Abyssinia, Henry
Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan.
It spun in.
There were no survivors.
He's gone from us.
It's hard to believe. There will be no reunions. We'll never see him again. Never. It's such a hard concept. We're all doctors—we all deal with death every day. But when you lose someone close, it's so hard to accept it. Isn't that strange? Surgeons and nurses and medical aides unwilling to accept a diagnosis.
The one diagnosis that will never be cured. A diagnosis of death.
We'll miss you, Henry. Everything about you. You were a better man than most we've known. Sure, you weren't perfect. You drank far too much. You weren't exactly discreet with the nurses, but then, which of us is? You were a complete pushover, so we were inclined to take advantage of you. You were simple and straightforward.
But your good points outweighed the bad. You were the sweetest man ever to live. You made everyone in camp love you just by being the sweet, simple, straightforward, indiscreet, drunk pushover you were. You were a fantastic surgeon and a caring friend.
Only a few months after you came here to Korea, your wife had your baby. How well we remember that—you were so worried you started having labor pains, and they didn't stop until Radar informed you that you were the proud father of a bouncing baby boy. We're sorry he'll never get to meet his father, but we're sure he'll grow up to be just as good a man as you were.
You drove us crazy sometimes, Henry, but we loved you for it. It's too bad we couldn't tell you. We never even realized it until we found out you were gone. Funny, how important someone can be to you without your knowing it. And now it's too late.
We'll miss you so much, Henry. Your ridiculous hat, your clumsy affection, your obsessions and your faults.
Mash 4077 bids Henry Blake a reluctant and affectionate farewell.
Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan.
There were no survivors.
Abyssinia, Henry.