Major Winchester Passes Away

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Charles (David Ogden Stiers): What is that odor?

Radar (Gary Burghoff): Uh, north wind, cesspool; east wind, latrine.

Charles: The wind is from the south.

Radar: Oh, that's the kitchen.

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David Ogden Stiers was not a charter member of the cast of TV's MASH. He was a midseries replacement for Larry Linville, who played the inept Frank Burns in the first five seasons of the series.

But Charles Emerson Winchester III, the character Stiers played, was far from inept. He was, in fact, a top–notch surgeon — and by the time the series ended 35 years ago (as of last Wednesday), he had long since ceased to be regarded as a replacement but a full–fledged cast member. When all was said and done, he appeared in more episodes than Linville — in fact, only seven other people appeared in more episodes than he did, and all but two (Harry Morgan and Mike Farrell) had been in the cast from the start.

Stiers died yesterday at the age of 75. He had been suffering from bladder cancer.

Stiers may always be remembered as Charles Emerson Winchester III, a role for which he earned two Emmy nominations, but he played many roles in his career, and much of his work was providing the voices for characters in film and TV projects.

He may be equally remembered for his work on Disney movies, particularly 1991's "Beauty and the Beast," after his MASH days were over.

Personally, there are a couple of his post–MASH performances that stand out in my memory. A few years after MASH ended, Stiers was Alexander Haig in a TV movie based on Woodward and Bernstein's book "The Final Days" about the end of the Nixon presidency. The other memory is his appearance on Frasier as a former research colleague of Frasier's mother who was visiting Seattle after many years living abroad.

In MASH, Stiers' character was known for his fondness for classical music. In reality, he was a talented musician who was resident conductor of the Newport Symphony in Newport, Ore., where he lived and died, and he was guest conductor for more than 70 orchestras the world over.

Few people were as versatile as Stiers, and I will always remember that versatility on MASH, but I saw him in other roles and was always impressed by his talent.

Rest in peace, Major.

Be Careful What You Wish For

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Karl (Eric Braeden): What you're watching at this very moment is a classic example of what's wrong with television in this town. It is the pursuit of personality at the expense of competence.

Ted (Ted Knight): I'm not sure I understand.

Karl: I'm sure you don't.

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The episode of the Mary Tyler Moore Show that first aired on this night 40 years ago, "The Critic," began innocuously enough — Mr. Grant (Ed Asner) was trying to put together a softball team to play WJM's crosstown rival.

But Mr. Grant and the rest of the staff had to leave the newsroom to attend the station manager's reception for Professor Karl Heller (Eric Braeden), a well–known critic who was going to be teaching some classes at the University of Minnesota. He also happened to be a friend of the station manager (David Ogden Stiers, in a pre–M*A*S*H recurring role), who had decided to hire him as an on–air critic at WJM one night a week.

The station manager said the news had become stale and predictable; he wanted controversy because controversy builds ratings.

As the staffers tried to make conversations with him, mentioning plays and movies that they had liked, it dawned on them that the professor was negative about everything.

Murray (Gavin MacLeod), for example, told the professor that he loved watching movies on TV. "That's where they belong," the professor replied.

"Come on, you must like some movies," Murray said.

"Well, at best, which it seldom is," the professor conceded, "a film can be powerful. There was one absolutely first–rate Ukrainian film at the last festival. It was called 'Blood On A Dog's Face.' It was about deformity. But somehow the subtitles missed all the whimsy."

When he left the professor, Murray walked over to Mr. Grant. "You want to know something?" Murray asked. "That guy's a pain in the neck."

"I have an even lower opinion of him," Mr. Grant replied.

In his first appearance on WJM, the professor pledged to spend the coming weeks evaluating the people of Minneapolis and trying to determine "why no first–rate art has ever been created in this vacant — but intellectually famished — arid and sterile city."

If the station manager wanted controversy, he got it. "That is the cruelest man I have ever seen," the perpetually amorous Sue Ann (Betty White) told her colleagues in the newsroom. "I think I am in love!"

The professor's commentary about Minneapolis had the phones ringing off their hooks. And it persuaded the station manager that one night a week wasn't enough. He wanted the critic to be on the air every night.

Things cut a little too close to the bone, though, when the professor turned his spotlight on WJM.

And he got told off by, of all people, normally timid Mary.

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After she finished, Mr. Grant and Murray were about to throw some punches at the professor when he pointed out that they would not do so because he had stated an honest opinion, and people in the news business don't attack people for that.

Sue Ann came in carrying a pie. She was angry about what the professor had said about her show in his critique, but he used the same rationale to mollify her. "You're sensible, rational people," he said, "and sensible, rational people do not throw either pies or punches at someone's face for simply stating an honest opinion. Only a fool would vent his frustration in those ways."

At that moment, Ted walked into the newsroom and pushed Sue Ann's hand that was holding the pie into the professor's face.

