . . . association with these men meant more to me . . . than 4 years in a naval academy would have meant.”
In the next few years, Smedley Butler served in assignments characteristic of America’s new age— expeditionary infantry duties—in which large units of Marines and sailors would be formed initially from among the Leathernecks and Bluejackets in the fleet, and then reinforced by battalions of Marines formed at barracks. During the expedition to relieve Beijing and Tientsin in 1902, Butler encountered the indefatigable campaigner, Littleton W. T. Waller. For the remainder of his professional life, Butler considered Waller—sometimes known as the “Butcher of Samar” for his harsh tactics during the Philippine Insurrection—to be the ideal Marine Corps officer: “The greatest soldier I have ever known . . .Waller may have liked to talk about himself, but he had plenty to talk about.” Sadly for both Waller and Butler, not everyone agreed.
In 1910, following a spate of in-house acrimony between the CMC, Major General George F. Elliott, and the Adjutant and Inspector, the colorful Colonel Charles H. Lauchheimer, Elliott opted for retirement. Most observers—including Butler—assumed that the venerable Waller would gain the Corps’ highest post. However, in a private meeting with Secretary of the Navy George von L Meyer, President William H. Taft bowed to pressure from the powerful Pennsylvania Senator Boise Penrose and J appointed his constituent, Philadelphia’s William A. Bid- 1 die, to the post. Stunned, Butler became an irrepressible and unrepentant bushwhacker. Well into the second decade of this century, he carried the banner for the notion that his future and that of the Corps would best be served by leadership like Waller’s. For most other Marine Corps leaders, he had only contempt and his own special brand of guerrilla warfare.
The passage of legislation in 1913 that limited the tenure of each CMC to four years—unless reappointed— ended the traditional system of appointment until death of retirement, which had been in effect since 1798. In 1913, Josephus Daniels, the new Secretary of the Navy, eased Biddle into retirement and began the search for a new CMC. Excitedly, Butler assumed that Waller would win this time. He generated a flurry of correspondence home, knowing full well that every letter would be read by congressman father:
“I am so unhappy, I do not know what to do—nothing to look forward to and absolutely no silver lining to this awful black cloud. All my hard work has been thrown away and I am broken. The only hope is Colonel Waller’s appointment and I am losing faith in that.... If Col. Waller could only win them over— thing[s] would be exactly as it [sic] should be.”
Much to Butler’s dismay—and despite whatever political leverage his father applied—stronger forces determined the selection of a new CMC in 1913-14. Biddle had hoped to slide in the veteran campaigner, Colonel Lincoln Karmany, before sufficient political forces could be organized to oppose this handpicked successor. But Secretary Daniels eliminated Karmany from the running when he learned of his messy divorce in order to marry Another woman.
Waller had the endorsement of all 21 Democrats in the Senate, but carried the unacceptable baggage of Samar with him. Secretary Daniels reasoned that it made no sense to appoint an officer with a reputation for callous and inhumane treatment of the Filipino people, just when the Wilson Administration promised a more enlightened and humane government of the Philippines. Thus, when Daniels and President Wilson examined their remaining options, they found that the most likely candidates for the Corps’ highest post were John Archer Lejeune—still a lieutenant colonel and too junior in grade—and Colonel George Barnett, ably championed by his roommate from the Naval Academy Class of 1881, Congressman John Weeks of Massachusetts. Daniels was not completely comfortable with Barnett, but he agreed to his appointment because of the seniority question. This sent Butler’s morale to even lower depths: “I suppose Mrs. Barnett [a wealthy socialite] is wild. Poor, poor Colonel Waller— my disappointment is nothing to his.”
In 1914, shortly after Barnett’s appointment, the United States landed sizable naval forces at Vera Cruz, on Mexico’s Gulf coast. As events surrounding America’s somewhat dubious action in the region unfolded, Butler was awarded his first Medal of Honor—along with 58 other naval personnel (as compared to only 13 for all of World War I). Most observers considered the awards given Marines somewhat specious—especially since they all went to officers—and Butler pleaded with his congressman father to have his medal withdrawn.
By now, a pattern had developed with regard to Butler’s correspondence home. In letters to his wife or mother, he always included commentary on professional matters— knowing that these views would reach the desk of Congressman Butler. And with the help of his father, Butler gained assignment to the Marine Corps brigade deploying to the troubled nation of Haiti in 1915. Although he would later regret every string he pulled to serve there, he initially wrote home: “thank him [father] for his share in my fine vacation.” Butler’s tour in Haiti would be widely heralded by Marine Corps historians, and would bring him a second Medal of Honor—but on a personal level, it turned sour rather quickly.
