M*A*S*H (1972–1983): Season 9, Episode 5 - Death Takes a Holiday - full transcript
It's Christmas time again. The surgeons and staff are throwing a Christmas party in the mess tent, and the children from the local orphanage are coming to join in the fun. B.J. donates a box of fudge from Peg and Charles donates some smoked oysters. Everybody in camp thinks Charles is a Scrooge, but, under the cover of darkness that night, Charles generously and anonymously donates packages of chocolate bars from home to the orphanage. The Christmas party takes off without a hitch. Colonel Potter dresses as Santa Claus and the children are having fun, but Hawkeye, B.J., and Margaret miss out on the festivities when a mortally wounded man lands in pre-op. When learning the man is a husband and loving father, B.J. tries with all his might and skill to delay the man's death so his family won't remember this Christmas as they day their daddy died. Will they succeed? Or will they somehow be able to move the hands of time so the man makes it until after Christmas?
♪♪♪ (theme)
Four cartons of gauze.
♪ Santa Gauze
is coming to town ♪
48 boxes
of cotton balls.
♪ Deck the halls
with balls of cotton ♪
♪ Fa, la, la, la, la
la, la, la, la ♪
The day before Christmas,
we're receiving the gift
of the magpies.
‐Ohh!
‐Come, come, Doctors.
No fighting.
After all,
there's a truce on.
Why do you think
I'm so happy?
The only surgery
I'll be doing is on a turkey.
Yes, I'll be coming
to the mess tent
for a prayer and a wing.
(laughter)
What's everybody
so happy about?
Don't you know
it's Christmas?
CHARLES: Well, if it isn't
Santa's jolly little oaf.
After a few days of dragging
Christmas packages around,
let's see you be jolly, Roger.
Now, if you want this junk,
listen up.
Hunnicutt, B. J.
Whoa! Airmail.
Surly delivery.
Houlihan, Margaret.
What do you got?
You got anything?
It must be cookies!
It even feels fattening!
Oh‐ho‐ho‐ho!
What‐What‐What‐What‐What?
Peg's mom's
second‐finest creation:
‐Her incredible,
world‐famous fudge.
‐Oh.
She treats me with
great confection.
You got to put that
someplace safe, like my mouth.
Here's a piece of resistance
for Major Winchester.
It's the third one this week
marked "perishable."
What is this?
A ton of pound cake?
Klinger, you remind me
of Tiny Tim,
except that it's
your brain that's lame.
Excuse me, troops.
I hate to hex your Xmas,
but I bring bad yule tidings.
The supply convoy's
been hit by marauders.
Our turkey dinner's
been trimmed.
‐B.J.: Come on.
‐Stealing turkeys, that stinks.
Don't those guys know
there's a war on that's off?
Afraid the best we can
look forward to
is roast leg of Spam.
‐Aw!
‐I gave that up for the war.
Please, please. Now,
while we're all busy
feeling sorry
for ourselves,
let me give you a little
food for thought.
The ones
who'll really miss out
will be our young guests
from the foster home.
Sure. They'll come to
the party expecting turkey
and end up with our
standard bill of unfair.
Isn't it ironic?
They're the refugees,
yet we get
the care packages.
They can have my cookies.
Very sweet, Margaret.
They can have my niece's
sugar‐cured ham.
I don't need any more air
in my spare tire.
I must have something
back in my footlocker.
Better chip in
than chipped beef, huh?
Uh, you...
Ah, fudge.
Yeah, they can have this.
I'll just eat my heart out.
Beej, you get
the Noble Prize.
We got the makings
of a great buffet,
just like the smorgasbord
down at the Kiwanis back home.
Klinger, I'm appointing
you chairman
of the food procurement
committee.
You get out and canvass
all the tents.
Tell 'em to give
till it hurts.
‐(wind whistling)
‐This Christmas schlepping
is killing me.
You put your goodies
in that sack,
I'll put my goodies
in this sack.
Don't look at me.
I gave at the office.
Talk to them.
Okay, okay.
Let's see what I got here.
A quart of Old Grand‐Dad
from my grand old dad.
Some fruitcake from
my nutty aunt Sarah.
I'll take the cake.
You keep your
Christmas spirits.
I'll drink to that.
And now, from the man
who has everything‐‐
I know, because I
personally delivered it.
Always ready to do my part.
There you are,
my swarthy Samaritan.
What's this?
These, Corporal, are smoked
and succulent oysters.
Not a whole lot to suck on.
Klinger,
remember the old adage.
It's not the size of the gift.
It's the cost.
HAWKEYE:
You must be kidding.
You got three great
big packages this week,
and all you're
comin' up with
are a few oysters,
Rockefeller?
They were all clothing.
All chintz, I'm sure.
Since when do they mark
clothing "perishable"?
Gentlemen, my business
is just that: mine.