It was unanimous.

The Quest for What's Next

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"When I was very young, my little brother died. I couldn't fully comprehend it at the time. But for months after the ... accident, I was unable to pass his room without this ... nameless fear. I would get this, uh, tingling sensation in my chest and my arms. And then yesterday, when I found out that I indeed had come close, very close, to death myself, that sensation returned."

Charles (David Ogden Stiers)

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I am reasonably certain that just about everyone, at some time in his or her life, wonders what happens when we die. The more spiritual among us probably muse about it more often than the rest of us — and more intensely when they do.

I always suspected that M*A*S*H's Charles Emerson Winchester (David Ogden Stiers) was a spiritual person. He was pompous, to be sure, but I always sensed that his character was very spiritual as well. His predecessor at the 4077th, Frank Burns, wore his faith on his sleeve; he always seemed phony to me, and that was almost certainly intentional. But Winchester, while the same as Burns in some ways, was quite different in others.

And that is the way life is, isn't it? Whenever there is an opening at your workplace, it is never filled with a clone of the person who worked there before, is it? The replacement may have some things in common with the person he/she replaces, but the new person is a unique individual. That's the way it always was on M*A*S*H whenever a character had to be replaced — and I can think of at least four of the original cast members who left the show.

Winchester's personal quest for the truths of life always seemed genuine — and I thought that was clear to see in the episode of M*A*S*H that aired on this night in 1981, "The Life You Save."

Charles had a near–death experience when a sniper's bullet pierced the cap he was wearing, apparently missing his skull by centimeters at best. It prompted him to embark on an earnest but painful — and, ultimately, futile — journey to find out what really waits for us after death. There have been few scenes on TV as gripping as the one in which Charles badgered a patient who had been clinically dead for a few minutes to tell him what he had seen, what he had felt.

That proved to be unsatisfying, and Charles continued on his quest, which took him in some unexpected directions.

For example, while in charge of the motor pool, Charles instructed Rizzo (G.W. Bailey), the smarmy sergeant from Louisiana, to take a vehicle apart.

"Major, I don't understand; why am I taking this Jeep apart?" Rizzo asked. "It was working just fine!"

"Don't you understand the power you have here?" Charles asked. "You can take a Jeep apart and reduce it to an inert pile of junk, and whenever you want — at a whim — you can fit it together again, and it will roar back to life. If only we could do that with human beings. They wouldn't die."

None of Charles' efforts paid off, though, so he went to Battalion Aid to witness — and participate in — the treatment of the freshly wounded. No doubt he would encounter some soldiers who were mortally wounded, and he could ask them what they were experiencing.

Once he was at Battalion Aid, Charles had a telephone conversation with Col. Potter (Harry Morgan), who asked him, "Are you aware that you could get killed up there?"

"Actually no, that thought hadn't occurred to me," Charles replied. "That would be interesting, wouldn't it?" At that point, he went off in search of a dying soldier.

And, indeed, he did encounter a dying soldier, and he tried to find out what the soldier was feeling, seeing, experiencing — but, although the soldier was aware of the fact that he was dying, he could not feel Charles holding his hand, and the only thing he could say to Charles was "I smell bread."

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That, of course, gave Charles no insight, and he left Battalion Aid after the soldier died.

He also left his cap with the bullet hole at Battalion Aid — apparently concluding that, whatever waits for us after death, if anything does, he would find out what it was soon enough.

As I mentioned, Charles was temporarily in charge of the motor pool during this episode. That was Col. Potter's doing. Potter decided to rotate the additional duty assignments among his officers, and Hawkeye (Alan Alda) was put in charge of the mess tent. Upon taking his assignment, Hawkeye found himself responsible for dozens of missing trays — apparent cogs in Army bureaucracy.

It was an interesting side plot, and it probably had some relevance to the main story, but I have never been able to figure out what it was.

An interesting piece of trivia for you here. M*A*S*H ran for 11 seasons, Charles appeared in a little more than half of those seasons, and this was the only time Charles ever mentioned a sibling other than his sister Honoria. His younger brother was never mentioned again.

This episode was originally scheduled to air the day that Ronald Reagan was shot. Network executives figured — probably correctly — that the nation was in no mood to watch an episode about death hours after the president narrowly avoided death in an assassination attempt.

So it was delayed five weeks — and served as the season finale for M*A*S*H's ninth season, a season whose start was delayed by a three–month strike against TV and movie studios.

A Midsummer Night at M*A*S*H 4077th

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"As of last Tuesday, our C.P.A. is a certified public enemy — having been incarcerated on five counts of fraud, two counts of embezzlement and countless counts concerning accounts for which he cannot ... account."

Charles (David Ogden Stiers)

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I don't think it is necessary to have seen very many episodes of M*A*S*H before it occurs to you that the South Korea of the M*A*S*H universe was always either bitterly cold or brutally hot.

That is probably a bit of an exaggeration — but only a bit. The Korean weather was frequently the subject of jokes on the series, occasionally running for entire episodes, like the one that first aired on this night in 1981, "No Sweat."

Now, I have never been to Asia, but I understand that winters can be quite cold and summers can be hot and humid so that part is accurate. I also gather that the spring and fall months can have their pleasant moments, just as they do in this part of the world.

In other words, South Korea has its extreme moments weatherwise — but, really, doesn't every place? South Korea may have more of those moments than many places, but, come on. I live in Texas. As Gen. Phil Sheridan reportedly said, "If I owned Texas and hell, I would rent Texas and live in hell." We know all about heat here.

And folks in Canada know all about the cold and snow. I guess there are a couple of thousand miles between Texas and Canada, but we do have our bitterly cold snaps here during the winter, and Canadians have their brutally hot snaps in the summer. No place is immune, but few places go careening from one extreme to the other all year long.

In this particular episode, the folks at M*A*S*H were experiencing a severe heat wave, the kind that keeps you awake at night. Now, I'm the kind of person who can't sleep when I am hot and sweaty, anyway, so I could sympathize with the M*A*S*H folks, who were perspiring a lot in this heat wave — especially Margaret (Loretta Swit), who had developed a bad case of prickly heat on her derriere. She needed a certain kind of lotion to ease her suffering, but there had been so many cases of prickly heat that the camp was out of the lotion.

Everyone was affected by the heat, though, and the whole camp was up in the wee hours of the morning, looking for ways to fill the time. I have had my issues with insomnia from time to time as well, and I know how it feels to be up because it is so hot. As I said, I find it difficult to sleep when I am hot and sweaty, and it wasn't hard for me to project myself into their situation. I sure have been there. Been there, done that, don't want to do it again — but, as I say, I live in Texas. It is inevitable that I will be overwhelmed by the heat at some point.

(I have been so desperate to find a way to fill the time when I have been up with insomnia that once I mopped the floors in the kitchen and bathroom at about 2 or 3 in the morning. I guess I was hoping it would make me tired enough to fall asleep. Didn't work. I worked up a good sweat, but never fell asleep.)

Corporal Klinger (Jamie Farr) was up tinkering with the camp's P.A. system. He aspired to be a TV repairman when he went home, and he was getting in some electronics repair practice. Col. Potter (Harry Morgan) came into the office to fetch a sleeping pill. He was sure it would work because it always put him under, but he didn't want to grow dependent on them, which is why he kept them in his office, not his quarters.

Across the camp Major Charles Emerson Winchester (David Ogden Stiers) was trying to sort through his family's financial affairs. The family accountant had been convicted of fraud, embezzlement and, as Winchester put it, "countless counts concerning accounts for which he cannot ... account." Thus, his family had sent all its financial paperwork to him to sort through. He was in the mess tent, using the tables to spread out all that paperwork. Father Mulcahy (William Christopher) found him there and offered to make some lemonade.

More than the weather had B.J. (Mike Farrell) stewing. He was stressing out over a letter from his wife. Their house's gutters were clogged, and she was going to have to resolve the issue. His imagination was running wild. He had himself believing that these clogged gutters inevitably would drive his wife into the arms of a muscular handyman in their neighborhood.

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A wounded soldier was brought in, and that took precedence over everything else. A helicopter was needed to take the soldier to a hospital after the surgery was done, but only Col. Potter could authorize that so Klinger was dispatched to rouse the colonel and have him order the helicopter. The pill had, as Potter predicted, really put his lights out. When Klinger finally got him to the office, he prodded the colonel to place the order for the morning. The colonel began placing an order as if he were staying in a hotel and ordering room service — asking for poached eggs and prunes.

"Order a helicopter," Klinger whispered.

"No, thanks," the out–of–it colonel replied. "I'm not that hungry."

Well, Klinger got Potter to place the order and took him back to bed.

But that was just the beginning. It seemed everyone in camp suddenly needed Potter for some purpose, and every time he was summoned, he had managed to catch up to the previous interruption of his sleep. I guess it was one of those situations where real–world interruptions simply weave their way into a person's dreams.

Winchester was the first to call upon Potter after Klinger got him back to his quarters. Winchester needed carbon paper for his financial paperwork, and the carbon paper was kept in a safe. Only Potter knew the combination.

In Potter's condition, I always wondered how he managed to provide the right safe combination, but somehow he did, and Winchester got him back to his quarters.

Then Hot Lips, upon learning of the helicopter, decided to order it to bring the lotion that would ease her painful itching. Once again, that was a job for Colonel Potter, whose overburdened mind had to balance the two previous visits to his tent and Hot Lips' account of her need for the lotion.

"Medicine? Who's sick?" Potter inquired.

