Origins

Whose Idea Was This Anyway?

In an archive five stories above busy Commonwealth Avenue in Boston, Massachusetts, lies a smoking gun of sorts—one man’s claim that he is the one that dreamed up the idea of the Ghost Army. But it is not a claim that everyone accepts.

Before World War II, Ralph Ingersoll was a celebrity journalist and best-selling author--not to mention a man who attracted controversy as effortlessly as a starlet draws paparazzi. He was managing editor of the New Yorker, Publisher of Fortune, and General Manager of Time Inc. He then founded his own innovative and left-leaning newspaper in New York called PM. Penning a front-page editorial for the very first issue, Ingersoll staked out his ground. “We’re against people who push other people around.” The New York Times described the colorful Ingersoll as “a prodigiously energetic egotist with a talent for making magazines, covering a war, womanizing - and pushing other people around.” He acted as a star reporter for his own paper, met face-to-face with Stalin and Churchill, hung out at the White House with FDR, and made good copy for other reporters.

Ingersoll was in his 40’s when war broke out. After complaining loudly when his draft board inducted him (Ingersoll thought publishers should be exempt) he joined up and became an Army staff officer. He served in North Africa, then came home and wrote a best-selling book entitled The Battle is the Payoff. In the second half of 1943, Captain Ingersoll was stationed in “Special Plans” branch in the Army’s headquarters in London, working with British planners on various strategic deceptions so that American activities would dovetail with the overall British plan.

In an unpublished manuscript that can be found deep in the Boston University archives, Ingersoll wrote that this collaboration led him to the idea of a tactical deception unit that could be on-call for whatever operations were required. “My prescription was for a battalion that could imitate a whole corps of either armor or infantry…a super secret battalion of specialists in the art of manipulating our antagonists decisions.” He referred to the unit as “my con artists,” and said its creation was “my only original contribution to my country’s armed forces.” He went on to say: “When I first dreamed it up, I considered it one of my more improbable dreams, but damned if the Pentagon planners didn’t buy it whole.”

That’s the claim. Is it true?

There’s no question Ingersoll was a guy with a lot of ideas who could be very pushy about putting them forward. He was famous for dashing off frequent memos with his latest brainstorm. But he was also someone with a reputation for claiming credit for things he didn’t do. “I’ve never met anyone who was such a bright guy who was such a goddamned liar,” said Went Eldredge, a fellow intelligence officer. “He’d say anything to get what he wanted.” John Shaw Billings, who worked with him at Time, complained that “he blew his own horn in the most outrageous way.”

Of course one of the reasons for Ingersoll’s bad rep is that there were many who wanted to make sure he didn’t get credit for anything. An awful lot of people didn’t like him—some because he was arrogant, others because they thought he was too cozy with communists. His legions of enemies took joy in cutting him down to size by depriving him of credit even for his genuine accomplishments.  

And keep in mind that in 1978, when he wrote this manuscript, nothing had been written about 23rd Headquarters Special Troops. It has been a secret for 30 years. There wasn’t exactly a great deal of glory to be gained by taking credit for a deception unit nobody ever heard of. The importance Ingersoll himself gave the 23rd may be gauged by the fact that it gets only a few pages worth of space in a book-length manuscript about his wartime experiences. And his writings reveal that he knows things about the unit that somebody outside of the loop wouldn’t know.

The likely truth is that credit should be shared. In late 1943, Ingersoll was working with two other officers in Special plans, Clare Beck and Col. Billy Harris, his nominal superior. They worked for a General named Dan Noce, G-3 (Head of Operations Operations) for General Jake Devers, who commanded US Army forces readying for the Normandy invasion. (This was before Eisenhower’s appointment). All of these men probably had a hand in the creation of the unit.

Jon Gawne, author of Ghosts of the ETO, is one of those skeptical of Ingersoll’s claim. “I just don’t think it is anything other than his own hooey.” He adds that whoever first suggested the idea, credit should go to Jake Devers. “Lots of people suggest things, “ says Gawne, “but it was Devers that had his name on the bottom of the memo, and thus his butt on the line.”

Perhaps it was Ingersoll’s idea. Or perhaps he was just one several people who helped shape it. It is instructive to note he seems to be the only one has ever claimed parentage. If there was a competing claim from one of his colleagues, that would have to be given serious consideration. Research, however, has failed to unearth such a claim. Thaddeus Holt, author of The Deceiver, a comprehensive study of Allied deception in World War II, is no fan of Ingersoll’s. But even Holt calls him the “begetter” of the Ghost Army. Until there’s evidence proving otherwise, that seems a reasonable conclusion.

One interesting footnote about Billy Harris, mentioned above: His mother Lulu introduced Dwight and Mamie Eisenhower to each other.

Photo of Ralph Ingersoll From the Ingersoll Collection, Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center at Boston University

updated 2 months ago