Why Patton Carried Two Ivory-Handled Revolvers (It Wasn’t for Show)

George S. Patton Jr. was never a man easily forgotten. To some, he was the brash, loud, profanity-laced general who seemed to belong more to a bygone era of cavalry charges than to the mechanized slaughter of the Second World War. To others, he was a brilliant field commander whose aggressiveness and nerve helped turn the tide of war in Europe. Whatever people thought of him, there was one image that stuck in everyone’s mind: the general with the ivory-handled revolvers.

Patton’s sidearms were as much a part of his legend as his helmet, his riding boots, or his piercing stare. He often wore two revolvers, their ivory grips gleaming against his polished uniform—so iconic that many assumed they were a carefully crafted piece of theater, designed to impress reporters, intimidate subordinates, and confuse the enemy. But for Patton, those weapons were not mere props. They were tools, talismans, and daily reminders of who he was and what he believed a soldier should be.

A Young Officer with Something to Prove

George Patton’s attachment to sidearms began long before he was a general. As a young officer in the early 20th century, he was obsessed with the history of warfare and the code of the warrior. He read about knights and cavalrymen, studied swordsmanship, and developed a deep respect for personal combat. To him, a sidearm was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of responsibility and honor.

In 1912, he competed in the modern pentathlon at the Stockholm Olympics—a grueling event that included fencing, shooting, swimming, horse riding, and running. Shooting was not just a skill to Patton; it was an art form. He practiced relentlessly, refining his technique and developing a style that combined speed, accuracy, and discipline. When he looked at a pistol or a revolver, he saw not only steel and powder, but the intersection of training, courage, and fate.

First Blood: The Mexican Expedition

The first of Patton’s famous revolvers entered his life during the Punitive Expedition into Mexico in 1916. The United States had sent General John J. Pershing, along with a young Lieutenant Patton, to capture Pancho Villa after his raid on Columbus, New Mexico. It was during this campaign that Patton led a daring raid on a ranch where several of Villa’s men were believed to be hiding.

When the encounter turned into a firefight, Patton charged forward, pistol in hand, leading his men from the front. He killed several of the enemy, an act that brought him both notoriety and respect. The weapon he carried at the time was a Colt Single Action Army revolver in .45 caliber, which he later had decorated with ivory grips. This gun became one of his treasured sidearms, not because it made him look dashing, but because it was part of the moment he believed he had proved himself under fire.

Ivory grips were not about luxury for Patton; they were about feel and control. They were smooth, dense, and fit his hand better than standard wood. They helped him draw quickly, hold firmly, and shoot accurately. To him, a badly fitted weapon was a liability. An effective one might mean the difference between life and death.

The Second Revolver: A Tool for a New Kind of War

By the time World War II erupted, warfare was changing. Tanks, aircraft, and machine guns dominated the battlefield. Yet Patton remained convinced that the character of the warrior still mattered—and the tools of that warrior had to match the times.

In addition to his old Colt Single Action Army, Patton acquired a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum revolver. This second gun, also fitted with ivory grips, was more modern, powerful, and suited to the kind of fast, aggressive campaigns he intended to lead. Patton wasn’t sentimental about equipment. He was practical. The .357 offered speed, penetration, and reliability. It was a commander’s sidearm for an age of mechanized blitz.

Thus he often wore both guns: the Colt, a link to his early days of combat and proof of his personal courage; and the Smith & Wesson, a modern tool for a modern war. Together, they formed a bridge between tradition and innovation—between the cavalry officer he had once been and the armored commander he had become.

Not “Pearl-Handled,” and Not for Show

One of the most persistent myths about Patton’s revolvers is that they were “pearl-handled.” Patton hated that description. When a reporter or an admirer would refer to them that way, he was quick to correct them, sometimes sharply. He insisted they were ivory-handled, not pearl.

To most people, the distinction didn’t matter. To Patton, it mattered a great deal. Pearl-handled pistols, in his mind, belonged to showmen, gamblers, or men more concerned with appearance than with combat. Ivory, on the other hand, was for serious fighting men. It was durable, functional, and—most importantly—it fit the hand and improved performance.

This wasn’t mere vanity. Patton believed that everything a soldier wore or carried should have a purpose. The shine of his boots, the crispness of his uniform, the starched lines, the polished helmet, the gleaming revolvers—these were not just for the camera. They were an expression of discipline. If a commander could not control his own appearance and equipment, how could he control a battlefield?

