Dear Tom:

I would rate Dave Moog as one of the top two percent in Marines I have known. I knew him as a gunnery sergeant and later as a captain. He was a Grunt by trade, but was capable of serving most any function. He was no nonsense, good natured, short fused, and quick to say what was on his mind. Herein, a story:

Dave had spent the entire Khe Sanh seige with Colonel Lownds as his (I think) headquarters commandant. After the seige lifted, Dave was ordered out to Okinawa to some nit-shit billet with Communications Support Company.

He made his way back to Danang to catch a flight to Kadena AFB, Okinawa. One who has not experienced it would find a lot of difficulty in picturing the scene. Dave had not bathed nor shaved in quite some time. He was dirty. His jungle utilities were tattered rags. He stilI wore his pistol belt with .45 calibre pistol, canteen, first-aid pouch, and K-bar.

He reported to the Marine air terminal on the west side of the Danang airstrip and attempted to turn in his pistol and get a clean uniform. He could do neither. No one wanted his pistol, and clean uniforms were not to be had, at that location, at any rate. No Marine aircraft were scheduled out, so Dave hooked a ride to the Air Force side of the field and managed to get a flight to Kadena on a C-130.

Dave arrived at Kadena, still in the state of uncleanliness he'd left Khe Sahn. He still had his pistol belt draped over his lean hips.

Having been there, you can appreciate the fact that things logistical were all screwed up in Okinawa. There was no government transportation to take Dave to Camp Hansen to the transient center. Dave decided to try to get a civilian cab to take him the twenty miles north. But then he had a pleasing thought. "Dave," he said to himself, "You owe yourself a cold beer." He caught a ride to the Kadena AFB officers' club.

Dave was self-conscious about his less than satisfactory appearance for such a dignified establishment, but his thirst overruled his good judgement. He walked into the "Stag" bar of the club and went directly to the far corner of the bar where the light was the dimmest. He ordered a beer. He stayed in that spot for about an hour, enjoying one cold beer after the other. He got a few disgusted stares, but these were Air Force and did not bother Dave.

After a bit, he decided he was hungry, so he brazenly went into the main dining room, again found a spot in the corner, sat down at a table with clean, linen tablecloth, un-fastened his pistol belt and placed his artillery on the deck beside his chair, and ordered a steak dinner. He noticed an Air Force lieutenant colonel at a nearby table, in uniform, and with his family, giving him very hostile stares.

He had no sooner cut into that thick, juicy steak when the staring Air Force officer rose from his table, placed his napkin beside his plate, and walked confidently to Dave's table. Dave ignored his presence. The officer spoke, "Lieutenant, I want you to know that I think your personal appearance is atrocious!"

Dave stopped eating and looked up at the officer. I guess thoughts were going through his mind such as less than twelve hours ago, he was at Khe Sanh where he had witnessed one of the greatest battles in Viet Nam, while this peacock sat in the comfort of his Kadena quarters. Dave continued to stare at the lieutenant colonel for a moment, and then said, "Colonel, you have me confused with someone who gives a shit what you think."

The officer was building up pressure to explode when an Air Force bird colonel, in uniform, walked up and said to the irate fellow birdman, "Chris, I'll handle this. Go back to your table."

After junior birdman had left, the bird colonel smiled slightly at Dave and said, "Finish your steak, lieutenant, and then get the hell out of here." Dave finished his meal, and he left.

I have heard that expression a million times since that incident: "You've got me confused with someone who gives a shit." I give Dave Moog full credit for coining that phrase which has made our Marine Corps language a bit more colorful.