I demand that you terminate
this swinish inquisition.
‐We'll terminate you if
you don't come up with‐‐
‐Please! Please!
I'm sure Major Winchester
must have a very good reason
for what he's doing.
‐Yeah.
‐He's a cheap,
selfish skunk‐‐ sir.
Sergeant Rizzo, I need
to sign out that jeep.
S‐‐ Sergeant Rizzo.
It's the timing.
The timing is off.
‐Well, I'm sure you could
fix it in your sleep.
‐Well, well.
If it isn't the spirit
of Christmas hisself.
‐Good news travels fast.
‐The word is the rich
get richer
and the poor get oysters.
‐Sergeant, about the jeep‐‐
‐No problem. No problem, Major.
‐I'm sure you have
your DR‐3.
‐DR‐who?
‐The authorization form.
It means you got permission.
‐I know what it means.
In triplicate,
signed by the president
of your fan club
and our company clerk.
‐Sergeant, surely we can
overlook the‐‐
‐Oh, no, no. Mm‐mmm, Major.
No. Just because
I don't read too good
doesn't mean that I don't do
things by the book.
Sergeant, perhaps I can appeal
to your more masculine
instincts.
‐Come again?
‐I need the jeep
for an assignation.
You gonna kill somebody?
(grunts) A tryst,
a rendezvous.
‐Date.
‐Ohh.
Oh‐ho‐ho. I get it.
A word to the wives
is efficient, huh?
(both laughing)
Precisely. I'm sure that a man
of the world such as yourself...
Enough said. Enough said.
You cheap rascal.
‐You're saving your yummies
for some babe.
‐(laughs deviously)
‐You are a crumb,
but I respect you for it.
‐Good.
Just, uh... Just let me know
if she's got a friend.
Will do, sport.
Maybe we can double sometime.
Hey, yeah!
♪♪♪ (Klinger Humming
"Twelve Days Of Christmas")
POTTER: Klinger, do you have
a needle and thread handy?
Uh, should be here
somewhere, sir. What's up?
What's down is the problem.
The suit I can stuff
with pillows,
but I'd have to have a head
the size of MacArthur's
to hold up this
Kris Kringle cap.
‐Be right with you, sir.
‐(sniffing)
Every time I sniff this room,
I feel like I've died
and gone to the A&P.
Oh, thank you, son.
Now, would you be Santa's helper
and thread this for me?
‐Mm‐hmm.
‐Seems like they're
making these holes
smaller every year.
What are elves for, sir?
(Humming
"12 Days of Christmas")
Christmas carols! I love 'em.
We gotta do some of that
at the party tomorrow.
Way ahead of you, sir.
That's why I've been
writing down the words.
I'm gonna make copies for
everybody. It's amazing
how many of the old holiday
songs I remember by heart.
"Three French horns,
two turtlenecks,
and a partridge
in a pair of trees."
You're right.
It is amazing.
‐Uh‐‐
‐May I help you, sir?
Uh, Uh, no, no. Uh, I'm just
a friend from the 4077th.
Oh, yes.
The children in my care
are invited to your camp
tomorrow.
‐Yes.
‐Is there a problem?
No, no. I'd‐‐ I brought these
for the children.
You are very kind, Major‐‐
Winchester III.
And I am Choi Sung Ho.
Oh. (chuckles softly)
"Wallingford and Chadwick,
Confectioners."
Yes, these are very special.
They're hand‐poured
by the finest chocolatiers
in Boston.
We are very grateful.
Oh, please come in.
Allow the children
to show their appreciation.
No, no. You don't understand.
I cannot.
I'm sorry.
See, on Christmas Eve,
it's a tradition in my family
to leave this particular gift
at places like this.
But part of the custom
also holds
that for it to be
a true act of charity,
the gift must remain
anonymous.
Ahh. That is a lovely thought.
You have practiced this
for many years?
Oh, my. Yes.
Some of my earliest
recollections of childhood
are associated with it.
I still remember being
with my mother, father,
and sister Honoria,
and watching, fascinated,
as Mr. Wallingford
hand‐wrapped each morsel,
and then later,
wiping a peephole
in the auto's frosted window
and watching my father
quickly leave the packages.
I mean, we can't have
the little urchins
begging in the street,
now can we?
Remember.
Not a word.
Not a word.
Well, I hope you know
you're ruining it for
the rest of us.
‐What?
‐Santa will never show up
while you're awake. Silly guy.
Don't you know you're supposed
to be asleep,
with visions of sugarplums
dancing in your head?
You call yourself a WASP.
I been doin' this ever
since I was a kid.
Something magic about Christmas.
You never outgrow the memories.
My family always used
to put up a nativity scene.
One year, I got this great set
of electric trains.
I laid the track
all around the village,
put the three wise men
in the caboose.
I was the conductor.
"Next stop: Bethlehem."
