General George S. Patton Jr. is one of America’s most iconic military leaders. With his fearless leadership, explosive temper, and faith in destiny, Patton was as multifaceted as he was successful—a man both adored and criticized, respected and demonized.
Born to a prosperous family in California in 1885, Patton was raised among luxury, but struggled with school early on. Reading and spelling were difficult, and he might have gone undiagnosed with dyslexia. But the minute he found his feet reading about military history, his world opened up. He was an avid reader, consumed by tales of war, particularly the Civil War, which had been so devastating for his family. Two of his family members, a grandfather and a great-uncle, had lost their lives in that war.
Patton started his military training at the Virginia Military Institute but later switched to West Point after one year. Even there, nothing was easy—he had to take his first year over again. But he stuck with it. In 1909, he graduated and was commissioned as a cavalry officer. Only three years later, he participated in the 1912 Olympics in Stockholm’s modern pentathlon, placing fifth. His interest in swordsmanship prompted him to create the U.S. Model 1913 Cavalry Saber, commonly referred to as the “Patton Sword.”
He saw his first taste of battle in 1916 when the U.S. ventured into Mexico to apprehend Pancho Villa. Patton commanded a bold raid that resulted in the killings of three of Villa’s men and was the first time that motor vehicles were employed in battle by the U.S. Army. When America entered World War I, Patton accompanied General John J. Pershing to France and was the first officer to be dispatched to the U.S. Tank Corps. He trained crews, formulated tactics, and even assisted in the design of their uniforms. At Saint-Mihiel and later in the Meuse-Argonne offensive, Patton proved his bravery, leading from the front and refusing to leave the field even after being wounded—an act that earned him the Distinguished Service Cross.
Between the world wars, Patton became one of the Army’s most vocal advocates for armored warfare. He often clashed with traditionalists, but his ideas gradually gained traction. At the start of World War II, Patton commanded the 2nd Armored Division. Following Pearl Harbor, he directed the establishment of the Desert Training Center in California, training soldiers to fight in the scorching deserts of North Africa. His aggressive battles during the 1942 Casablanca invasion and the 1943 invasion of Sicily hit the headlines—and made enemies.
Patton was a man whose presence was striking. He dressed in crisply pressed uniforms, handled ivory-handled revolvers, and gave expletive-filled orations meant to incite his men. But beneath the showmanship was a grave, old-fashioned warrior who held discipline, honor, and swift combat by the axle. Some who knew him questioned whether his numerous head injuries through the years led to unpredictable mood swings. Others have speculated on potential autism spectrum characteristics—such as his single-minded concentration and social clumsiness—but these speculations remain unsubstantiated.
He had no aversion to scandal. In Sicily, he struck a soldier who was afflicted with what today we’d diagnose as PTSD, claiming that he was a coward. The act came close to getting him kicked out of the army. But when the Germans broke their surprise counteroffensive in the winter of 1944—the Battle of the Bulge—Patton’s commanding presence was invaluable to the Allied forces. He then moved his Third Army north with all deliberate speed, advancing over 250,000 men and hundreds of tanks through the cold in a series of complex maneuvers to bail out the besieged town of Bastogne. His rapidity and prescience amazed friend and enemy. Infamously, he even had his chaplain compose a prayer for fairer weather so that Allied air power could fly. When the skies cleared, Patton credited the prayer.
As the war was winding down, Patton’s army swept through Germany, freeing towns, taking thousands of prisoners, and taking strategic territory. But he was outraged when he was not permitted to command the final push into Berlin. Following Germany’s capitulation, he was made military governor of Bavaria—a duty he resented. His open criticism of Allied policy, especially the program of denazification, resulted in his relief from command.
Next was a tragic and untimely end. In December 1945, only months after the war ended, Patton was severely injured in a car accident near Mannheim, Germany. Although initially expected to make a recovery, he died twelve days later from a blood clot. He was 60 years old. At his request—and supported by his wife, Beatrice—he was not interred in Arlington, but at the American Cemetery of Hamm, Luxembourg, with his fallen comrades. The French government offered, it is said, a location in Napoleon’s tomb, but Beatrice felt he would have wanted to be with the soldiers he commanded in combat. His grave now remains isolated at the cemetery entrance, looking towards the rows of crosses—a commander still guarding his men.
The Patton legacy did not stop there. His son, George S. Patton IV, took up his father’s mantle, serving in Korea and Vietnam. Despite comparisons, Patton IV forged his reputation as a competent and empathetic leader. His son, Ben Patton, has since spoken about the enduring power of the Patton name and the values—leadership, loyalty, courage—that have influenced generations.
General George S. Patton was a man of contradictions: bold but irresponsible, brilliant but flawed, a visionary commander with old-fashioned sensibilities. His triumphs contributed to the shaping of the most catastrophic war in human history. And his larger-than-life personality meant that, for better or ill, he would never be forgotten. Even today, decades later, Patton remains controversial and awe-inspiring. He believed in fate, and in so many ways, he lived it, leaving a legacy that still moves forward.