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 As the first blog entry got exhausted. My second book |
| He was 60 years old with a 40-year career when he joined MASH in Season 4—replacing a beloved character who'd just been killed off. The cast was grieving. Fans were furious. Then Harry Morgan gave one of the greatest TV performances ever—and helped create the most-watched episode in television history. September 1975. Harry Morgan received a phone call that would define the final chapter of his career. MASH producers wanted him to join the show. But there was a problem: he'd be replacing McLean Stevenson, whose character Colonel Henry Blake had just been killed in one of the most shocking moments in television history. Fans were devastated and angry. Henry Blake had been the heart of MASH—bumbling, warm, deeply human. His death in a plane crash had left audiences in tears and outrage. Now they wanted Harry Morgan to replace him. "I was terrified," Morgan later admitted. "How do you follow that? The audience loved Henry. They were mourning him. And here I come, this old guy, trying to fill those shoes." But here's what most people didn't realize: Harry Morgan wasn't some unknown actor desperate for a break. He was already a legend. By 1975, Harry Morgan had been acting for over 40 years. He'd appeared in more than 100 films. He'd co-starred in High Noon with Gary Cooper. He'd been in Inherit the Wind, The Ox-Bow Incident, and dozens of other classic films. Most famously, he'd played Officer Bill Gannon on Dragnet for years—a role that made him a household name. Harry Morgan didn't need MASH. But MASH desperately needed him. When McLean Stevenson left the show (he thought he'd become a movie star; his post-MASH career flopped), the producers faced a crisis. Henry Blake's death had been shocking, but now they needed a new commanding officer who could anchor the show. They couldn't just copy Henry Blake. They needed someone completely different—someone who could bring authority, wisdom, and depth without trying to replicate what Stevenson had done. They created Colonel Sherman T. Potter: a career Army officer, a veteran of World War I, a man who'd seen too much war but still believed in decency and doing the right thing. And they cast the 60-year-old Harry Morgan—a man who could bring gravitas, humor, and humanity without trying to be anyone but himself. Harry's first episode aired in September 1975. Fan reaction was... cautious. They missed Henry. They weren't sure about this new, older, more serious commanding officer. But something remarkable happened: Harry Morgan didn't try to make audiences love him immediately. He just played Potter honestly—gruff when necessary, kind when needed, always principled. And slowly, audiences fell in love with Colonel Potter. Alan Alda (Hawkeye) later said: "Harry brought something the show desperately needed. After Henry's death, we needed someone who felt like he could hold us together. Harry was that person—both on screen and off." Behind the scenes, Harry Morgan became the emotional anchor of the cast. At 60, he was older than most of his co-stars. He'd seen more, lived more, experienced more. When young actors struggled with the heavy material—episodes about death, trauma, the cost of war—Harry was there with quiet wisdom. "He never lectured," cast member Mike Farrell (B.J. Hunnicutt) recalled. "He'd just tell you a story from his own life, or make a joke to lighten the mood, or put a hand on your shoulder. He led by example." The show tackled increasingly serious material as it progressed. What had started as a comedy became something deeper—a show about the trauma of war, the cost of violence, the struggle to maintain humanity in inhumane circumstances. Harry Morgan understood that weight. He'd lived through World War II. He'd known veterans. He brought that understanding to every scene. "There were episodes that destroyed me," he later admitted. "You can't spend a day pretending you're in a war—even a pretend war—without feeling something real." By the early 1980s, MASH was the most popular show on television. It had evolved from a sitcom into something unprecedented—a show that made audiences laugh and cry, often in the same episode. And Colonel Potter had become one of the most beloved characters on television—not despite being different from Henry Blake, but because he was different. Then came 1983. After 11 seasons, MASH was ending. The final episode—"Goodbye, Farewell and Amen"—aired on February 28, 1983. One hundred and twenty-five million Americans watched. It remains the most-watched television episode in U.S. history. The episode was 2.5 hours long, dealing with the immediate aftermath of the Korean War's end. It was devastating, beautiful, and emotionally exhausting. Harry Morgan's final scene as Colonel Potter was simple: he rides away from the 4077th on his horse, Sophie, one last time. Before leaving, he salutes the camp. Harry later said that scene broke him. "I couldn't separate Harry from Potter anymore. We'd lived together for eight years. Saying goodbye to that camp felt like saying goodbye to part of my life." When filming wrapped, the cast held each other and wept. They'd been together for over a decade. They'd created something historic. And it was over. Harry Morgan, at 67, had just completed one of the greatest performances in television history. After MASH ended, Harry continued acting for another 20 years. He appeared in dozens of films and TV shows. But he always said MASH was special. "I did a lot of good work," he said in a late interview. "But MASH was different. It meant something. We weren't just entertaining people—we were making them think, making them feel." The show's anti-war message, delivered through comedy and drama, influenced an entire generation. It showed that television could be art. That sitcoms could tackle serious themes. That you could make audiences laugh and then break their hearts in the same episode. And Colonel Potter—the gruff, decent, horse-loving career officer who believed in doing the right thing even when everything else was wrong—became a moral center for the show. Harry Morgan brought that character to life with such honesty that millions of Americans saw him as a father figure, a mentor, a representation of the best kind of leadership. Harry Morgan died in 2011 at age 96. He'd lived a long, full life filled with remarkable work. But his obituaries all led with the same thing: Colonel Sherman T. Potter. The role he'd been terrified to take. The character he'd created at age 60. The performance that defined the final chapter of his career. At his memorial, Alan Alda said: "Harry gave MASH its soul. When Henry Blake died, we needed someone to hold us together. Harry didn't just hold us together—he made us better. The show, the cast, all of us. We were better because Harry was there." That's the real legacy: not just a great performance, but a man who made everyone around him better. Harry Morgan joined MASH at 60, replacing a beloved character, facing angry fans, terrified he'd fail. He gave one of the greatest performances in television history, helped create the most-watched episode ever, and became the moral heart of one of TV's most important shows. And he did it by just being Harry—decent, honest, funny, and deeply human. Colonel Potter saluted the 4077th one last time in 1983. But Harry Morgan's legacy salutes us still—reminding us that doing the right thing, leading with decency, and treating people with respect never goes out of style. Even in war. Especially in war. |
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