When I was a kid,
my father would lift
me on his shoulders
to put the Christmas angel
on top.
Course, he lost that job
by the time I was 11.
This would've been
Erin's first year
on my shoulders.
(sighs)
That's okay, Beej.
We'll get 'em next year.
‐Hey. Here they come.
‐Now we can start the party.
‐WOMAN: Merry Christmas, kids!
‐(soldiers chattering)
‐Merry Christmas!
‐Merry Christmas!
MULCAHY: Welcome, Mr. Choi.
Merry Christmas to you
and to your children.
Thank you, Father.
We are most grateful
for your invitation.
It is we who are in your debt.
After all, what's Christmas
without children?
Hey, come on, kids!
It's party time!
Wait'll you see what Santa
brought you. Come on.
Come on.
What's the matter?
(speaking Korean)
Please forgive them.
No matter what I tell them,
they're still
afraid of uniforms.
Yeah. I know what you mean.
Uniforms scare me too.
I'll get rid of this!
I even get nervous
around movie ushers.
You don't believe me?
Ask anybody.
I've been trying to get
out of this outfit
ever since I got
into this outfit.
The only trouble is once you
get out of the green,
you start turning blue.
‐(all giggling)
‐(speaking Korean)
All right, children.
Let's all have some fun!
Come on! Come on!
(All Chattering)
(Mulcahy Shouting
In Korean)
(Klinger) Give me a kid
and let me get
into the mess tent.
‐Give me a small one.
‐(horn honking)
(chattering continues)
KLINGER:
I'll take that one.
Come on, Hawk. Let's go
before they run
out of powdered eggnog.
All right! All right!
Don't rush me!
I barely had time
to put on my face.
MARGARET: Doctors!
Why, Margaret, you're
a sight for four eyes.
Come on.
We've got trouble.
Somebody's
been hit by a sniper.
That lousy snipers' union.
They don't even
get Christmas off.
HAWKEYE:
What is it? What happened?
I found him by
the side of the road.
I don't even know
how long he was there.
Sorry to ruin
your holiday, folks.
Forget ours.
His is shot to hell.
Let's get him into pre‐op.
‐Can I help?
‐Yeah.
Hey, folks, what do you say
we keep the noise down?
There's a party going on
in the next tent.
See these?
They're Kellye's
Munchable Macadamias.
Mmm. Try some. Mmm.
Go ahead. They're Hawaiian
peanuts. Mmm.
‐Try it. Try it.
‐Are they good?
Oh, and of course,
we have a second course,
which is‐‐
Rizzo, what is this?
Come on, Klinger.
You gotta be
pullin' my leg.
No. I'm holdin' my stomach.
You tellin' me
you hadn't ever seen
hog jowls
and pigs' feet?
This is the best
of the bayou.
Maybe you don't appreciate
a little heaven on the hoof,
but I know
these kids will.
Here you go.
Must be from North Korea.
Ahh, here's something.
A tiny tin of oysters donated
by Charles Ebenezer Winchester.
He understands less about
Christmas than you do.
Hold it.
You ever eat the eraser
off of a pencil?
They're blech!
Can you say "blech"?
Blech!
Very good.
All together now.
Blech!
How's his pulse?
Thready. Not good.
I'll get the plasma.
Forget it, Margaret.
That won't do any good.
No hope. Bullet must have
destroyed his brain stem.
‐(sighs) Oh, God.
‐What?
"To the best husband and daddy
in the world. Come home soon.
We love you.
Scott, Jeannie and Lynn."
Margaret, set up
two units of plasma.
What for?
It's a waste of time.
Doctor, if there's no point‐‐
If we can delay it
long enough,
his kids won't have
to think of Christmas
as the day their daddy died.
What do you say we bring this
baby in for a landing? Refuel!
Here you go! Cookies baked
in the good old U. S. of A.
These are really
delicious.
Delicious? Oh, say it again.
‐It'll be another year
before I hear that word.
‐Are they good?
Sorry, Major. We're running
a little low on these.
Why don't you belly up
to the oyster bar?
Hey, Romeo.
Well, if it isn't
the popular mechanic.
Hey, how'd your little
romantic assassination go?
Oh, the date?
‐Ohh.
‐Oh, yeah.
Where did you get that?
The arm? It's mine.
I swear it.
No, no. The chocolate bar,
you chicken‐fried snake!
‐I bought it this morning.
‐From whom?
A guy came in from Seoul.
He got it on the black market.
‐Black market?
‐Yeah.
You want some?
I'll get you some.
Free. Free. All you want.
Just let me live.
Give me that.
Hello, my little friend.
Hello, Joe.
Ooh, good!
You speak English. Tell me,
did you get any nice
presents for Christmas?
A dolly or train
or candy bar?
Oh, yes. Number‐one
good B. J. fudge candy.
Oh. Anything else?
