Dear Tom:

Several years back when I was a youngster, I took a group of reserves to their first annual summer training at Parris Island, South Carolina. We only had a few reserves, but they gave us an entire squadbay in one of the old wooden barracks at the rifle range.

There had been quite an epidemic of athlete's foot, so in our briefing, the medical folks told us to stress preventive measures. One of the measures that we set forth as policy was that troops were not to walk about the barracks in their bare feet.

Standing in the squadbay no more than thirty minutes after this policy had been announced to the troops, I observed one Private Elliott, a tall, muscular, healthy, farm boy from the Glades area of Florida, walking naked as a jaybird to the shower. I stopped him and said, "Elliot, I just told all you troops not to walk around the barracks in bare feet. Now, goddammit, go put on some shower shoes, socks or something.

Elliott smiled his innocent country smile and asked in a most respectful manner, "Why is it, Sarjunt Duncan, we got that there order?"

"That's so I won't catch your athlete's foot, you dumb shit."

Elliott thought for a moment, and replied, "Well, if yew whar yo shoes or socks, yew ain gone catch my Athlete's foot."

I couldn't argue that.