When it was announced that CBS was going to present M*A*S*H as a half hour sitcom, I was appalled at the notion that 20th Century Fox would diminish the Robert Altman classic by turning it into a half hour television show.
But like millions of others who tuned in on Sunday, September 17, 1972 I was immediately won over by the performances of Alan Alda, Wayne Rogers, McLean Stevenson, Loretta Switt, Gary Burghoff & Larry Linville and became a staunch viewer and fan for it’s eleven season run.
I was privileged to visit legendary Stage Nine on the 20TH Century Fox lot on November 5, 1975, which was McLean’s Stevenson’s last day on the show. But I must explain how I came to be there.
Having watched M*A*S*H since it premiered, I saw three episodes that I thought could be woven into a three act play. The Second Act was to be the classic episode which took place entirely in the O.R.. The Producers of M*A*S*H had made a deal with CBS that there would be no laugh track in any scenes that took place in the O.R.
It is well known that nearly everyone on the show hated the laugh track and felt it was inappropriate because of the nature of the show. So to put one over on the Execs at CBS, Larry Gelbart and Laurence Marks wrote the episode “O.R.” which took place entirely in the Operating Room. Gelbart and Marks won the WGA award for writing the episode and the Emmy for directing of a comedy went to Gene Reynolds.
With this idea in mind, I called the M*A*S*H production offices and proposed the idea of the play to Larry Gelbart’s assistant. A few days later I received a manila envelope in the mail containing the three scripts and a note of good luck. As a thank you, I sent two dozen roses to Mr. Gelbart’s assistant. She called to thank me telling me that everyone who came into her office wanted to know who her secret admirer was. I suggested she not tell them and drive them all nuts. She then asked if there was anything else she could do for me.
I was preparing for a trip to Israel with my grandmother, sister, and brother-in-law and asked if there was any chance to visit the set. She said she’d look into it and a few days later she called back and asked if November 5 would work for me. I said it would. She said that would be great, since it was MacLean Stevenson’s last day on the show. I was ecstatic
Now prior to this pilgrimage to Stage 9, I had seen Alan Alda on a TV interview talking about how he was looking to get into directing. I had written a TV movie, the story very deep and meaningful to me. I did everything “according to Hoyle” contacting Mr. Alda’s agent who said I should send him the script, which I did.
Time passed and I heard nothing from Mr. Alda’s agent, so I placed a call to 20th Century Fox and asked for Mr. Alda. Expecting a rebuff, the next thing I heard was the line ringing. I let it ring for a while and as I was about to hang up, someone picked up the line.
“Hello?” came a groggy sounding voice on the other end. It suddenly dawned on me it was ALAN ALDA. I had work him from a nap. Deciding not to waste an opportunity, I took no time in launching into who I was and why I was calling, telling him about my script. He said he would look into it and I thanked him for his time apologizing for having disturbed him.
Come November 5, I drove out to the studio. I presented myself at the main gate, but there was no pass for me. Determined to follow through I asked the guard to call Mfr. Gelbart’s office. Within minutes of placing the call I was handed a pass and directed to Stage 9. But I detoured to Mr. Gelbart’s office to pay my respects to his assistant and personally thank her for her kindness. She told me that everyone thought the idea of using the three scripts as a stage play was very exciting and wished me luck. I then headed for Stage 9.
Stage 9 is an unimpressive block of a sound stage set behind the main office building of the studio. I found a parking place and headed for the stage, not having a clue as to where the door was. As I approached I noticed the huge stage door open slightly and I entered into darkness. After a minute or two my eyes adjusted to the dim work lights and then the brighter stage lights that illuminated the interior set of “Rosie’s Bar”
I found myself a spot to watch from a set that wasn’t being used.. Across the stage, on the “Rosie’s Bar” set were ALAN ALDA, MACLEAN STEVENSON, and GARY BURGHOFF. They were shooting the farewell dinner drunk sequence from “ABYSSINIA, HENRY”. Now I wasn’t aware that M*A*S*H was a one-camera show, meaning that they only used one camera to shoot the show instead of the standard 3 camera used on other sitcoms (but those shows were shot in front of a live studio audience)..
So I watched, in confusion as they did the scene over and over again, not noticing they repositioned the camera every time so they could get all coverage they needed (everyone’s close ups, two-shots, master shots, etc.) So I stood watching trying to figure it all out. I suddenly sensed someone standing next to me and I turned to find LARRY LINVILLE (Major Frank Burns on the show). Under his arm was a thick stack of computer print-out (remember dot matrix?).
I asked what it was and he laid it out on a table, explaining he had spent the morning at the UCLA computer department trying to figure out the stress factors on the wingspan of the glider he was building in his garage. Being taken aback by this revelation I believe my response was “Huh?” It seems Mr. Linville was not anything like the pompous ass of his character and that his hobby was building gliders from the same polyurethane or polystyrene foam surfboards are made from. That explanation left me slack-jawed. Linville also had brought Stevenson a going-away present in the form of a huge plastic tennis shoe planter. Mr. Linville told Mr. Stevenson something to the effect that if the plant died, he could also wear the planter.
Then someone called “Lunch!” and Alda, Stevenson, and Burghoff left the set. In the scene the actors had to eat braised beef. As Mr. Alda moved to his chair, across from where I was he sounded off with a comment to the effect that who wanted lunch? We’ve been eating braised beef all morning.
I struggled with whether to approach and intrude on Mr. Alda when WAYNE ROGERS appeared, bidding Stevenson his farewell. It was then I realized that the shortest people on the set were myself and Gary Burgoff. Alda, Stevenson, and Rogers were all six feet or taller. It was like being in a Sequoia forest! Rogers finally moved away and I took a deep breath and approached Mr. Alda.
When I introduced myself he shot out of his chair, grabbing and shaking my hand and APOLOGIZING! “I’m really sorry,” he said. “My agent never sent me your script. I’m really sorry!” I told him I had a copy in the car and he insisted I give it to him. He was leaving for hiatus and promised to take it with him. I said I’d be happy to give it to him and retrieved it from my car and gave it to him. I left the set shortly after, not wanting to over stay my welcome, or if someone got wise and chased me off.
After about three months had passed I called my friend in Mr. Gelbart’s office to see if Mr. Alda had returned. I was told he was still vacationing in the Bahamas with his wife. I figured that was the last I would hear from Mr. Alda. The next day in the mail I found a manila envelope. Inside was my script, the covers sun-bleached, sand between the pages, and an encouraging note from Alan Alda on his personal stationary. It was constructive criticism, yet encouraging, wishing me luck and with the advice to keep writing.
It was probably the single most important advice anyone, up to that time, that kept me writing. So, thank you Alan Alda.
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