Rubber oyster things. Blech!
(chuckles)
Did you get any other candy,
something like this, perhaps,
here or at Mr. Choi's?
No.
What about your
little friends?
Nope.
I see.
Here you are, little one.
If you'll excuse me,
I'm going to mingle now.
He lettered in basketball
at Central High.
"Denny and Lynn 4‐ever.
"Funland Arcade.
Gouldsboro, PA.
August '47."
On the back, there's
a four‐leaf clover.
Not valid outside the U. S. A.
His respirations
are getting very shallow.
His rate is down
to six per minute.
Set up the twist drill,
Margaret.
Some burr holes may ease
the intercranial pressure.
Hang on, Flannigan. Hang on.
I was hoping somebody forgot
to turn off the lights.
Looks like I was wrong.
A driver found him
beside the road, Colonel.
That's all we know for sure.
We figure the three of us
can handle it.
No point pooping
everybody's party.
How bad is he?
‐He's doin' okay.
‐No chance.
Little conflict
in diagnosis here.
You wouldn't lie
to Santa, would you, son?
A family's Christmas wreath
should be green, not black.
He dies on Christmas,
they have to live with it.
I get the picture,
but you're talkin' hours,
pretty long odds.
He's in good hands,
Colonel.
We got our best people
working on it.
If you three
don't take the cake.
Should anyone ask,
I'll tell 'em
you're workin' on a special
Christmas present
for some kids back home.
There you are,
you mendacious lowlife!
I don't understand.
Don't play
the innocent with me.
How dare you steal candy
from babies?
Please, Major.
May we step outside?
You took the words right
out of my mouth. Go ahead.
Go on.
Deny it.
Deny it, if you can.
You took the Christmas
candy I gave you,
and you sold it
on the black market.
‐Have you no shame?
‐May I explain?
No! What you may do
is retrieve that candy
immediately
and have it in the children's
stockings by morning.
Otherwise,
they're gonna find you
hanging by the chimney
without care!
Major, I cannot.
The money is gone.
You parasite!
♪ Jingle bells,
jingle all the way ♪
Please.
Your generous gift
and insistence
that it remain anonymous
‐touched me deeply.
‐Huh.
The candy would've
brought great joy
to the children
for a few moments,
but on the black market,
it was worth enough
rice and cabbage
to feed them for a month.
Rice and cabbage?
I know. I have failed
to carry out
your family tradition,
and I am very sorry.
On the contrary.
It is I who should be sorry.
It is sadly inappropriate
to give dessert to a child
who's had no meal.
Shall we share some,
as you say, Christmas cheer?
(chuckles) No.
Thank you. Please go ahead.
‐Okay. Ready?
‐(chattering)
Ho ho ho!
‐Merry Christmas!
‐Santa Claus!
‐Merry Christmas!
‐I told you Santa Claus
would get here!
He was just making his list
and checking it twice.
There's one for you and you.
Remember? I told you he lives
way up at the North Pole.
Father,
get your prayer kit
and high tail it over
to pre‐op. Mum's the word.
Of course, Colonel.
Excuse me.
Coming through.
Excuse me.
Well, well, well.
Have you been
a good little boy?
Same.
My Lord, does it never stop?
You're just in time,
Father.
It's that bad?
He's comin' up.
The burr holes helped.
‐What's his blood pressure?
‐90 over 60.
Attaboy, Flannigan.
I knew you could do it.
‐Time?
‐9:48.
Still a long way to go, Beej.
He'll make it. Come on,
Irish. Stay with me.
He's stopped breathing.
Come on, damn you. Fight!
Beej, how much fight
can he have left in him?
‐Excuse me, B. J.
‐No.
‐I beg your pardon?
‐You can't have him yet.
But I have
to administer the‐‐
He's still mine!
You're not gonna pull
a shroud over him!
‐Beej, easy.
‐B. J.
I'm not pulling
the shroud over him, B. J.
I'm going to administer
the last rites.
Sorry, Father.
It's been a long night.
Let the man do his job.
I said no! Not now.
Listen to me, B. J.
I try to stay out of the way
because what you people
do here is so important,
but understand,
at a time like this,
what I have to do
is just as important.
And no one,
not you nor anyone else,
is going to stand between me
and the performance
of my sacred office.
I'm sorry, Father.
Ah, Major Winchester,
the party of one.
Dinner is served.
What is this?
Well, let me see.
For your appetizer,
the last of the macadamias,
followed by a mixed grill
of Lebanese salami,
sugar‐cured ham,
pigs' feet, and hog jowls.
We have seconds on those.
Sorry, sir.
No smoked oysters.
I just smoked
the last one.
‐But I,
‐Ah, and for dessert...
Frisco fudge
and nutty fruitcake.
All laced with hemlock,
I'm sure.
Sorry, sir. No hemlock.
