by
Bernard S. Carter
ON a warm, sunny morning in October, 1942, I was walking down Constitution Avenue in Washington headed in a bewildered way for the Munitions Building, where I had been told to report. Suddenly and to my joy I saw ahead of me my old roommate at Harvard, Charley Codman, looking very smart and military in his summer uniform as Major in the Air Corps. “This is good,” exclaimed Charley. “I bet you can’t guess my assignment for today! To investigate the security qualifications of one Bernard S. Carter.”
This was the first intimation I had had that Charley and I were to serve on General Patton’s staff and in the same G-2 Section.
I can never begin to describe what a comfort it was to me to have Charley near at hand during those long months starting at 5 A.M. October 23, 1942, at Fort Myer, when we were loaded down with huge unfamiliar Tommy guns, heading by convoy for our transports at Hampton Roads, until I left Third Army Headquarters at Luxembourg on an icy morning on January 5, 1945, towards the end of the Bastogne drive.
Charley and I couldn’t help feeling distinctly “civilian” among our very professional and hand-picked comrades on General Patton’s staff however friendly they were, and this they certainly were; and it was of course immensely refreshing for the ex-banker and ex-real-estate-wine connoisseur to be able to get together occasionally for a drink and a laugh at the preposterous places where we happened to find ourselves.
I am deeply thankful that Charley, before he died, had time to write as he did in the preceding pages about General Patton, for I consider that he has succeeded in painting a portrait of that remarkable character which only he could have produced.
I must confess that when it was announced in Mostaganem that Charley was to become General Patton’s aide, I could not help but feel certain misgivings as to whether Charley “could take it”—I mean physically.
The job of aide is a grueling one—especially to a dynamo like General Patton. It means being available and on the alert at all hours with little or no moments of privacy or relaxation, which I knew Charley needed. It means always finding the right road in a jeep traveling at full speed, and Charley was always weak on road maps.
The fact that Charley was able to achieve such a complete success for his formidable, if sympathetic, chief is a tremendous tribute to his extraordinary tact and sense of balance.
There is no doubt that Charley was universally loved and respected by his fellow officers; in fact, he became a truly legendary figure in the Third Army. As he was known to be so close to the General, he was often under pressure to approach him directly on matters “outside of military channels.” This he very rightly refused to do. There was one occasion, however, when he did so intervene and at my request.
When our headquarters moved into Palermo, we took over the Sicilian Central Post Office for staff office space. In one large room in the post office were kept all the postal savings accounts of Sicily—some two hundred fifty thousand of them. Orders were given to “throw them all out.” Realizing what havoc this would mean in post-war Sicily, I reported the matter to Charley, who immediately understood and spoke to the General. As a result, these savings accounts were left intact.
As far as I am personally concerned, Charley was my oldest and dearest friend. We first met at Groton over fifty years ago, and fate threw us together in both world wars and, thank God, very often in between them when he visited France on his wine-buying expeditions with his beloved Theo, who incidentally is reputed to have as delicate a palate as Charley’s.
It was always a delight to see him. Even in May, 1956, the last time I saw him, when he was far from well, he had the same trenchant, yet always kindly, sense of humor about the life which he knew he was soon to leave.
One of Charley’s favorite expressions when a story or situation appealed to him was “good.” I am sure that all who knew him will agree that “good” is the perfect summary of Charley’s character.