By the fall of 1915, Butler had become highly critical of his brigade commander. Colonel Eli K. Cole (USNA 1888), whom he considered to be over-educated and out of touch with reality:
“Now this sort of warfare will pass and gain you much credit and high marks in a million dollar war college, but will always have little effect on creatures who have difficulty in reading and writing . . . now Col. Waller has never been to a war college ... is of the old fashioned school that believes the way to end a row with a savage monkey is to . . . find out how savage he is.”
Butler’s venomous disgust with Cole (the first Marine Corps officer to graduate from the Army War College) extended to the Haitians they were trying to help. The same pithy letter home revealed strong personal and racial animosities: “the men had all gotten so tired and disgusted seeing Cole rush around to consult this nigger counsel [sic] and they all thoroughly enjoyed seeing me put him in his place.”
Meanwhile, back in Washington, Commandant Barnett was pushing legislation on personnel matters that appeared to be winning easy passage—much to Butler’s disgust. Ever since the reestablishment of the Corps in 1798 (after a post-Revolutionary War hiatus) special staff officers— adjutant-and-inspectors, paymasters, and quartermasters— had been authorized. Periodically, these positions were filled by applicants who were line officers of the Corps. In most cases, promotions and tenure came with these appointments, and the incumbents rarely served outside of Marine Corps Headquarters in Washington. To a field Marine like Butler, such “headquarters toadies” appeared to be slackers: “these officers went into the staff to avoid disagreeable duty and now after years of easy life they want to slip back into their old places in the line to the detriment of the men . . . who have been doing the hard work.” Later, Butler emphasized his point: “tell him [father] the line officers to a man, that is all I have talked to, look upon this proposed Marine Corps personnel bill with suspicion.” Despite this sputtering opposition from afar, the legislation passed. The Corps’ three senior staff officers became brigadier generals—much to the dismay of Butler, who continued to fume away in lonely Haitian exile.
In 1916, Butler became head of the U. S.-advised national police force of Haiti (Gendarmie d'Haiti) and received a major general’s commission in the organization. The temporary promotion suited Butler’s ego, but even his mentor Waller found it a bit much. In one of his lengthy situation reports to Lejeune (the Assistant CMC), Waller reported putting his restless subordinate in his place. On one occasion, when Butler had returned from the bush and planned to visit Waller’s mess, he asked where he should sit. Amused, Waller suggested that if Butler came wearing his rank as a Marine Corps major he would sit at the table in accordance with seniority; on the other hand, if he appeared in the uniform of a major general in the Gendarmie d’Haiti, he could feed in the pantry!
By the fall of 1916, Butler’s morale had plunged to new lows, but his venom level remained high. He longed for another assignment: “. . . [I] am simply the very subservient chief of a nigger police force and, were it not that I have to save a little nest egg for the future, would quit the d—d job.” By this time, even Waller was having trouble with the difficult assignment in Haiti. At one point, relations among Butler, Waller, and Admiral William B. Caperton (commanding the U. S. Naval Mission to Haiti) had become so strained that it appeared as though Butler might be ordered out of the country. Lejeune eventually counseled Waller to stand back—lest he fail selection to brigadier general because of his penchant for ruffling the Navy’s feathers.
Earlier, Butler had characteristically let his father know just what he thought of the Navy component of the mission: “really, these Navy people are not fit to be put ashore, officers or men. . . .” For his part, Waller responded to Lejeune’s counsel by expressing his own bias against the local political leaders, whose opinions continued to be sought by the Naval Mission: “I do not see why the desires of these negroes should be considered in the appointment of a brigadier general of the United States Marine Corps.”
Butler continued to chafe under his Haitian assignment, until the U. S. declaration of war against Germany in April 1917 finally seemed to offer a ray of hope for his professional future. When the news of the U. S. entry into World War I reached Haiti, Butler began to bombard Washington with requests for assignment to a Marine Corps unit destined for duty in France. Lejeune fueled Butler’s excitement with a letter suggesting that if he received orders to command the Marine Corps Brigade, he might take Butler along in command of a battalion. Sadly for both officers, however, interservice rivalry soon came into play.
