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Geoffrey Keyes was born at Fort Bayard, New Mexico, on 30 October 1888. The son of a Cavalry officer, his forebears had a long and distinguished history of service and accomplishment, from the settling of the West, through the Civil War, and on back to the Revolutionary War.
He grew up along the Mexican border and in Mexico, entering the Academy from California. Always athletic, he excelled in numerous sports while a cadet, earning from Marty Maher the accolade of being "the only man who could stop Jim Thorpe.” Later, he coached the football team in a season of seven wins and one loss.
His military service spanned early assignments in the Cavalry pattern through the Service schools, the Ecole Superieure de Guerre in Paris, a shift to Armor, and then to World War II.
Landing with the Western Task Force in Morocco, he participated actively in the Sicilian campaign, where his Provisional Corps of the Seventh Army sped across the island and captured Palermo.
His longest combat service was in the bitter, grinding struggle up the Italian peninsula, commanding II Corps from September 1943 to June 1945. Any student of this campaign would appreciate his triumphs and disappointments. The complex interplay of the politics and personalities involved in the Italian campaign was formidable and frustrating. Nevertheless, with complete professional loyalty, he applied to it all of his military skill, reserving his personal feelings to his private papers.
In post-war Germany, he commanded first the Seventh Army, and later the Third Army, before moving to Austria early in 1947. In Vienna, he served as U.S. High Commissioner for three and one-half years, earning the respect and devotion of the Austrians by his benevolent efforts on their behalf in the face of Soviet intransigeance during the period of the Berlin blockade and the protracted negotiation of the Austrian State Treaty.
Retiring in late 1950, he was recalled in 1951 to serve another three years as Director of the Weapons Systems Evaluation Group.
Upon his subsequent retirement, he and Leila found their way to Tucson, returning to the Southwest where he had begun his life. Those were happy, peaceful years among close friends of long standing. Every spring, he left Tucson for a brief visit with each of his five children and their total of twenty-six grandchildren, always stopping at West Point, where Leila was buried in 1956.
His military credentials were distinguished. General Patton rated him "the most tireless worker, most loyal subordinate, and possessed of the soundest judgment and best tactical mind of any officer I know,” and later described him as "the only officer that I have ever rated ‘Superior’ in all categories.” But it is as a warm and human person that he made his greatest impression on others. A deeply religious man, he was never sanctimonious; he practiced what some merely preach. Possessed of great dignity, he was never arrogant. He gained loyalty and respect on the basis of his own ability and integrity, never relying on his rank. He used a keen sense of humor to make others comfortable or to relieve tension, never at the expense of others' feelings or dignity. He had the courage to show compassion, and over the years he earned the devoted friendship of many, in high stations and low, not because he courted them but because they were drawn to him.
A truly sensitive and remarkably perceptive picture of the man emerges in the book Rome Fell Today, by R. H. Adleman and G. Walton.
He died of leukemia at Walter Reed, and even in his final illness was concerned more about others than himself. He was indeed one of our best.
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