A Commander’s Presence

Patton understood psychology—both his own and that of his men. Soldiers, especially in moments of fear and fatigue, look to their leaders for strength. When Patton strode into a command post or drove past in his jeep, those ivory-handled revolvers were among the first things people noticed. They were visible symbols of his readiness to fight, his willingness to go where the battle was thickest, and his refusal to hide behind rank or distance.

To the men of his armies, those revolvers meant that the general believed in personal risk. He was not merely issuing orders from far behind the lines; he was a man who expected to be close enough to the front that a sidearm might be necessary. It was reassuring to some, intimidating to others, and unforgettable to all.

When Patton visited field hospitals, he came in full gear—helmet, boots, insignia, and revolvers. Even wounded soldiers took notice. The sight of those guns at the general’s hips told them that the fight was still on, that their suffering had meaning, and that the man in charge was not timid or indifferent. His presence, magnified by the image he projected, helped sustain morale.

Patton’s Philosophy of the Warrior

To understand why Patton carried two ivory-handled revolvers, one has to understand his underlying philosophy. He saw war not as a sterile technical operation, but as a test of character. Machines mattered, logistics mattered, tactics mattered—but above all, men mattered. And men were inspired by symbols.

In Patton’s mind, a warrior had to be both lethal and honorable. His weapons had to be cared for with the same diligence as his men. His appearance, his voice, his stance, and his equipment all communicated something about his soul. The revolvers said: I am ready. I accept the burden of command. I will not ask you to do what I am unwilling to do myself.

He once remarked that Americans loved a winner and hated a loser. To be a winner, in his view, meant committing fully to the fight—body, mind, and spirit. Carrying those revolvers was his way of reminding himself that he was first and foremost a combat soldier, not just a staff officer. They were his daily promise to live up to the image he projected.

Function Over Flash

Despite appearances, Patton’s sidearms were not ornamental. He trained with them, took them seriously, and ensured they were kept in working order. He practiced quick-draw techniques and prided himself on his marksmanship. In an era when many high-ranking officers rarely touched their pistols, Patton treated his revolvers as practical weapons.

He also believed that a commander should be prepared for any situation. While he did not expect to be trading shots in a trench or storming a building like an infantryman, he knew that war was unpredictable. A sudden ambush, a collapsing front, an encounter with enemy infiltrators—these were not impossible scenarios. For Patton, it was simply unthinkable to face such moments without a reliable sidearm at his hip.

The decision to carry two revolvers was partly habit and partly philosophy. One gun was tradition; the other was adaptation. Together, they were redundancy in the best sense: if one failed, the other remained. They also symbolized the dual nature of his role—at once a relic of older wars and a commander of modern armor.

The Man Behind the Legend

It is tempting to reduce Patton to his legend—the swagger, the speeches, the pistols, the sharp temper. But behind the image was a man deeply aware of the weight he carried. He suffered from doubts, wrestled with his own impulses, and understood that his image had become larger than life. The revolvers were part of that image, but they were also anchors, keeping him connected to his roots as a young officer seeking honor on the battlefield.

He knew that some called him theatrical. He did not entirely disagree. But to Patton, drama had a purpose. If a dramatic appearance made his men fight harder, if a bold gesture inspired confidence, if a pair of ivory-handled revolvers helped him personify the fighting spirit he wanted his armies to embody, then such things were not indulgences—they were instruments of leadership.

At the same time, he never forgot the cost of war. The guns on his hips were reminders of men he had killed and men he had sent into danger. They were symbols not only of power, but of responsibility.

More Than Decoration

In the end, the reason Patton carried two ivory-handled revolvers can be summed up simply: they were not for show, they were for purpose.

They fit his hands and his habits. They connected him to his past and prepared him for the present. They helped him project strength to his soldiers and reminded him of the standard he demanded of himself. They were carefully chosen tools of a man who believed that every detail of a warrior’s life mattered—from how he carried his weapons to how he faced death.

Long after Patton’s death, the image of the general with the ivory-handled revolvers remains one of the most vivid in military history. People still argue about his methods, his words, and his flaws. Yet those two revolvers, gleaming against the drab backdrop of war, continue to tell a story—of a man who believed that leadership was not just about orders and plans, but about embodying the spirit of the fight.

And for George S. Patton Jr., that spirit was carved in ivory and carried at his side, not as ornament, but as oath.