Although he was reluctant to accept Marines in the ranks of the American Expeditionary Force (AEF), the Secretary of the Army finally agreed to a token force of Leathernecks—provided their organization and equipment conformed to the standard U. S. Army pattern. Accordingly, the brigade formed at Quantico became a regiment comparable to a U. S. Army regiment, with a colonel in command. Much to Butler’s disgust, a Naval Academy classmate of the Commandant became the regiment s commanding officer—and later the commanding general of the entire 4th Marine Brigade: “See what you get for hanging around [Headquarters]” snarled Butler, in his next letter home.
Butler’s repeated pleas to get to the front left as official requests, with each sailing of the mailboats from Haiti. The Commandant answered each one patiently. Privately- however, Barnett appeared to relish Butler’s unhappiness- Word eventually reached Butler of the CMC’s remark that Butler “had used all the political pull possible to get [the assignment in Haiti] and could stay there and enjoy it.” Butler’s nemesis, Cole, penned negative endorsements on each request for transfer as well, suggesting that Butler had become almost indispensable to the efficiency and well-being of the Gendarmie d'Haili. But even the Commandant could not fend off the indefatigable Butler forever—especially with his powerful father operating nearby on Capitol Hill.
In the late spring of 1918, Butler finally received orders from Haiti to Quantico, presumably to join a unit bound for the AEF in France. Through that hot summer, he trained and fretted in the Virginia woods. Finally, in command of the 13th Marine Regiment, Butler embarked for France with the 5th Marine Brigade—under the command of Brigadier General Eli K. Cole. Butler’s willingness to serve under an officer he despised underscores the ferocity of his desire to get into the fighting. But that was still not to be.
General John J. Pershing, the Commander-in-Chief of the AEF, had reluctantly accepted one brigade of Marines, hut by the end of the summer of 1918 he had seen enough interference in his Army show from the Navy and the Marines. The lavish praise and publicity earned by the Marines—especially at Belleau Wood—rankled many senior Army officers, and no matter how well the Leathernecks Performed on the battlefield, Pershing would not allow another Marine Corps brigade to enter the front lines. As the 5th Marine Brigade received orders breaking it up and assigning it to scattered rear area duties, Cole returned to the United States—coincident with Butler’s promotion to Brigadier general.
Excitedly, Butler wrote home of his future, wearing general’s stars. From an astute politician, he had learned early the importance of pleasing the powerful. Even before leaving Quantico for France, Butler had attached an important second lieutenant—Josephus Daniels, Jr., son of the Secretary of the Navy—to his personal staff. With his promotion, Butler planned to make the young man his aide-de-camp. But John Archer Lejeune had the same idea, apparently for the same reason. Much to the disgust of both Butler and the younger Daniels, the Secretary’s son received orders transferring him from the 5th Marine Brigade to Lejeune’s 2d Infantry Division. In the meantime, with his brigade scattered throughout the Services of Supply (SOS) rear area of the AEF, Butler received orders to take command of the processing camp near Brest.
Composed of leaky tents erected on 1,700 acres of mud flats, Camp Pontanezen had become an eyesore and an embarrassment to the AEF by the fall of 1918. On the day that Butler assumed command, more than 100 men died of influenza, and a thousand more huddled in the inadequate shelters, shivering in the early fall chill. Furious, the camp’s new commander brought new fire into his small command and quickly raised the habitability and morale of the desolate place. Because of his relentless search for wooden duckboards to raise the walkways above the sea of mud, Butler became known throughout the AEF as “General Duckboard.” But it was neither to command a rear area camp nor to forage for supplies that he had first answered the bugle’s call as a youth of 16 years.
Butler’s continued pleas for combat duty in the fall of 1918 fell on deaf ears. Even his powerful father failed to move the Commander of the AEF. With the Allied high command wheeling and positioning its forces for the final offensive against Germany, Butler began to realize all too well that he had missed his chance:
I feel at the present time and have felt for the past five months that my days of soldiering are over. For over twenty years, I worked hard to fit myself to take part in this war . . . and when the supreme test came, my country did not want me.
In his self-pity, Butler had a point, perhaps without fully realizing it. His repeated requests for a transfer from Camp Pontanezen to a combat command had been the subject of correspondence between Lejeune and the Commander of the SOS, Major General James G. Harbord— with both senior officers agreeing that the best course of action was to leave Butler in the rear.