But I can get you
some ketchup.
And what, pray tell,
is the catch of the day?
Oh, just one catch, Major.
Uh‐huh.
The source of this
Christmas dinner
must remain anonymous.
It's an old family tradition.
Thank you, Max.
Merry Christmas, Charles.
I'm still getting a pulse,
but it's awfully thready.
‐What time is it?
‐11:25.
Come on, kid.
We're almost there.
No pulse.
Come on.
I'm not getting anything.
Come on.
Nothing.
Adrenaline.
1 to 10,000.
No.
It's over. Let him‐‐
Let him rest.
(sighs)
Never fails to astonish me.
You're alive, you're dead.
No drums. No flashing lights.
No fanfare. You're just dead.
I'll get the death
certificate.
Look. He made it.
Time of death:
12:05, December 26.
Falsify a record.
Christmas should
be thought of
as a day of birth.
That'll be a first for me.
War is full of firsts.
And lasts.
♪ Long lay the world ♪
♪ In sin and error pining ♪
Ho‐ho‐hold it
right there.
Well, well, well.
Santa happens to know
you've been very good
boys and girls today,
and because of that,
we've got a special
present for ya.
Elf?
Fudge.
All the way
from Mill Valley, California.
Last four pieces.
♪ Sleep in heavenly ♪
‐Merry Christmas.
‐♪ Peace ♪
Merry Christmas.
♪ Sleep ♪
♪ In heavenly peace ♪
♪♪♪ (theme)
Four cartons of gauze.
♪ Santa Gauze
is coming to town ♪
48 boxes
of cotton balls.
♪ Deck the halls
with balls of cotton ♪
♪ Fa, la, la, la, la
la, la, la, la ♪
The day before Christmas,
we're receiving the gift
of the magpies.
‐Ohh!
‐Come, come, Doctors.
No fighting.
After all,
there's a truce on.
Why do you think
I'm so happy?
The only surgery
I'll be doing is on a turkey.
Yes, I'll be coming
to the mess tent
for a prayer and a wing.
(laughter)
What's everybody
so happy about?
Don't you know
it's Christmas?
CHARLES: Well, if it isn't
Santa's jolly little oaf.
After a few days of dragging
Christmas packages around,
let's see you be jolly, Roger.
Now, if you want this junk,
listen up.
Hunnicutt, B. J.
Whoa! Airmail.
Surly delivery.
Houlihan, Margaret.
What do you got?
You got anything?
It must be cookies!
It even feels fattening!
Oh‐ho‐ho‐ho!
What‐What‐What‐What‐What?
Peg's mom's
second‐finest creation:
‐Her incredible,
world‐famous fudge.
‐Oh.
She treats me with
great confection.
You got to put that
someplace safe, like my mouth.
Here's a piece of resistance
for Major Winchester.
It's the third one this week
marked "perishable."
What is this?
A ton of pound cake?
Klinger, you remind me
of Tiny Tim,
except that it's
your brain that's lame.
Excuse me, troops.
I hate to hex your Xmas,
but I bring bad yule tidings.
The supply convoy's
been hit by marauders.
Our turkey dinner's
been trimmed.
‐B.J.: Come on.
‐Stealing turkeys, that stinks.
Don't those guys know
there's a war on that's off?
Afraid the best we can
look forward to
is roast leg of Spam.
‐Aw!
‐I gave that up for the war.
Please, please. Now,
while we're all busy
feeling sorry
for ourselves,
let me give you a little
food for thought.
The ones
who'll really miss out
will be our young guests
from the foster home.
Sure. They'll come to
the party expecting turkey
and end up with our
standard bill of unfair.
Isn't it ironic?
They're the refugees,
yet we get
the care packages.
They can have my cookies.
Very sweet, Margaret.
They can have my niece's
sugar‐cured ham.
I don't need any more air
in my spare tire.
I must have something
back in my footlocker.
Better chip in
than chipped beef, huh?
Uh, you...
Ah, fudge.
Yeah, they can have this.
I'll just eat my heart out.
Beej, you get
the Noble Prize.
We got the makings
of a great buffet,
just like the smorgasbord
down at the Kiwanis back home.
Klinger, I'm appointing
you chairman
of the food procurement
committee.
You get out and canvass
all the tents.
Tell 'em to give
till it hurts.
‐(wind whistling)
‐This Christmas schlepping
is killing me.
You put your goodies
in that sack,
I'll put my goodies
in this sack.
Don't look at me.
I gave at the office.
Talk to them.
Okay, okay.
Let's see what I got here.
A quart of Old Grand‐Dad
from my grand old dad.
Some fruitcake from
my nutty aunt Sarah.
I'll take the cake.
You keep your
Christmas spirits.
I'll drink to that.
And now, from the man
who has everything‐‐
I know, because I
personally delivered it.
Always ready to do my part.
