Picture

About Mark O'Neill

Picture
We moved to Connecticut in 1977, when I was 12. I was the new kid on the block, and didn’t have many friends. Every day, I would come home from school and watch a syndicated episode of M*A*S*H at 3:30 pm. M*A*S*H became my friend. “The Incubator” was the first episode I remember watching, savoring. Then, I realized that new episodes of M*A*S*H were still airing, so I tuned in. Comparing and contrasting older seasons versus new became a fascination with me. I was hooked. And even at age 12, I quickly realized that seeing the name Larry Gelbart in the opening credits meant it was a classic episode. Back in the late 70’s, there was no Internet and there were no Hollywood gossip programs. So, it was next to impossible to find even a tidbit of information on M*A*S*H (or any other program), much less a photo. I would write to the local affiliates that aired M*A*S*H, and ask if they had any photos from the show. They sent me a couple. I got greedy and wrote again. More photos. I’d wait a few months and write again…until they finally caught on to the M*A*S*H addict in Preston. To this day, I have a magazine clipping which announced that Gary Burghoff was leaving M*A*S*H. In 1980, Making M*A*S*H aired on PBS. For the first time, I saw the extended footage of the opening credits used in the Pilot, which had been edited out for syndication. I  xperienced ecstasy. That same year, my sainted mom won a M*A*S*H contest at the local affiliate. As a result, she got to introduce an episode of her choice (“The Interview”), in a 30-second spot. The producer marveled at how she did it on one flawless take, and with no script. This was also a time before videos and DVDs. I would get in bed at night, and quietly get out my cassette player, and secretly listen to the one episode of M*A*S*H I had taped, “White Gold.” Over and over again. “Appears tired in class” on my report card can be blamed on M*A*S*H. In 1983, my parents — God love them — paid for me to visit Hollywood and Stage 9. M*A*S*H had ended filming a month earlier, but I did get to see the outside of Stage 9, and got a script from Burt Metcalfe’s office. A year earlier, a friend had given me the phone number of Stage 9, so I called. In as grown up a voice as I could muster, I asked for Jamie Farr. Imagine how I almost fainted when he actually came on. He was so very polite. Over two decades and a zillion viewings of M*A*S*H later, I found myself contacting M*A*S*H alumni for interviews for this book. It was surreal to start receiving responses via phone, mail or e-mail. Joan Van Ark (guest star) was the very first to respond, and was so nice. Then, Gene Reynolds left a message. Then, Gary Burghoff called, and three minutes into the conversation, I felt like I was talking to an old college buddy. And the list went on. There were some M*A*S*H alumni I was sure I’d never be able to locate, much less get an interview from. I was always sorry that Wayne Rogers left M*A*S*H. To hear from him was such a thrill. And thanks to Larry Gelbart, I was put in touch with Stuart Margolin, one of my favorite character actors. One M*A*S*H alumni I was sure I’d never find was Richard Lee Sung, who played the character famous for sculpting a bust of Colonel Potter. Imagine how thrilled I was when he not only called me, but enthusiastically recited some of his classic lines like, “This is me!” God works in mysterious ways and, on many occasions, Gary Burghoff (who I’ve become friends with) has either called me or I’ve called him…just when one of us needed to chat. Similarly, Richard Lee Sung (Curly) has called me just when I was at my lowest. Both of my parents passed to Heaven this year, and Curly — not entirely aware of this — called a few different times at just the right time and was so kind, wise, supportive and utterly positive. One night, I happened to be watching M*A*S*H and one of the cast members called me. The TV was muted, but I would be watching a character’s lips move while hearing that very actor’s voice on the phone. Utterly surreal. I like M*A*S*H at its zaniest. It’s not that I’m trivializing the destruction of war. In my mind, rather, the zaniest episodes of M*A*S*H remind me of my belief that whatever the tough or awful situation, it is entirely possible to remain positive in it, with faith, and even humor. Episodes like “Divided We Stand,” “Crisis,” “Deal Me Out” and “Operation Noselift” shine like pure gold to me. The lines roll out of Hawkeye and Trapper’s mouths like they just thought of them. Episodes like “The Light That Failed” and “None Like It Hot,” from later seasons, also capture that zany M*A*S*H feel. I’m a fan of the use of background music on M*A*S*H, and can’t imagine the opening scenes of “The Incubator” or “White Gold” without it. Nor can I imagine Hawkeye walking through camp naked, without that slightly jazzy background music playing. I’m also a staunch fan and defender of the laugh track. When watching M*A*S*H alone, it makes me feel like other people are laughing with me. I thought I knew everything M*A*S*H, until I met Eddie Solomonson. I call him “The Encyclopedia” because he knows all things M*A*S*H. We worked hard on this book, and hope you enjoy reading it. In Heaven, “A hundred years from now,” please see me for a copy of part two of this book. Up there, I intend to get interviews from those M*A*S*H greats who have gone on ahead of us, like McLean Stevenson, Larry Linville, Ed Winter, Johnny Haymer, Sorrell Booke, Mary Wickes, Logan Ramsey and many more.

Mark O’Neill was born in 1965 in Rochester, New York, and has lived in Preston, Connecticut, for the past 31 years. One of his comic strips, “Potluck Parish,” was with United Feature Syndicate for three years. He continues to work on it, as well as one he’s hoping to get syndicated with Gary Burghoff called “Gary Burghoff ’s…The Home.” Mark has written humor columns and done cartoons for The Thames River Times (a small local paper), and has children’s books he’s trying to get published. He has a sweet sweet wife and they’re expecting their new son, John James O’Neill.