M*A*S*H

Look at them. They're babies.

What are you talking about?

The patients, Frank. Look at their faces.

They couldn't ante up a whisker between them.

Beards don't prove anything.

Remember, you heard it here first.

Litter!

It's not what's on their chins,

but what's in their guts.

Which is mostly shrapnel.

Frank started out to be a psychiatrist,

but he discovered he likes the sight of blood.

Oh, hardy‐har‐har.

These men are soldiers, Pierce,

and darn proud of it.

No, they're not. They're babies.

Look at this Timothy Burke.

Can't be more than 18 years old.

He oughta be home being burped by his mother.

We're all a bunch of pediatricians.

‐All except you, Frank. ‐Oh? And what am I?

Well?

Don't rush me. I'm still working on it.

Clumsy oaf.

And no prompting from the studio audience, please.

Babies.

You okay, Hawk?

I'm going out.

"Wondering where they went. And so the..." Oh, Hawkeye.

I'm on my way to a root beer float.

Look at that Daffy Dan. I thought he was supposed to be so exhausted.

Tomcatting around as usual. Probably on the prowl for that Nurse Able.

Able and willing is the way I hear it.

It's possible, Frank, that Captain Pierce just is trying to unwind.

‐After all, he did put in a 19‐hour day. ‐And what about me?

‐You slept. ‐I took a nap.

‐Eight hours, Frank, is not a nap. ‐So sue me.

‐The alarm didn't go off. ‐Sure, Frank.

Well, it was still a long day.

‐I'm human. ‐Oh?

I need to unwind too.

Margaret, I'm as taut as a watch spring.

Your state of tautness is no longer a concern of mine, Major Burns.

I happen to be an engaged person.

‐Oh, that scent. What is it? ‐Forbidden Furlough.

‐Eight dollars an ounce. ‐Oh, it's worth it. It's driving me mad.

It's not intended to do that, Major Burns.

‐It's to remind me of him. ‐Oh, Margaret, I ache for you. I yearn for you.

You're everything beautiful and fine and noble in this world.

Uh‐huh.

You're the moon, the sun, the stars in heaven.

‐You make the angels feel unworthy. ‐Frank, really!

I know God exists because you exist.

I belong to him.

You better than anyone ought to know.

‐I'm a one‐man woman. ‐You're all woman.

Lieutenant Colonel Penobscott's all man.

You smell like a French hooker.

‐Hiya, Scooter. ‐"Scooter"?

‐Look at my new tennis shoes. ‐Your new what?

I feel so light. I feel like I could run forever.

I feel so free.

Yeah, I know what you mean.

I get that feeling with a pair of new pumps.

Ain't you tired, Captain?

You were in the O.R. all day and half the night.

‐What do you think of our new principal, Mr. Vanderhaven? ‐Who?

I like your new BB gun. My dad won't let me get one.

‐See ya, Scoot. ‐Oh!

Get some sleep, Captain.

‐Hi. ‐Hi, Hawkeye.

You wanna go down to the park and play ball?

Uh, no, I think not, Hawkeye.

It's a little late to play ball.

Okay.

‐Strike out? ‐Nobody to play with.

You screwball.

Right in front of Nurse Ripley.

Next time you're in the mood to play ball,

wait till she goes on duty.

You tired?

‐What's beyond tired? ‐Exhausted.

‐What comes after that? ‐Dead?

‐Now you're gettin' warm. ‐Well, what do you expect,

wandering around the compound half the night?

What's he talking about?

I guess he's talking about your midnight stroll.

Now what are you talking about?

Hey, Captain, no foolin'.

You were playing basketball, sort of.

Come on, don't pull my leg.

The shape I'm in, it'll come off.

You were telling me about your new tennis shoes.

‐What tennis shoes? ‐You were wearing boots,

but you were talking about this great pair of tennies you got.

Then you asked me about some guy named

Vander‐something‐or‐other.

I don't know any Vander‐something.

You said he was the new principal.

What is it, son?

Vanderhaven.

He's talking about Clarence Vanderhaven.

I just got a cold shiver down my back.

Me too.

You must have been sleepwalking.

I don't sleepwalk. I mean, I never have.

‐How do you know? ‐FRANK: That's right.

You may have even performed surgery in your sleep.

The voice of experience.

I'm sure it's nothing

to be overly concerned about, Hawkeye.

You've just been working too hard.

You're not worried about anything special, are you?

Me, worry? What have I got to worry about?

Except the chance I may go to sleep tonight in the Swamp,

and wake up tomorrow morning

strolling through downtown Peking.

I was playing basketball?

Yeah.

But on the bright side, you weren't bad.

Would you believe that, two years ago,

I never even heard of Korea?

Me neither, but then, uh,

Geography was never my strong subject.

Where are you from?

Crabapple Cove, Maine. You probably heard of it.

That sounds nice.

Like a place where Winnie‐the‐Pooh hangs out.

It was a great place to be a kid.

There was a stream with fish in it

that ran right behind the house.

More trees than you could climb in a lifetime.

And in the fall, when the leaves began to turn...

you couldn't believe the beauty.

It was as if God had invented new colors

just for the occasion.

What about the people?

They never changed color. Always the same.

Off‐white.

Come on. What are they like?

The best.

The greatest man I ever knew was born there,

and he never wanted to live anywhere else.

Who's that?

My dad.

How long since you've seen him?

A lifetime.

Two years.

Did you lose something, sir?

Hi, Stinky.

Uh, sir, that's the sorta name that kinda sticks with a fella.

I'd appreciate it if you'd just call me by my given nickname.

What's cooking, Dexter?

If those are my only choices, I guess I'll take Stinky.

It's got a little more pizzazz.

‐What? ‐He's at it again.

What do you mean?

What are you talking about?

‐KLINGER: He's asleep. ‐RADAR: Oh, go on.

‐Hawkeye, you asleep? ‐Don't wake him. He'll get lockjaw.

Before I'm through,

I'm gonna own every purie in Crabapple Cove.

‐That's spooky! ‐Help me get him back to bed.

Right.

What a shot! I'm gonna clean up.

‐Here we go. ‐Careful, sir.

Did you see that? You see that shot?

‐Right. ‐What a shot.

‐Hey, Stinky. ‐What?

Do me a favor, will ya? Get my marbles.

If I leave 'em out there, somebody's gonna swipe 'em.

Right.

Come on, Hawkeye. Just a little bit further.

What a shot.

Easy now. Relax.

Ooh, ooh.

Come on, Stinky.

I knew it.

I knew it.

Watch it, Toby. Toby, Toby, the trees!

‐Hawk, Hawkeye! Hawkeye, it's all right. ‐What, what, what?

It's just a dream. It's okay.

It's okay. You're having a bad dream.

Oh, God, that was awful.

What was it?

Oh, God, what a dream!

‐Who's Toby? ‐Toby. Toby Wilder.

My‐‐ He's my best friend.

When we were kids,

he and I and Dickie Barber were the Three Musketeers.

I saw us riding our sleds down Hermitage Hill.

We were just kids. We were, like, 11 or 12.

And, uh... he was go‐‐

He was going way too fast.

He was, like, completely out of control.

It was as if the snow had turned to ice.

And he was heading for the trees.

And he kept screaming my name.

"Hawkeye! Hawkeye!"

It's just a dream, Hawk.