Upon his return to the United States in 1919, Butler became the chief of staff at Quantico, under Lejeune. With the war over, the wily Secretary of the Navy had decided to replace Commandant Barnett with Lejeune— and set in motion events that would stun naval circles and Washington, D.C. officials. Playing on Butler’s dislike for Barnett, Daniels gained their support for the change in the commandancy—an important political consideration, given the fact that the incumbent CMC enjoyed powerful Republican support on Capitol Hill.
With the impending change about to unfold, Lejeune began to have misgivings about the duplicity involved. In two stormy confrontations held at the post headquarters at Quantico, the assistant base adjutant remembered Butler suggesting to Lejeune that “Barnett was a weak old woman and had to go! If Lejeune was not prepared to assume the commandancy then someone else would be found to take the position.”
The details of the ouster of Barnett as the 12th Commandant of the Marine Corps in 1920 have been documented elsewhere (“Ouster of a Commandant,” Proceedings, November 1980, pp. 80-85). As Barnett walked out of his headquarters on the last day of June, Butler sat in his car across the street because (as his aide-de-camp told the story) he wanted the satisfaction of seeing a defeated Barnett leave office. Congressman Butler responded more directly to Lejeune a few days later: “My, I am pleased with your appointment. Now, we are going to have a real Marine Corps and it is commanded by a real soldier.” In the next few months, however, domestic political considerations almost upset the change in the commandancy.
With the election of the Harding-Coolidge ticket in the fall of 1920, all pending appointments of the lame-duck Wilson Administration were set aside, to await the pleasure of the incoming administration. And the new Secretary of War was Barnett’s roommate from the Naval Academy, former Representative John Weeks. Supporters of Lejeune feared that his short commandancy might end on 4 March 1921, with the inauguration of a new president. But Congressman Butler sought the counsel of Secretary Daniels, and together these two shrewd politicians secured Lejeune’s confirmation.
On Daniels’s advice, Butler had marched in the entire House Naval Affairs Committee to call on Edwin Denby, the new Secretary of the Navy, as a demonstration of bipartisan support for Lejeune’s appointment. Denby— himself a Marine Corps officer during the Great War— accepted the recommendation, and in the process agreed to the restoration of the demoted Barnett to major general. The return of his second star did much to assuage Barnett’s hurt pride and put the controversy to rest, but it also meant that the Corps’ quota of promotions to that rank had been filled by Lejeune, Neville, and Barnett. This would leave Butler a brigadier general until at least 1923, when Barnett had to retire upon reaching the mandatory age. And, given the reductions in the size of the armed forces being urged by Congress and the administration, the Marine Corps’ authorized number of major generals would likely be reduced by then, with Butler again being left out.
Nevertheless, upon assuming command at Quantico, the tireless Butler fulfilled Lejeune’s every expectation, with characteristic drive and zeal. Butler championed Lejeune’s notion of Quantico becoming a school for enlisted men to learn vocational skills, and guided it accordingly—greatly pleasing Secretary Daniels and later Secretary Denby. Between them, Lejeune and Butler concocted the idea of using the Quantico-based brigade to reenact epic Civil War battles. Although somewhat quaint, these fall marches into the woods became popular annual events—drawing citizens from the urban centers of the East by the thousands. Even President Harding and his entourage attended. The irrepressible Butler enhanced his status as a field Marine by adopting the habit of carrying the pack and rifle of a straggler—in addition to his own gear—on the long marches. (At the time, Butler probably did not weigh 140 pounds soaking wet!)
In addition to participation in the maneuvers, the colorful commander added his own special contribution to Quantico’s athletic events. Marine Corps football had its origins at Mare Island, California, during World War I. In the fall of 1919, Quantico began to field the Marines' varsity team. From that season through 1923, the Leathernecks compiled an impressive record: 38 wins, 2 losses, and 2 ties, in games against other service teams, the service academies, and even against such college gridiron greats as the University of Michigan. Adding color to the fall spectacle was Quantico’s own head cheerleader. Smedley D. Butler. With the base band thundering in the background, Butler often took to the field to cheer on the team, much to the amusement of the attendees—both in and out of uniform. But despite all the pageantry, Butler had begun to find duty at Quantico a bore by the end of 1923.
In his memoirs, Butler claims that the mayor of Philadelphia, W. Freeland Kendrick, asked for him by name to help clean up the City of Brotherly Love. In truth, Kendrick only asked President Coolidge for the loan of a general officer to help him rid Philadelphia of crime and corruption. But when Coolidge passed the request on to the House Naval Affairs Committee for consideration, the presence of the senior Butler made Smedley D. Butler an obvious choice, especially since the family seat (Newtown Square) lay just to the west of Philadelphia.