There you are,
my swarthy Samaritan.
What's this?
These, Corporal, are smoked
and succulent oysters.
Not a whole lot to suck on.
Klinger,
remember the old adage.
It's not the size of the gift.
It's the cost.
HAWKEYE:
You must be kidding.
You got three great
big packages this week,
and all you're
comin' up with
are a few oysters,
Rockefeller?
They were all clothing.
All chintz, I'm sure.
Since when do they mark
clothing "perishable"?
Gentlemen, my business
is just that: mine.
I demand that you terminate
this swinish inquisition.
‐We'll terminate you if
you don't come up with‐‐
‐Please! Please!
I'm sure Major Winchester
must have a very good reason
for what he's doing.
‐Yeah.
‐He's a cheap,
selfish skunk‐‐ sir.
Sergeant Rizzo, I need
to sign out that jeep.
S‐‐ Sergeant Rizzo.
It's the timing.
The timing is off.
‐Well, I'm sure you could
fix it in your sleep.
‐Well, well.
If it isn't the spirit
of Christmas hisself.
‐Good news travels fast.
‐The word is the rich
get richer
and the poor get oysters.
‐Sergeant, about the jeep‐‐
‐No problem. No problem, Major.
‐I'm sure you have
your DR‐3.
‐DR‐who?
‐The authorization form.
It means you got permission.
‐I know what it means.
In triplicate,
signed by the president
of your fan club
and our company clerk.
‐Sergeant, surely we can
overlook the‐‐
‐Oh, no, no. Mm‐mmm, Major.
No. Just because
I don't read too good
doesn't mean that I don't do
things by the book.
Sergeant, perhaps I can appeal
to your more masculine
instincts.
‐Come again?
‐I need the jeep
for an assignation.
You gonna kill somebody?
(grunts) A tryst,
a rendezvous.
‐Date.
‐Ohh.
Oh‐ho‐ho. I get it.
A word to the wives
is efficient, huh?
(both laughing)
Precisely. I'm sure that a man
of the world such as yourself...
Enough said. Enough said.
You cheap rascal.
‐You're saving your yummies
for some babe.
‐(laughs deviously)
‐You are a crumb,
but I respect you for it.
‐Good.
Just, uh... Just let me know
if she's got a friend.
Will do, sport.
Maybe we can double sometime.
Hey, yeah!
♪♪♪ (Klinger Humming
"Twelve Days Of Christmas")
POTTER: Klinger, do you have
a needle and thread handy?
Uh, should be here
somewhere, sir. What's up?
What's down is the problem.
The suit I can stuff
with pillows,
but I'd have to have a head
the size of MacArthur's
to hold up this
Kris Kringle cap.
‐Be right with you, sir.
‐(sniffing)
Every time I sniff this room,
I feel like I've died
and gone to the A&P.
Oh, thank you, son.
Now, would you be Santa's helper
and thread this for me?
‐Mm‐hmm.
‐Seems like they're
making these holes
smaller every year.
What are elves for, sir?
(Humming
"12 Days of Christmas")
Christmas carols! I love 'em.
We gotta do some of that
at the party tomorrow.
Way ahead of you, sir.
That's why I've been
writing down the words.
I'm gonna make copies for
everybody. It's amazing
how many of the old holiday
songs I remember by heart.
"Three French horns,
two turtlenecks,
and a partridge
in a pair of trees."
You're right.
It is amazing.
‐Uh‐‐
‐May I help you, sir?
Uh, Uh, no, no. Uh, I'm just
a friend from the 4077th.
Oh, yes.
The children in my care
are invited to your camp
tomorrow.
‐Yes.
‐Is there a problem?
No, no. I'd‐‐ I brought these
for the children.
You are very kind, Major‐‐
Winchester III.
And I am Choi Sung Ho.
Oh. (chuckles softly)
"Wallingford and Chadwick,
Confectioners."
Yes, these are very special.
They're hand‐poured
by the finest chocolatiers
in Boston.
We are very grateful.
Oh, please come in.
Allow the children
to show their appreciation.
No, no. You don't understand.
I cannot.
I'm sorry.
See, on Christmas Eve,
it's a tradition in my family
to leave this particular gift
at places like this.
But part of the custom
also holds
that for it to be
a true act of charity,
the gift must remain
anonymous.
Ahh. That is a lovely thought.
You have practiced this
for many years?
Oh, my. Yes.
Some of my earliest
recollections of childhood
are associated with it.
I still remember being
with my mother, father,
and sister Honoria,
and watching, fascinated,
as Mr. Wallingford
hand‐wrapped each morsel,
and then later,
wiping a peephole
in the auto's frosted window
and watching my father
quickly leave the packages.
I mean, we can't have
the little urchins
begging in the street,
now can we?
Remember.
Not a word.
Not a word.
