Barney Sneiderman - Warriors Seven: Seven American Commanders, Seven Wars, and the Irony of Battle

2006 by Barney Sneiderman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Printed in the United States of America.

Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available from the Library of Congress.

ISBN 1-932714-28-6

Digital Edition ISBN 978-1-61121-024-8

05 04 03 02 01 5 4 3 2 1

First edition, first printing

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Contents

Chapter 1
Benedict Arnold: Saratoga, 1777

Chapter 2
Andrew Jackson: New Orleans, 1815

Chapter 3
Winfield Scott: Mexico City, 1847

Chapter 4
Robert E. Lee: Malvern Hill, 1862

Chapter 5
George Dewey: Manila Bay, 1898

Chapter 6
Billy Mitchell: ST. Mihiel, 1918

Chapter 7
George Patton: Messina, 1943

Maps and illustrations have been placed throughout the text for the convenience of the reader.

Publishers Preface

I was supposed to publish Warriors Seven . It was meant to be. At least, that is what now seems clear to me.

The proposal for this manuscript arrived a year ago via email. It looked interesting and I studied it carefully. Everyone I discussed it with liked both the concept and the writing style. Unlike many independent publishers, we are blessed with an abundance of outstanding publishable manuscripts, so it was with some reluctance that I decided to hit the reply button and turn it down. Something nagged at me to hold off, to think more deeply about how and when to use the manuscript. A few days later the process repeated itself. I typed out my rejection, but at the last minute could not bring myself to click the send button. This happened several times. I am by nature a very decisive person, so this minuet at the keyboard was most unusual for me.

And then one day, with my forefinger poised over the send button, the phone rang. It was the author. When I identified myself, he replied, This is Barney Sneiderman. You got a minute?

Sure, I replied, wincing at my own reply. It was an extraordinarily busy day, major deadlines loomed, and I had a stack of small fires to extinguish. The wide-ranging (and lengthy) conversation that followed covered everything from Barneys manuscript to ancient military history siege tactics, baseball, the state of current Civil War scholarship, religion, libertarian politics, the war in Iraq, and our respective families. I really regretted hanging up. That night I decided to accept his manuscript for publication, tentatively slating it for an appearance in Fall 2007. Like any author, the news delighted Barney, whose published scholarship thus far had all been in the field of law. Warriors Seven was his first venture into military history. Neither of us could have foreseen it would also be his last.

So began my relationship with Barney that ended with his untimely death from pancreatic cancer on May 28, 2006.

Over the ensuing months Barney and I spoke several times each week. Every conversation began exactly the same way: Hi Ted, this is Barney. You got a minute? I love talking about any aspect of history with anyoneespecially people whose passion for the subject burns as brightly as my own. And so I always looked forward to his calls.

And then our relationship changed. In early December 2005 Barney called to tell me he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I have a few months, he told me in a remarkably calm, measured voice. I guess I wont live long enough to see my book.

How does one react to such news? I tried to be upbeat, told him that doctors are often wrongvery wrongand that he should ignore the timetable and live his life always looking forward.

I agree, he answered, but I have a form of cancer that is incurable, there is nothing anyone can do, and it is going to kill me.

I accelerated the schedule for Warriors Seven so it would appear in the summer of 2006. The new timetable energized Barney. I will do my best to satisfy my obligations to help you meet that schedule, and hope I live long enough to hold a copy, he told me. But Im not counting on it.

For the next few months I lived with the Sneiderman family vicariouslyexperiencing through Barney how and when he told his young children (Robby, aged 10, and Miriam, aged 14) about his illness and their reaction to the terrible news, how his end would arrive, what his doctors were telling him at his checkups. It is the most unusual existence you can imagine, he confided to me one afternoon. I just got done with a long bike ride. I still ski. I feel great, and yet they tell me I will be dead soon. It is a nightmare I cant wake up from.

The nightmare only intensified. Hi Ted, this is Barney. You got a minute? he began one of our calls on a Friday afternoon in March 2006. I am having some pain in my side. I hope I pulled something, but I think I know what it is.

Its just a muscle or something, Barney, I replied in an effort to sound as positive as I could. By Monday it will be gone. Neither of us believed it. He began taking morphine pills to ease his pain.

As the weeks passed we worked closely together on the jacket design, selected the photos that would appear inside the book, proofed the maps Ian Taylor, his friend and a graduate student at the University of Manitoba, drew for him, and discussed the finer points of the manuscript. I arranged with David Woodburya former publishing associate, outstanding writer and military historian in his own right, and an old friendto edit the Warriors Seven essays. He knew we were crunched for time and worked accordingly. I reviewed each essay that arrived from David, had each formatted quickly, and forwarded them one at a time to Barney for his review. This work took weeks. According to Barneys wonderful wife Carla, these daily labors kept Barneys mind off more unpleasant thoughts as he read, edited, contemplated, and worked against time to finish his final book.

One particular aspect of the preparation of Warriors Seven will always remain with me. On a Tuesday afternoon I told Barney that the George Patton essay would reach him the following morning. The message Barney left for me on voicemail the following day illustrates his dry sense of humor and enduring wit in the face of what could only have been emotional agony: