Godspeed, 'Colonel'

The 4077th has lost one of its most beloved alumni.

Harry Morgan, the actor who will forever be known to me and thousands of other "M*A*S*H" fans as Col. Sherman T. Potter, passed away yesterday. He was 96.

Here is The New York Times obituary.

Morgan had been in a ton of movies and co-starred in at least two TV series (one being the revived late '60s version of "Dragnet") before being signed to play Potter after McLean Stevenson left "M*A*S*H"in 1975. Morgan had played a crazy general on the series the previous season and had left an impression on the cast and crew.

He later called Potter "the best part I ever had," winning an Emmy in 1980.

I'm one of the few people who actually prefer the later episodes of "M*A*S*H." Morgan is a big reason why. As much as I loved Stevenson's Col. Henry Blake, Morgan's Potter was wise, sardonic, amusing, sentimental -- everything you'd want in a CO. He loved his Zane Gray westerns, his horse Sophie and his wife, Mildred.

When he first got to Hollywood, he was known as Henry Morgan, but wisely changed his first name to avoid confusion with the jackass TV personality Henry Morgan. I can remember seeing him in one of my favorite westerns, the chilling mob psychology drama "The Ox-Bow Incident." Later, he had a colorful role in John Wayne's last film, "The Shootist."

I can still picture him as Col. Potter, riding off from the Korean War on Sophie, after sharing one final goodbye with Alan Alda and Mike Farrell. Loretta Swit's Margaret Houlihan called him a "dear, sweet man" and he was.

You'll be missed, "Colonel." Godspeed.

Where have you gone, Hawkeye Pierce?

I've told you about it before...

How I found "M*A*S*H" because of my dad, watched that last episode with him in February 1983 (its 77 share is still a record), came to love it as a teen and young adult, and grew to adore it for the spirit it represents.

Last night, while fighting the usual three rounds with insomnia, I surfed over to YouTube, and found some memories of "M*A*S*H."

I started here by watching a trip someone took to Malibu Creek State Park, where exteriors for the TV series were filmed, on the 25th anniversary of the series finale in 2008.

Then I found this clip of the cast rehearsing scenes from the final 30-minute episode, "As Time Goes By." It touched the heart to see Loretta Swit's tears.

After that, I uncovered one of the many tributes that aired the week leading up to the big "Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen."

Somewhere I've bookmarked an online archive of the 1981 PBS special "Making M*A*S*H." Google it. It's worth a look.

What I loved about this show was its humanism, its intelligence, the quality of its writing and the talent of its cast. Unlike virtually any entertainment program on TV today, "M*A*S*H" stood for something, commenting on the dehumanization of war and how those who were there coped with it, mainly by acting crazy to keep from going insane.

Alan Alda says in the PBS special that if "M*A*S*H" were developed as a pilot "today" (he was speaking in 1981), it couldn't be sold. That goes triple for 2011.

I prefer the later, more serious episodes, but I love it all, this situation tragedy about doctors in Korea.

If I can quote Harry "Col. Potter" Morgan, "M*A*S*H" made me a better human being -- and there aren't many shows you can say that about.

Thinking on it now, I can't help but ask, "Where have you gone, Hawkeye Pierce?"

Ooo, wee, ride me high...

Came home riding a high.

You do that when you meet a legend. And, I don't care what you say, Marshal Andy is a local legend.

But, I was nursing a headache and there's no baseball on tonight. (I don't count the silly home run derby.) So, I plopped down in the recliner to enjoy an old western. Starring Rex Allen Sr., no less.

Somewhere before the big fight at the end, I fell asleep, missing the climax and a couple of phone calls. But that's OK. I saw it all later. God bless TiVO.

I wanted to read Alan Alda's second memoir, the tome with the title "Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself." He is such a decent guy. Not to mention the star of my all-time favorite show.

But, headache had other plans, so I sat out on the porch and watched the sun set. It was quiet. It was perfect.

I thought about the last few days, the old friendships renewed, the wonderful, horrible surprise that is life, the good times, the laughs and the tears.

You take from it what you will. For me, it's the people, the music, a little beer and a lot of laughs, midnight Krystal runs and early morning dreams.

And it's funny. If the old dreams didn't work out, well, the new dreams will. We can't change the past. But we can do a little something about the future.

Now, it's off to bed. Big day tomorrow. Lunch and interns and seeing whether the National League can finally win the mid-summer classic.

Oh, I forgot to tell you the best part about last night. The headache went away.

Amazing what happens when you come home riding a high.

All the world's a stage...

I should have been an actor.

Particularly a stage actor. I had forgotten until I spoke to the Halls Women's League last night how wonderful it is to bask in the warmth of an audience. I don't know how good I would be at it. But, I know I would love it.

It's funny. I remember watching Damon Patterson and a girl who's name is lost to time -- Allie something, maybe -- do a scene after dinner at a high school awards banquet. I was quite taken by it. I also remember a friend leaning over and saying, "I can see you doing that."

Couldn't stay asleep tonight (that seems to happen nearly every night anymore), so I finally quit tossing and turning and finished Alan Alda's book. He talks about the ups and downs of performing. His theory is that an actor has to reach a point in which you "care without caring." I think that makes a lot of sense and can be useful in many walks of life.

(I told you yesterday how much I always admired Alda. I used to want to be just like him. Funny, isn't it? Whatever late hour I get off work tonight, I'm going to light a fire and watch him and Ellen Burstyn in "Same Time, Next Year" if I can stay awake. I always watch that movie the night before Thanksgiving. Go figure. I'm nuts.)

What finally steered me away from any serious thoughts of thespianism (other than fears about earning a paycheck) was anxiety over learning lines. But, I was so taken by Damon's performance that I took a couple of years of drama in high school.

I love the play we did my sophomore year ("The Foreigner"). I didn't so much like the play we did my junior year. By my senior year, I'd fallen in love with journalism and dropped out of Denise Pennington's drama class to work on the school paper an extra semester. Don't have any regrets. As it turned out, I've made newspapers my life's work.

But I've never lost my love for live performance. One of my fondest memories is seeing Tom Selleck in a revival of "A Thousand Clowns" 10 days before 9/11 in New York. One of my goals for 2009 is to take time to catch as many local plays as possible.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll seek out more invitations like talking to the Women's League. The ham in me loves the applause, sure, but it's really more than that. Sometimes the performer connects -- really connects -- with the folks sitting out there in the crowd. You share a common moment and it makes you realize that one of the most important things in life happens when human beings relate to one another.

Kind of puts the best spin on Shakespeare's declaration that all the world's a stage.

Hawkeye by the fire

So I'm sitting here by the fire -- relaxing from a long day -- watching "M*A*S*H."

I've waxed poetically before about my favorite "dramedy," so I'll not go too far down that primrose path tonight. Quickly, then: this is one of the most well-written, intelligent, heartfelt shows ever presented on American television. Sometime I'll tell you what I remember about watching the famous last episode with my dad when I was a wee lad.

I've slowly but surely made my way through all 11 years (and 251 episodes) of the series thanks to the DVD releases. Finished that up last year.

Dinner conversation the other night made me think about Alan Alda, so I've been watching re-runs in the evenings. It helps me unwind.

Life is good. I was surprised (pleasantly) tonight with a rather thoughtful invitation, one about which I'm quite excited. Thoughtful gestures are the richest kind.

It's cold outside. But I like it. Sitting here as the flames flicker across my darkened living room, I'd like to stay here awhile.

Morning comes early, though, and with it promises another busy day. But "M*A*S*H" by the fire as a Tuesday slips away seems the perfect way to gear up for it.

'The Last Time I Felt Like This'

I used to think that no singer would haunt my dreams like Karen Carpenter.

Then came Alison Krauss. Then "Teardrops" and RobinElla. Then -- well, you get the idea.

But there is a special place reserved in the part of my heart forever in love with good music for Jane Olivor. Here, let me slide down a seat. You sit right there, get comfortable and I'll tell you the story.

Some time ago (15 years, I guess), while going through a stage wanting to be Alan Alda (don't ask), I watched a movie called "Same Time, Next Year." Starring Alda and Ellen Burstyn, the film follows a 25-year affair between two people who meet at the same quaint little cottage on the shores of the Pacific in California once a year. I'll tell you more about the movie sometime, but what's important here is the film's theme song, "The Last Time I Felt Like This," performed by the venerable Johnny Mathis and Olivor, she with the ethereal, haunting vocals.

The song is sentimental, but also beautiful, full of the naive bliss of love that sadly seems as antiquated today as leisure suits and 8-track tapes. Mathis and Olivor work magic as the harmony blends together. Somebody once compared it to two birds mating; as silly as that sounds, it's an apt description.

Olivor seemed on the brink of superstardom when she recorded that duet with Mathis nearly 30 years ago. She had a sweet recording contract with Columbia and was being compared favorably with Streisand and others.

But she swallowed a big dose of stage fright and couldn't adjust to the attention that came with an Oscar-nominated song and a concert tour with Mathis. Her husband's illness provided the perfect excuse. Jane Olivor disappeared.

They tell me she is singing again; Columbia has also remastered some of her late 70s/early 80s material. There are some gems buried here and there, including "The Best Side of Goodbye," a stunning reading of Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Some Enchanted Evening," a live performance of a beautiful song called "Seasons" and mighty fine covers of Don McLean's "Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)" and Neil Sedaka's underrated "Solitaire."

But it's that sweet three minute masterpiece with Johnny Mathis that has become the moment in Jane Olivor's career. I hear those opening piano notes and lose my heart awhile as it soars into the sky. I close my eyes and pretend that Olivor is singing just for me while I remember a face I haven't seen in many moons.

It's deja vu; I've been here before. When was it? Oh, yes. I remember now.

The last time I felt like this, I was falling in love...