Hot Lips replied that no one was sick, but she had a severe inflammation on her buttocks. In his condition, Potter began reminiscing about a time when he got what he called "rump rots" during World War I when he was pinned down all night in a wet foxhole. Comparing his experience to Hot Lips, he observed, "That cute little caboose of yours must be red as a beet."

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As it turned out Klinger had just finished putting the P.A. system together again, and the conversation had been broadcast all over camp.

Now everyone knew Hot Lips' little secret — except Potter, who would have no recall of that interruption — or any other interruption — of his pill–induced slumber the next day.

Letters From Home

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"I have no need to write letters to communicate with children. I have you for that, Pierce."

Charles Emerson Winchester (David Ogden Stiers)

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On this day in 1980, M*A*S*H's second episode of the season aired. Traditionally, a network television series begins its new season in September.

Why the delay? Well, there was this three–month strike by the Screen Actors Guild and AFTRA against television and movie studios, and it delayed the start of most series by a month or two.

At the time, as I recall, the public angst was over having to wait to find out who shot J.R. on Dallas. There certainly was no shortage of suspects, and the subject sparked some pretty intense debates while impatient viewers waited for the strike to be resolved.

But perhaps the greater tragedy was the fact that the delay deprived TV viewers of some top–quality writing and acting, such as was displayed on M*A*S*H on this night in 1980.

It was the ninth of what turned out to be 11 seasons on the air for M*A*S*H. The show was a fixture in the Top 10, and its producers knew it had nothing to prove. That is truly a rare opportunity in television — or in any human endeavor, for that matter — to be able to pursue any creative angle you desire, knowing that you can get away with it even if it bombs — but, because you are who you are, such a failure is not likely.

(Sort of like Apple Inc., I guess.)

It can encourage people to push the envelope, which is what the folks at M*A*S*H did in an episode called "Letters."

Speaking of envelopes ...

In the episode that aired on this night in 1980, Hawkeye (Alan Alda) had received a package from home. It was from a friend of his who was teaching fourth grade in Hawkeye's hometown of Crabapple Cove, Maine. In the package were letters from this friend's pupils, who had been assigned to write letters to the people serving in Korea. Hawkeye had written a letter to his friend telling him how boring life could be around the compound — between those chaotic periods when casualties kept the surgeons on their feet for 18 or 20 hours — so his friend had the idea of perhaps sparking some pen pal relationships between the kids and the folks in the M*A*S*H unit.

Hawkeye distributed handfuls of letters to the familiar gang — B.J., Col. Potter, Charles, Hot Lips, Klinger, Father Mulcahy — and made only one rule: They all had to answer the letters they had been given. No swapping, trading or stealing.

Even though Father Mulcahy (William Christopher) had already opened a letter that asked if he had saved many lives. "A doctor really should answer that one," he noted. "I specialize in saving souls, not lives."

Col. Potter (Harry Morgan) reminded Mulcahy of his efforts with someone named Irving, which inspired Mulcahy's response. Turned out Irving was a homeless dog who showed up around the compound — and had a bit of a taste for booze. Well, more than a taste. Irving was a lush.

Mulcahy recalled that there had been a dog like that when he was in seminary. The way the seminary students had cured him was to make him drink bowl after bowl of whiskey until he was sick, then give him more whiskey when he was hung over. It worked on Irving.

"If people only had the horse sense dogs do," Mulcahy wrote.

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One of the best vignettes of the episode focused on Hot Lips (Loretta Swit) and the attachment she formed to some of the patients who came through the compound — even, or perhaps especially, the ones who died. The viewing audience saw her sitting next to a mortally wounded soldier, smiling even though she knew he only had an hour or two to live. It was a rare glimpse into what touched Hot Lips on a personal level.

Col. Potter shared his exploits as "Hoops" Potter and his near miss at tying the camp record for making consecutive free throws.

"Take a word of advice from a retired bucketeer," Col. Potter wrote in his reply to one of the students. "If you take up a sport, make it horseshoes where you don't have to be perfect."

Klinger (Jamie Farr), the first–class Army scrounge, told one of the correspondents about his latest get–rich–quick scheme. He had acquired a couple of chinchillas and was planning to breed them for their fur — until Charles (David Ogden Stiers), who had worked with lab rodents when in medical school, informed Klinger that both of his chinchillas were male.

Hawkeye found himself having to answer a letter that struck a nerve. It was from a youngster whose older brother had served in Korea. He had been wounded and was sent to a M*A*S*H unit that patched him up and sent him back to his unit, where he was killed in combat.

"You doctors just make people better so they can end up dead. I hate you all," the letter concluded.

Hawkeye tried to get Father Mulcahy to write the reply, but Mulcahy refused. He said the letter had stirred up deep emotions within Hawkeye, and he would have to deal with them whether he wrote the letter or not. So Hawkeye answered the letter.

"It's not a good idea to take the love you had for your brother and turn it into hate," Hawkeye wrote in his reply. "Hate makes war, and war is what killed him. I understand your feelings. Sometimes I hate myself for being here, but once in awhile in the midst of this insanity a very small event can make my being here seem almost bearable."

