     General Omar Bradley, commander of the American Twelfth Army Group, leaned forward as the big staff car squealed to a halt. "Not again!" he protested. "Fraid so, General!" his driver answered.
     An MP tapped on the window. Bradley rolled it down and started to speak. "I'm General Bradley, and I'm getting tired of these roadblocks every half mile. At the last one they wanted me to give the position of a guard in football; at the one before that they wanted to know the capital of Illinois. What do YOU want?"
     The guard was apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir, but these hills are crawling with Nazis dressed up like generals. Some of them are out to kill Eisenhower. They got women who seduce GIs and then knife 'em in the back. They already massacreed an entire division up north that surrendered. We can't take no chances, General."
     "OK, OK, so what's your question, soldier?"
     "Who's Betty Grable's husband?"
     Bradley hesitated. He hadn't been watching many movies in the last few months, nor did he read the papers for that kind of thing. Commanding a million soldiers didn't leave much time for keeping up with Hollywood. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "To be honest, soldier, I don't rightly know."
     His driver covered his face with his hand. Now they were in trouble.
     "Ha! It's Harry James!" announced the MP. Then he stepped back and waved them on.
/Omar Bradley
     General Omar Bradley embodied the best traits of the American Army in World War II. He was quietly competent, a self-effacing and thoughtful team player, who above all wanted to get the war over with as soon as possible with the fewest American casualties.
     Bradley was from Missouri. His father had died when he was 14, and his mother, a seamstress, could barely feed him. Getting into West Point was a triumph for Bradley. He sat out World War I in the States, but advanced rapidly during World War II to become the highest-ranking American commander after Eisenhower. 
     Where Patton and Montgomery represented opposite poles of a spectrum, Bradley represented the middle. Where Patton was reckless and Montgomery timid, Bradley was willing to take calculated risks. Where Patton's response to any crisis was "Attack!" and Montgomery's was "Defend!", Bradley was judicious in choosing between the two alternatives. Unlike both Patton and Montgomery, he did not affect any mannerisms or distinctive clothing, did not court the press, and did not encourage a cult of personality. Some would have called him colorless; Bradley's response would have been that there were too many lives at stake to waste effort on color.
     Perhaps the greatest testament to Bradley's skill as a general is the fact that, while under his command, George Patton shone his brightest and never once managed to shoot himself in the foot./