George Marshall—5-star general, Secretary of State and Defense, Nobel Peace Prize recipient, architect of the Marshall Plan, key player in the World War II Allied victory—was also a close family friend. My grandfather, Col. John J. Madigan II, was his confidante, advisor and private physician. When my dad was a young boy in Panama and, later, Washington, Marshall would often stop by the house. Once he called on the phone and my dad, age 5, seeing no adults around, answered. “Hello?” “Could I speak to your father, please? This is George Marshall.” “Just a minute. Daddy! Daddy! Someone’s on the phone!” A few days later the phone rang and, once again, my dad picked up. “Hi,” Marshall said. “Could I speak to Daddy?” Shortly afterward, my grandparents gave a formal dinner party. My dad was supposed to stay upstairs with his sisters. The trouble was, he had to use the bathroom and couldn’t undo the back-flap of his union-suit pajamas. He ran downstairs, into the dining room and, because time was running out, approached the first adult he could find. When my grandfather saw Marshall unsnapping my dad’s drop-seat pajamas, he wasn’t entirely happy, but the general was laughing. It wouldn’t be the last time he came to my dad’s rescue.
Ten years later, my dad was a lifeguard at The Army Navy Country Club in Arlington, Virginia. He was fired after a prank involving a garden hose, a bucket, and timing the play of light and shadow on the brick wall of the men’s locker room. While members signed in at the front desk, they were treated to a little show. In the late 40s, it seems, society matrons did not appreciate the art of shadow puppetry, especially the Urinating Man illusion. Marshall called upon the Club to give my dad a second chance, which they did. In the early 50s, as a young Army officer, my dad was having lunch with Marshall, who’d become something of a celebrity. An acquaintance of my dad’s stopped by the table. “Did you hear?” the woman asked, not recognizing the general. “George Marshall is eating lunch here.” “You’re too late,” Marshall said, “he left about 10 minutes ago.” A few months before the 60s began, Marshall died at Walter Reed Hospital, where my grandfather had been Chief of Staff. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery, not far from my dad and Daddy.. An acquaintance of my dad’s stopped by the table. “Did you hear?” the woman asked, not recognizing the general. “George Marshall is eating lunch here.” “You’re too late,” Marshall said, “he left about 10 minutes ago.” A few months before the 60s began, Marshall died at Walter Reed Hospital, where my grandfather had been Chief of Staff. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery, not far from my dad and Daddy.
— Written by Andrew Madigan