The assignment would test Butler’s mettle and frustrate him more than any posting in his military career. Almost as soon as he arrived in Philadelphia, Butler realized that the city fathers had no intention of cleaning up the corruption; instead, his appointment had been intended as a political sop to the populace. To his dismay, Butler learned that he lacked the authority to fire corrupt officials; he could only order them transferred. Undaunted, he led raids on speakeasies with the spirit and determination that had characterized his performance as a Marine. But even before he reached his first summer as the Commissioner of Public Safety, his self-image as a modem Saint George— flaying the dragons of municipal corruption and illicit booze—had begun to wear thin.
In May 1924, Butler informed Lejeune that he wanted to return to the Corps; although the CMC responded with a warm personal note, telling Butler that “he had missed him more than he could know,” Lejeune had waited until July to answer. By then, he could inform his restless subordinate that a shuffle of general officer assignments was about to take place and if Butler returned to duty, he could expect command of the Marine Corps base in San Diego- Butler jumped at the chance. And even though he found himself far from his base of political power, his tenure in southern California would still manage to add to the controversy surrounding his career.
In 1926, Butler placed Colonel Alexander S. Williams. his second in command, on report—for violation of the laws prohibiting the consumption of alcohol. According to Butler, Williams (a popular veteran of Samar) had appeared intoxicated at a hotel in Coronado. By this point in his career, Butler had become a militant prohibitionist, as had other Marine Corps officers. (Earlier, Lejeune had become so disgusted with the bootlegging problem that he recommended the outright purchase of civilian-owned Quantico Town, to remove the nest of sleazy characters just outside the base.)
With Butler pressing his case, Williams received a court-martial, was found guilty, and was punished with a loss of numbers on the lineal list. After Williams died in an automobile accident six months later, critics suggested that Williams had committed suicide and blamed Butler for the tragedy. At the time, most Americans turned a blind eye to the laws prohibiting the consumption of alcohol—considering them unreasonable and impossible to enforce—and Butler was pursuing a typically unpopular course.
Meanwhile, in Washington, Butler’s second star appeared to be coming. In congressional testimony, Lejeune pressed for an increase in the number of major generals for the Corps. Noting that the Army counted one major general for each 3,200 troops and the Navy one rear admiral Per 3,000 sailors, the CMC asked only for one major general per 3,500 Marines. Almost immediately, speculation raged over possible recipients of the coveted promotions. An exasperated Lejeune sent letters of caution to his senior officers—to stop the idle gossip, lest the proposed increases be lost because of too much attention and controversy. Not the least bit intimidated, Butler responded by informing Lejeune that he had no intention of asking his congressman father for assistance in getting the legislation Passed unless it appeared likely that he would receive one °f the promotions. Equally stubborn, Lejeune ignored Butler’s blatant sandbagging and left him in California, while selecting a more qualified general officer for an 'important assignment.
No stranger to Nicaragua, the Marine Corps had prodded forces to an earlier naval mission to protect American lives and property. By the mid-1920s, the political situation had deteriorated to the point that even the timid Coolidge felt the need to intervene in that troubled land. To command the force, Lejeune selected Logan Feeland instead of Butler, apparently because he considered Feeland the better general officer. Butler expressed no opinion on the issue, because at roughly the same time, worsening conditions in another part of the world were also demanding a sizable naval force.
In late 1926, when Chiang Kai-shek led his nationalist army north to unify China, foreign residents of the ancient kingdom—especially Americans—grew fearful and requested protection. On Coolidge’s orders, Butler and a brigade of Marines sailed for China in early 1927, to provide a stabilizing force, stationed between Shanghai and Tientsin. Of all the military adventures of the legendary Butler, his short stay in China (the brigade headquarters sailed home that summer) appears to be the most satisfactory. Unlike many of Butler’s other tours of duty, this one remained remarkably free of controversy.
Within a year, however, Smedley Butler’s political clout disappeared. On 26 May 1928, Congressman Butler died. With his passing, Smedley Butler’s influence in naval circles disappeared. When Lejeune decided to retire the following year, he recommended Wendell C. Neville for the commandancy—no surprise to anyone, considering Neville’s record. But when Neville suffered a disabling stroke and died on 8 July 1930, Lejeune refused to go to bat for Smedley Butler as a successor to the Commandancy. Significantly, the letters recommending Butler as the next CMC came mostly from friends in Philadelphia—and not from within naval circles. Lejeune did write a folksy letter to Hoover’s personal secretary, recommending Butler for the post. But privately, he was urging the appointment of Logan Feeland.