Well, I hope you know
you're ruining it for
the rest of us.
‐What?
‐Santa will never show up
while you're awake. Silly guy.
Don't you know you're supposed
to be asleep,
with visions of sugarplums
dancing in your head?
You call yourself a WASP.
I been doin' this ever
since I was a kid.
Something magic about Christmas.
You never outgrow the memories.
My family always used
to put up a nativity scene.
One year, I got this great set
of electric trains.
I laid the track
all around the village,
put the three wise men
in the caboose.
I was the conductor.
"Next stop: Bethlehem."
When I was a kid,
my father would lift
me on his shoulders
to put the Christmas angel
on top.
Course, he lost that job
by the time I was 11.
This would've been
Erin's first year
on my shoulders.
(sighs)
That's okay, Beej.
We'll get 'em next year.
‐Hey. Here they come.
‐Now we can start the party.
‐WOMAN: Merry Christmas, kids!
‐(soldiers chattering)
‐Merry Christmas!
‐Merry Christmas!
MULCAHY: Welcome, Mr. Choi.
Merry Christmas to you
and to your children.
Thank you, Father.
We are most grateful
for your invitation.
It is we who are in your debt.
After all, what's Christmas
without children?
Hey, come on, kids!
It's party time!
Wait'll you see what Santa
brought you. Come on.
Come on.
What's the matter?
(speaking Korean)
Please forgive them.
No matter what I tell them,
they're still
afraid of uniforms.
Yeah. I know what you mean.
Uniforms scare me too.
I'll get rid of this!
I even get nervous
around movie ushers.
You don't believe me?
Ask anybody.
I've been trying to get
out of this outfit
ever since I got
into this outfit.
The only trouble is once you
get out of the green,
you start turning blue.
‐(all giggling)
‐(speaking Korean)
All right, children.
Let's all have some fun!
Come on! Come on!
(All Chattering)
(Mulcahy Shouting
In Korean)
(Klinger) Give me a kid
and let me get
into the mess tent.
‐Give me a small one.
‐(horn honking)
(chattering continues)
KLINGER:
I'll take that one.
Come on, Hawk. Let's go
before they run
out of powdered eggnog.
All right! All right!
Don't rush me!
I barely had time
to put on my face.
MARGARET: Doctors!
Why, Margaret, you're
a sight for four eyes.
Come on.
We've got trouble.
Somebody's
been hit by a sniper.
That lousy snipers' union.
They don't even
get Christmas off.
HAWKEYE:
What is it? What happened?
I found him by
the side of the road.
I don't even know
how long he was there.
Sorry to ruin
your holiday, folks.
Forget ours.
His is shot to hell.
Let's get him into pre‐op.
‐Can I help?
‐Yeah.
Hey, folks, what do you say
we keep the noise down?
There's a party going on
in the next tent.
See these?
They're Kellye's
Munchable Macadamias.
Mmm. Try some. Mmm.
Go ahead. They're Hawaiian
peanuts. Mmm.
‐Try it. Try it.
‐Are they good?
Oh, and of course,
we have a second course,
which is‐‐
Rizzo, what is this?
Come on, Klinger.
You gotta be
pullin' my leg.
No. I'm holdin' my stomach.
You tellin' me
you hadn't ever seen
hog jowls
and pigs' feet?
This is the best
of the bayou.
Maybe you don't appreciate
a little heaven on the hoof,
but I know
these kids will.
Here you go.
Must be from North Korea.
Ahh, here's something.
A tiny tin of oysters donated
by Charles Ebenezer Winchester.
He understands less about
Christmas than you do.
Hold it.
You ever eat the eraser
off of a pencil?
They're blech!
Can you say "blech"?
Blech!
Very good.
All together now.
Blech!
How's his pulse?
Thready. Not good.
I'll get the plasma.
Forget it, Margaret.
That won't do any good.
No hope. Bullet must have
destroyed his brain stem.
‐(sighs) Oh, God.
‐What?
"To the best husband and daddy
in the world. Come home soon.
We love you.
Scott, Jeannie and Lynn."
Margaret, set up
two units of plasma.
What for?
It's a waste of time.
Doctor, if there's no point‐‐
If we can delay it
long enough,
his kids won't have
to think of Christmas
as the day their daddy died.
What do you say we bring this
baby in for a landing? Refuel!
Here you go! Cookies baked
in the good old U. S. of A.
These are really
delicious.
Delicious? Oh, say it again.
‐It'll be another year
before I hear that word.
‐Are they good?
Sorry, Major. We're running
a little low on these.
Why don't you belly up
to the oyster bar?
Hey, Romeo.
Well, if it isn't
the popular mechanic.
Hey, how'd your little
romantic assassination go?
Oh, the date?
‐Ohh.
‐Oh, yeah.
Where did you get that?
The arm? It's mine.
I swear it.