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That was good, but I think my very favorite part of the episode involved Charles. He had been enjoying penning sarcastic replies to the letters he had been given, but one letter made him pause. It was from a young girl who wrote about autumn in Maine and the beauty of the leaves. She enclosed a leaf from a birch tree because she wasn't sure if Korea had an autumn, and she wanted to share the beauty with the person who got her letter.

Charles, a native of Boston, knew about autumn in New England. "It is with indescribable joy," he wrote, "that I accept your gift. It is indeed testimony to the beauty that exists in all creation, but perhaps nowhere more than in a young girl's heart."

From time to time, M*A*S*H aired episodes that followed a similar structure. A single thing, like the receipt of all those letters, was an opportunity to look into the hearts and souls of the leading characters. I don't think it was a new technique, but I believe M*A*S*H perfected it.

Perhaps on this night 35 years ago.

When It Really Did Feel Like the First Time

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The episode of M*A*S*H that was shown 40 years ago tonight felt like the series' debut, even though the actual opening night was three years earlier.

Two of the charter members of the cast — McLean Stevenson and Wayne Rogers — had left the series, and the hour–long episode that aired 40 years ago tonight introduced Rogers' replacement — Mike Farrell as Dr. B.J. Hunnicutt — to the viewers. Harry Morgan was introduced as Stevenson's replacement, Col. Sherman Potter, a week later.

It wasn't the last time that the core cast would change, either. Before the series ended, Larry Linville (Frank Burns) and Gary Burghoff (Radar) would leave, bringing in David Ogden Stiers to replace Linville as a staff surgeon and elevating Jamie Farr as Burghoff's successor as company clerk. Linville's character was acting commanding officer by the time the '75 season began 40 years ago tonight, but Harry Morgan would soon be brought aboard as Col. Potter, the unit's duly appointed new commanding officer.

For most TV series, so many personnel changes would be too much to survive. But it worked for M*A*S*H — and I think it was kind of a perfect storm. Military units change personnel rather rapidly; ironically, that made Hawkeye (Alan Alda), who was the pivotal character in the program, the anomaly, the one who stayed the whole time, along with Hot Lips (Loretta Swit). So it was natural that people came and went, even those people to whom the audience felt an attachment. That, too, happens in war. It added an extra layer of realism to a series that so often walked a fine line between comedy and drama.

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As the episode opened, Hawkeye was returning to camp after some R&R in Tokyo. He and the audience already knew that Stevenson had left — and been shot down over the Sea of Japan — but neither knew that Trapper John (Rogers) had received his orders to return to the States.

When Radar told him, Hawkeye hitched a ride with Radar to pick up Trapper's replacement. Hawkeye hoped to catch Trapper before his plane left so he could say goodbye, but they got there 10 minutes after Trapper's departure.

They met his replacement (Farrell) and took him to the Officers' Club after discovering that someone had taken their Jeep. Radar was uneasy about going into the Officers' Club, being an enlisted man, but Hawkeye took B.J.'s captain's bars and put them on Radar's cap. If anyone asked, Hawkeye said, they were field testing a new rank — corporal–captain.

I always liked the dialogue on "M*A*S*H," but I particularly liked the dialogue in this episode. For example, upon entering the club, a clearly nervous Radar ordered his trademark grape Nehi. When it was served to him, the bartender asked, "Does the 'captain' want a straw?"

Radar, trying to come across as if he belonged in officers' country, replied, "We don't use straws in combat, fellah!"

Then Radar noticed a colonel who was eyeing him. and he told Hawkeye. "What colonel?" Hawkeye asked. "There's enough brass in here to make a spittoon."

"Over there at eight o'clock," Radar replied. "He keeps staring at me."

"He's probably crazy about you," Hawkeye said.

Anyway, the three needed transportation back to the 4077th. Hawkeye saw a general's Jeep parked outside the club. He plucked the general's flag from the hood, and the three of them climbed in the Jeep and headed for the camp.

Things were going swimmingly for the travelers until they happened upon a Korean family who had sent two daughters into a field to use sticks to see if there were land mines there. If the girls survived, the field was safe for the family's ox — and for the family to plant crops.

They tried to stop the girls from their task, but a mine went off and one of the girls lay motionless on the field. Radar went running into the field in spite of his companions' protests, picked up the wounded girl, instructed the other to take hold of his sleeve, and they ran back to the Jeep.

The Jeep backtracked to a hospital where the three dropped off the girl and some other members of the family, then resumed their trip to the 4077th. That was when they had a flat tire — and, while they were changing it, they came under sniper fire. They got away with the lugs on the tire a bit loose, then stopped down the road to tighten them. B.J. observed that there was a bullet hole in the seat next to him. Radar remarked that the general who owned the Jeep would have a fit.