In any event, President Hoover and his Secretary of the Navy, Charles F. Adams, seemed determined to end the aura of Byzantine politics surrounding the senior leadership of the armed services. Even while senior Army officers were still stunned by the announcement that the relatively junior Douglas MacArthur would be their new chief of staff, naval circles expressed astonishment over the appointment of the mild-mannered Ben H. Fuller to head the Corps. A Naval Academy graduate with few powder bums on his uniform. Fuller appeared as the incarnation of Butler’s most-despised officer—a headquarters toadie, and an Annapolis Marine to boot! Despite this new cause for fulmination, Butler elected to remain in uniform. But his days were numbered. Secretary Adams made no secret of his dislike for the colorful Butler, who was already singled out as a menace to the new administration.
Then, Butler played into the hands of his opponents with characteristic lack of judgment. Invited to give a speech at a private club in Philadelphia, Butler delivered an inappropriate and demeaning anecdote about the Italian dictator, Benito Mussolini. Almost immediately, the U. S. State Department received an official protest from Rome. Once news of the gaffe had passed through the Oval Office, the Commandant received orders to try Butler by court-martial. Stunned, Butler turned over his command at Quantico and launched a legal defense that, for once, embarrassed his antagonists more than himself. When the dust had settled, the Hoover Administration found its way out of the controversy through the relatively mild action of reprimanding Butler—demanding and duly receiving a letter of apology. Butler requested retirement that fall, effective I October 1931. Significantly, Lejeune claimed the press of official duties in his new position as the Superintendent of the Virginia Military Institute, in declining his invitation to Butler’s retirement ceremony.
But even though he was now in mufti, the Corps had not heard the last of Old Gimlet Eye. When Fuller approached mandatory retirement age in 1934, Butler—reverting to form as the consummate bushwhacker—launched a spirited campaign against the appointment of the new appointee, John Russell, enlisting the aid of Senator Hugo Black to block Russell’s confirmation. Hoping to get Lejeune involved in the controversy, Butler wrote excitedly to his erstwhile friend, pushing the appointment of Hugh Matthews instead. When Lejeune responded by suggesting gently to let the appointment of Russell pass, Butler fired off a telegram, trying to force Lejeune to join him at the barricades: “. . . believe we now have [the] chance [to] bring [the] Marine Corps back to the leadership approaching you and Neville.”
Lejeune ignored Butler’s pleas, and an officer who was the antithesis of a bushwhacker came to head the Corps in 1934. John Russell carried all the baggage that Butler despised—a diploma from the Naval Academy, few powder bums on his uniform, a decade of detached duty with the State Department in Haiti, and powerful friends in the inner circles of Washington. Yet it was Russell who succeeded in obtaining legislation changing the Corps’s antiquated system of officer promotion—a reform that had eluded every Commandant from Lejeune through Fuller. And it was Russell who oversaw the creation of the Fleet Marine Force and who guided the development of amphibious doctrine, preparing the Marine Corps for its major contribution in World War II.
Quite possibly, Smedley Darlington Butler could have existed in no military organization but the U. S. Marine Corps and at no time but the early 20th century. John Archer Lejeune recognized Butler as a colorful anachronism, and saw clearly that he could never be the Commandant of the Marine Corps. With Butler heading the Corps either from 1928 to 1932 (according to the Josephus Daniels scenario) or possibly from 1930 (following Neville’s death) to 1934, the important development of amphibious doctrine may never have taken place—for during the 1920s, amphibious warfare took a back seat to the crowd-pleasing battle reenactments. And given Butler’s anti- Navy, anti-Naval Academy, and anti-War College views, the U. S. Marine Corps may well have entered and finished World War II by manning small detachments for shipboard duties and defense battalions—unable to provide amphibious forces to form the spearhead for victory in the Pacific.
Author's sources include published memoirs, manuscript collections at the Library of Congress and other public and private libraries, Benis M. Frank’s oral histories at the Marine Corps Historical Center, and personal interviews. For a complete list of sources, write Colonel Bartlett, c/o Proceedings, U. S. Naval Institute, Annapolis. MD, 21402.