Stateside Yuletide
Christmas Day, 1958
"Sir?"
"Radar, we're not in the Army anymore. You don't have to call me 'sir.' You could even call me Sherman if you wanted to."
"Oh no, sir. I could never—"
"Fine, fine. Call me whatever you feel comfortable calling me."
"Thank you, sir," Radar said, flashing his dimples. "Sir, Cap'ns Pierce and Hunnicutt were wondering if the sweet-potato casserole was finished yet. The other food's already on the table and the kids are getting antsy."
"Aunt Fanny's fungus."
Radar's brow crinkled. "Sir?"
"I'm afraid I mistimed the casserole a mite, Radar. But don't worry, it's coming along just fine. You tell those two worrywarts I'll be right out with it. Just another minute or two."
Radar scurried out to the dining area, where Hawkeye was standing at the head of the table, trying to distract the kids with a rousing chorus of "Deck the Halls." Standing next to Hawkeye was B.J., glancing nervously toward the kitchen, where the tardy sweet-potato casserole threatened to throw off their carefully planned dinner.
It was the first M*A*S*H Holiday Reunion, and they all wanted it to go smoothly.
Soon after the war had ended, Col. Potter, Hawkeye, B.J., Charles, Margaret, Radar, Father Mulcahy, and Klinger made the mutual decision to get together for Christmas once every five years. But instead of the occasion being just a 4077th reunion, they would make it even more special. They'd gather in someone's hometown (for this, their first celebration, it was Hannibal, Missouri, where Sherman Potter lived in happy retirement) and they'd select a nearby orphanage to visit on Christmas Day. There, they'd prepare a meal, including dessert, and hand out presents to the children.
The whole idea seemed perfect: communion combined with compassion.
Radar fell into place at B.J.'s side and said under his breath, "A couple more minutes."
B.J., in turn, muttered to Hawkeye, "One more Christmas carol, Hawk. Then we should be all set."
Hawkeye nodded and smoothly segued from "Deck the Halls" to "Jingle Bells." The kids, for the moment occupied, loudly sang along with him.
Right around the time bells on bobtail were ringing, Sherman Potter emerged from the kitchen with his prized casserole. Hawkeye abruptly halted the carol in mid-song and announced, "Time to eat!"
The kids cheered and Potter placed the casserole on the table as he cast a proud smile at his former colleagues. "Never a worry," he said. With a gesture, he added, "Go ahead, boys. Sit down. Let our Christmas meal commence."
Hawkeye and B.J. did as they were told, joining Radar, Potter, Charles, Father Mulcahy, Klinger, and Margaret at their end of the long table. Then the Father cleared his throat, waited for the kids to fall silent, and said grace.
With the sweet-potato-casserole scare out of the way, the meal went off without a hitch. The kids ate ravenously while the 4077th-ers chatted about what had been happening in their lives over the past few years.
Margaret and Charles were both flourishing at Boston Mercy Hospital, he the head of thoracic surgery and she a nurse on the overnight shift.
"It's a good thing," Margaret said, "that we work different shifts. We see just the right amount of each other."
"Well!" huffed Charles. "I'm wounded, Margaret. I thought we had quite an amicable relationship."
Margaret only repeated, "We see just the right amount of each other."
Hawkeye snickered and Charles shot him a look.
B.J. was still working at the San Francisco hospital he'd joined right after the war. "Erin is 7 now—and smart as a whip," he said, beaming with his typical fatherly pride. Then he passed around the latest photo he had of her.
"Hunnicutt, she's got your smile," Potter said, and it was true.
"I'm still working with Dad at his practice," Hawkeye said, then added, with a sparkle in his eye, "There's a sign out front that says 'Come in and get Pierced.'" Everyone laughed at this witticism. "I miss surgery, though, so I've been thinking about getting back to it. It would have to be at a hospital close to Crabapple Cove. I want to stay near Dad."
"The farm's doing great!" Radar informed them. "I even hired some more help, leaving me more time to spend with Mom. She's not getting any younger, y'know. But she's doing pretty good."
Father Mulcahy piped up, "I can't tell you how thankful I am to be able to hear you all! I'm so blessed." He'd had his hearing restored to full capacity not long after returning home to Philadelphia, thanks to some gifted surgeons "who I still thank God for in my nightly prayers." Now he was enjoying his work with children, and yes, of course he was still coaching boxing for the CYO.
To cheers and congratulations, Klinger announced that Soon-Lee was expecting their second child. Little Max Jr. was 18 months old now, and becoming quite a handful. "I'll tell ya, I'm dreading that kid's terrible twos!"
"The missus and I are having a wonderful time in our sunset years," Col. Potter assured the group. "We travel when we can, but most of the time, we're just putterin' around the house. I dreamed of this kind of retirement back when I was knee-deep in bowel resections."
"The less said about bowel resections at the dinner table, the better," Charles scolded gently.
"Yum! Bowel resections!" Hawkeye teased, scooping up a huge forkful of sweet-potato casserole and shoving it into his mouth.
Margaret could only roll her eyes.
After everyone ate to their heart's content, Radar cleared the table in his usual ultra-efficient manner, and dessert was served: Klinger's famous pumpkin pie and Margaret's delectable chocolate-chip cookies.
Then the festivities moved to the large rec room, where a 6-foot-tall Christmas tree stood in the corner. Improbably, Charles dressed up as Santa and sat cross-legged next to the tree, giving out presents to eager boys and girls, and actually letting out a convincing "ho ho ho!" every now and then.
The party came to an end soon after 8 o'clock. The kids, jubilant but exhausted, ambled off to bed clutching their prized new possessions, thanking and hugging their benefactors as they went.
The M*A*S*H crew stood there misty-eyed, waving goodbye to them all and wishing them a happy holiday.
The group reconvened at Col. Potter's house later that night. Charles poured vintage cognac into eight wine glasses as a reflective mood seemed to render everyone uncharacteristically quiet.
"This was," Potter said softly, "a hell of a satisfying day. Quite the success, I would say. Margaret? Would you like to make the toast?"
"Certainly, sir." They all moved closer together and raised their wine glasses as Margaret intoned, "It felt very rewarding to do such a good deed today. Here's to a wonderful Christmas and a peaceful, prosperous New Year."
"Amen to that," Potter said as they clinked their glasses together.
The eight of them looked around the circle, all of them taking the time to focus on each individual face, until finally Potter, his eyes shimmering, insisted, "Drink up! And merry Christmas, one and all."