"Why should he?" Hawkeye asked. "We fixed his flat."

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Shortly thereafter the Jeep came under mortar fire. The three abandoned the Jeep and sought cover, then had to tend to the wounded from a unit of soldiers that had been walking through the area. Once that was finished, they resumed their trip and made it to Rosie's Bar near the camp. They stopped for a drink, then proceeded to the camp, where a now inebriated B.J. checked in with Frank Burns by saluting and saying, as he had been instructed by Hawkeye, "What say you, Ferret Face?"

Frank, who had been fantasizing (along with Hot Lips) about training B.J. to be his kind of Army doctor, realized that he had another Trapper John on his hands.

But not for long. A new commanding officer was on his way to the 4077th.

Not-So-Sweet Dreams

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Of all the thought–provoking episodes the MASH TV series created in its 11 seasons on the prime time schedule, the one that first aired 35 years ago tonight may have been the series' most poignant.

Called "Dreams," the episode explored the dreams of the series' leading characters, and each revealed something about the character — his/her desires, fears, insecurities. Everyone was tired after the marathon sessions the MASH staffers put in. Sometimes they flopped into their cots and were asleep before their heads hit their pillows. Other times they dozed off while sitting in the mess tent or post–op.

Inevitably, there was a peaceful quality to many of the dreams that would be interrupted by the reality of the nightmare they couldn't escape. Col. Potter (Harry Morgan) dreamed of riding his horse through an open field and hearing his mother calling to him. At that point, he was awakened by Klinger with news that he was needed in surgery. Potter lamented the fact that he couldn't have had a little more time so he could taste his mother's cooking again.

That was an indirect intrusion of the war. The intrusion was more direct with the others. It was absorbed into the story line of the dream — the way that dreams do. Or, at least, mine do. I don't know about yours. When my alarm goes off in the morning, it often weaves itself into whatever dream I am having, and for a moment there is a tug–of–war going on between my dream and my reality.

Father Mulcahy (William Christopher) was nodding off while listening to a wounded soldier's confession, and the soldier's words became gibberish. Mulcahy would rouse himself, and the words would begin to make sense again, but then he would drift off again and the gibberish would resume. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed he was the pope blessing the faithful before he was roused from his slumber by the soldier.

I don't recall having many dreams that were as intimate and deeply personal as the dreams of the MASH staffers, but their dreams clearly revealed their most cherished desires and principles — and their greatest fears. Being awakened from the dream was almost a relief for many.

Charles (David Ogden Stiers), for example, dreamed he was a magician, performing magic tricks that astonished the MASH staff. But, when he was faced with a life–and–death matter, none of his tricks could save the patient.

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Hawkeye (Alan Alda) dreamed he was in a medical school class being conducted in the camp's mess tent. He couldn't answer the professor's questions so, each time, he had to surrender one of his limbs. Then he found himself in a boat floating in a river with arms and legs all around him. On the shore, he saw a little girl who was holding an apparent wound. She looked at Hawkeye with the silent plea for help. He looked at her and shrugged.

Hot Lips (Loretta Swit) had perhaps the most bittersweet dream. She was dressed in a white wedding dress that became blood stained from the wounded.

Clearly, her mind had concluded that her problems finding the husband and home she had always wanted were the result of her work in a war zone. Not an entirely injudicious conclusion, either.

His dream took B.J. (Mike Farrell) all the way back to his home in Mill Valley, Calif., where he was dancing with his wife. But he was called away to the O.R. by his sense of duty, and his wife went back to the ballroom on the arm of another man.

Klinger (Jamie Farr), too, went all the way home in his dream — back to his beloved Toledo. He saw all the familiar sights, then looked in a window and saw Potter operating on someone. The person on the table turned and looked in his direction — and Klinger saw that it was himself.

Potter beckoned for Klinger to come in.

It was a powerful episode made plausible by the writers' ability to portray the ways of dreams. I was impressed with their skill when I saw this episode for the first time, and I have been envious of it, as any writer should be, on the occasions when I have seen it again. Given the fact that a 30–minute episode is really about 23 or 24 minutes when one accounts for commercial time, the writers had, on average, less than four minutes to tell the story of each character's dream.

On the Other Hand ...

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"Your hand may be stilled, but your gift cannot be silenced if you refuse to let it be. The gift does not lie in your hands. I have hands, David. Hands that can make a scalpel sing. More than anything in my life I wanted to play, but I do not have the gift. I can play the notes, but I cannot make the music. You have performed Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Chopin. Even if you never do so again, you've already known a joy that I will never know as long as I live. Because the true gift is in your head and in your heart and in your soul. Now you can shut it off forever, or you can find new ways to share your gift with the world — through the baton, the classroom or the pen. As to these works, they're for you because you and the piano will always be as one."

Charles (David Ogden Stiers)

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From time to time, MASH managed to enlighten its viewers. I always appreciated that, just as I appreciated the way that the West Wing did the same thing a couple of decades later.

MASH didn't do that all the time, though — which, I suppose, made those occasions when it did so much more special.

Thirty–five years ago tonight was one such occasion.

As usual, the story started with a bit of misdirection. Col. Potter (Harry Morgan) was tired of the complaints he received from the surgeons about the quality of the recreational activities at the 4077th so he appointed Hawkeye (Alan Alda) and B.J. (Mike Farrell) morale officers — whereupon they discovered how challenging it can be to boost a unit's morale.

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Eventually, they decided on a clambake with fresh seafood. Klinger was drafted to pick up the seafood and bring it back to camp.

Charles (David Ogden Stiers) had no problems with morale. He had just completed some rather tricky surgery on a young man who had suffered a serious wound to his leg and was pleased with the results. By taking grafts from the young man's right hand, he was able to save the leg with minimal loss of dexterity to the hand. He would be able to walk. That was the bottom line, the big picture.

Just one problem, though. The young man (James Stephens) had been a concert pianist in civilian life, and he had planned to resume his career when his military service was over. Walking was unimportant to him compared to having 10 nimble fingers to play the piano.

When music–loving Charles learned the truth, he was determined to motivate the young man to continue his career, and he gave him a composition by Maurice Ravel that had been commissioned by a man named Paul Wittgenstein, whose right arm was amputated in World War I. Wittgenstein, too, was a pianist, and the pieces he commissioned were written for the left hand. Few composers would accept such a challenge, Charles told the young man — although, in fact, several of the most prominent composers of Wittgenstein's day did accept the challenge.

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Charles didn't tell the young man (and the viewing audience) the whole story. Wittgenstein didn't perform every piece he received, but he retained exclusive lifetime performance rights to them; after he was dead or no longer performing publicly, he wanted the pieces to be available for others.

He died nearly eight years after the end of the Korean War so I have long wondered exactly how Charles was able to acquire the sheet music. Perhaps that is part of the Wittgenstein story with which I am not familiar. Perhaps the Ravel piece was available because Wittgenstein had performed it in public — or perhaps Ravel retained certain contractual rights on most — but not all — of the compositions he commissioned.

Personally, I find that hard to believe because Wittgenstein himself wrote to a colleague before the U.S. started sending troops to Korea, "You don't build a house just so that someone else can live in it. I commissioned and paid for the works, the whole idea was mine. ... But those works to which I still have the exclusive performance rights are to remain mine as long as I still perform in public; that's only right and fair. Once I am dead or no longer give concerts, then the works will be available to everyone because I have no wish for them to gather dust in libraries to the detriment of the composer."

That suggests to me that Wittgenstein saw to it that every piece he commissioned was exclusively his as long as he continued to perform. So the writers for MASH were mistaken. In reality, Charles could only tell the young man about the pieces. He wouldn't have been able to share the physical sheet music with him.

But that wouldn't have made the story as effective, would it?

I give the writers for MASH high marks for attempting to enlighten their audience on this night 35 years ago. They took what they probably considered poetic license in their treatment of Wittgenstein and his commissioned compositions. Ravel's name probably carried the most weight at the time, his "Bolero" having been used in the movie "10" a few months earlier.

Poetic license. That isn't how I see it. If the writers knowingly fictionalized their account, they crossed an ethical line. They should have clearly labeled the product they wished to sell.

The Night the Nation Watched

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If, at the end of my life, I am asked to list the five days that I remember the most vividly, I have no doubt that list would include this day in 1983.

It was on that day that the final episode of M*A*S*H, titled "Goodbye, Farewell and Amen," was broadcast. To this day, it remains the most–watched TV broadcast ever.

1983 was quite a year for historic TV events. Super Bowl XVII the previous month, The Thorn Birds miniseries the next month and The Day After TV movie in November are still among the Top 50 TV events of all time. But the M*A*S*H finale is the all–time champ.

Well, the last couple of Super Bowls might have surpassed the M*A*S*H finale. Those numbers aren't available yet. But even if they did, it seems to me that comparing an unscripted championship game to a scripted performance is sort of like comparing apples to oranges.

Frankly, there were many reasons why the M*A*S*H finale drew so many viewers — and why no comparable broadcast is ever likely to duplicate the achievement.

It was a popular series. Well, not at first. It got off to a rocky start in its first season, but it was a fixture in TV's Top 10 through most of its run. It lasted 11 years.

During that time, Alan Alda, who played Hawkeye Pierce, was recognized by the Golden Globes six times and by the Emmy Awards five times.

And any discussion of the quality of the M*A*S*H series and its record–setting finale must include the writing, which was always top notch. There were the regular writers, of course, but members of the cast often contributed to the writing — and the directing.

If you watch all the episodes that were broadcast, the inescapable conclusion is that never was there a more creative crew. M*A*S*H was truly an ensemble effort.

Even though cable did exist at the time of the M*A*S*H finale, it was still in something of a nascent phase. Many people were receiving it, but many more were not.

In my market, as I recall, cable subscribers could get maybe two dozen channels, not the hundreds that are available now. Thus, the potential audience was not as fragmented as it is today.

Because of the sheer number of the alternatives available, I'm inclined to think that nothing that is shown on a single channel today can attract the share of the TV market that the M*A*S*H finale did.

The overall audience for a major news event might exceed it, but many channels will show the same news event. And sports events are, as I say, unscripted. Among programming that is scripted (and, almost always, recorded in advance), the M*A*S*H finale's viewership has never really been challenged — and almost certainly never will be.

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There were several memorable, poignant moments in that program, and many folks will mention the same ones.

But there's one scene that I always enjoy watching whenever the show is being repeated, even though it has rarely been mentioned in my presence. That's a scene in which Col. Potter (Harry Morgan) was taking a break between surgical cases and Max Klinger (Jamie Farr) came up to him to ask for some advice.

Potter told Klinger he only had a minute to spare.

"Do you understand women?" asked Klinger. The running joke about Klinger, of course, was that he had long been trying to get out of Korea by wearing dresses, but now, because he was in love with a South Korean girl who had been separated from her parents and would not leave the country until she found them, he was considering staying in South Korea after the impending end of the conflict.

That was the conundrum with which he had been wrestling. But no one else knew that.

"Oh," Potter replied, apparently relieved. "What I understand about women will take a lot less than a minute."

That, my friends, is great writing. That's just all there is to it. And Harry Morgan, old pro that he was, delivered it perfectly.

Equally fine writing was on display earlier in the program, when Hawkeye was coming to grips with his role in a tragic event. His attempts to repress that memory had landed him in a psychiatric hospital, and the scene in which he had his breakthrough remains one of the most emotionally devastating moments I have ever witnessed on television.

Each of the primary stars — Mike Farrell, Loretta Swit, David Ogden Stiers — had his/her opportunity to shine although perhaps not quite as brightly as the ones I have mentioned.

They were all great, but I think all would agree that they have never been affiliated with a project or a group of people as special as those who brought M*A*S*H into America's living rooms for 11 years.

Do You Smell What I Smell?

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Hawkeye (Alan Alda): Jesus ate with the lepers.

Father Mulcahy (William Christopher): He was an exceptionally good sport.

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On this day in 1978, the M*A*S*H TV series was about halfway through its 11–year run.

It is often said of sitcoms that, when they have been on the air that long, the episodes tend to become stale.

And it is true that M*A*S*H had some misfires that year.

But the episode that aired 35 years ago tonight was pure entertainment from start to finish. I've always thought of it as one of the series' best.

It wasn't like many of the episodes in the latter years of the series — in which a somber angle was inserted into an otherwise upbeat story. It was strictly comedy, all the way through.

As it opened, the surgeons had just completed a particularly grueling session in the operating room. To unwind, Charles (David Ogden Stiers) took to playing his French horn, much to the dismay of Hawkeye and B.J. (Mike Farrell), who decided to abstain from bathing until Charles stopped playing his horn.

Charles refused to back down, of course, and so did Hawkeye and B.J. It was a case of the irresistible force meeting the immovable object.

And the rest of the camp was caught in the middle. Charles' French horn playing was, to put it mildly, annoying, and Hawkeye and B.J.'s stench was, well, irritating.

Something had to be done.

The odor became so bad that Hawkeye and B.J. were ordered by everyone else to eat their meals outside the mess hall. When Father Mulcahy strolled by and observed that it was a fine day to be eating outside, Hawkeye and B.J. invited him to sit and share the noontime meal. He refused, prompting them to inquire if it was because of their smell. Mulcahy admitted that it was.

"Jesus ate with the lepers," Hawkeye said.

And, in one of the best lines I have ever heard, Mulcahy replied, "He was an exceptionally good sport."

(An interesting side story involved Col. Potter and a suicidal patient. The patient's girlfriend or wife — I forget which — had been a beauty queen or something like that, and in high school they had been voted cutest couple. Now, disfigured by his injury, the patient could only think that they would be regarded as beauty and the beast.)

Inevitably, I suppose, there was a rebellion. The camp forcibly bathed Hawkeye and B.J. with teams assigned to wash, apply soap and dry the two miscreants.

As for Charles, his French horn was taken from him and placed in the path of an oncoming Jeep that left it flat as a pancake while the camp cheered.

But the cheering died away as Col. Potter strolled onto the scene. He appraised the situation and announced to the hushed crowd, clearly fearing severe punishment, that they were to be confined "to the Officer's Club for the duration of the whiskey. Pierce, Hunnicutt and Winchester are buying!"

Winchester had an issue to discuss. "My French horn ..." he began, looking at the flattened instrument.

"By all means, bring it along," Potter told him. "We'd love to hear it."