No, no. The chocolate bar,
you chicken‐fried snake!
‐I bought it this morning.
‐From whom?
A guy came in from Seoul.
He got it on the black market.
‐Black market?
‐Yeah.
You want some?
I'll get you some.
Free. Free. All you want.
Just let me live.
Give me that.
Hello, my little friend.
Hello, Joe.
Ooh, good!
You speak English. Tell me,
did you get any nice
presents for Christmas?
A dolly or train
or candy bar?
Oh, yes. Number‐one
good B. J. fudge candy.
Oh. Anything else?
Rubber oyster things. Blech!
(chuckles)
Did you get any other candy,
something like this, perhaps,
here or at Mr. Choi's?
No.
What about your
little friends?
Nope.
I see.
Here you are, little one.
If you'll excuse me,
I'm going to mingle now.
He lettered in basketball
at Central High.
"Denny and Lynn 4‐ever.
"Funland Arcade.
Gouldsboro, PA.
August '47."
On the back, there's
a four‐leaf clover.
Not valid outside the U. S. A.
His respirations
are getting very shallow.
His rate is down
to six per minute.
Set up the twist drill,
Margaret.
Some burr holes may ease
the intercranial pressure.
Hang on, Flannigan. Hang on.
I was hoping somebody forgot
to turn off the lights.
Looks like I was wrong.
A driver found him
beside the road, Colonel.
That's all we know for sure.
We figure the three of us
can handle it.
No point pooping
everybody's party.
How bad is he?
‐He's doin' okay.
‐No chance.
Little conflict
in diagnosis here.
You wouldn't lie
to Santa, would you, son?
A family's Christmas wreath
should be green, not black.
He dies on Christmas,
they have to live with it.
I get the picture,
but you're talkin' hours,
pretty long odds.
He's in good hands,
Colonel.
We got our best people
working on it.
If you three
don't take the cake.
Should anyone ask,
I'll tell 'em
you're workin' on a special
Christmas present
for some kids back home.
There you are,
you mendacious lowlife!
I don't understand.
Don't play
the innocent with me.
How dare you steal candy
from babies?
Please, Major.
May we step outside?
You took the words right
out of my mouth. Go ahead.
Go on.
Deny it.
Deny it, if you can.
You took the Christmas
candy I gave you,
and you sold it
on the black market.
‐Have you no shame?
‐May I explain?
No! What you may do
is retrieve that candy
immediately
and have it in the children's
stockings by morning.
Otherwise,
they're gonna find you
hanging by the chimney
without care!
Major, I cannot.
The money is gone.
You parasite!
♪ Jingle bells,
jingle all the way ♪
Please.
Your generous gift
and insistence
that it remain anonymous
‐touched me deeply.
‐Huh.
The candy would've
brought great joy
to the children
for a few moments,
but on the black market,
it was worth enough
rice and cabbage
to feed them for a month.
Rice and cabbage?
I know. I have failed
to carry out
your family tradition,
and I am very sorry.
On the contrary.
It is I who should be sorry.
It is sadly inappropriate
to give dessert to a child
who's had no meal.
Shall we share some,
as you say, Christmas cheer?
(chuckles) No.
Thank you. Please go ahead.
‐Okay. Ready?
‐(chattering)
Ho ho ho!
‐Merry Christmas!
‐Santa Claus!
‐Merry Christmas!
‐I told you Santa Claus
would get here!
He was just making his list
and checking it twice.
There's one for you and you.
Remember? I told you he lives
way up at the North Pole.
Father,
get your prayer kit
and high tail it over
to pre‐op. Mum's the word.
Of course, Colonel.
Excuse me.
Coming through.
Excuse me.
Well, well, well.
Have you been
a good little boy?
Same.
My Lord, does it never stop?
You're just in time,
Father.
It's that bad?
He's comin' up.
The burr holes helped.
‐What's his blood pressure?
‐90 over 60.
Attaboy, Flannigan.
I knew you could do it.
‐Time?
‐9:48.
Still a long way to go, Beej.
He'll make it. Come on,
Irish. Stay with me.
He's stopped breathing.
Come on, damn you. Fight!
Beej, how much fight
can he have left in him?
‐Excuse me, B. J.
‐No.
‐I beg your pardon?
‐You can't have him yet.
But I have
to administer the‐‐
He's still mine!
You're not gonna pull
a shroud over him!
‐Beej, easy.
‐B. J.
I'm not pulling
the shroud over him, B. J.
I'm going to administer
the last rites.
Sorry, Father.
It's been a long night.
Let the man do his job.
I said no! Not now.
Listen to me, B. J.
I try to stay out of the way
because what you people
do here is so important,
but understand,
at a time like this,
what I have to do
is just as important.
And no one,
not you nor anyone else,
is going to stand between me
and the performance
of my sacred office.
I'm sorry, Father.
Ah, Major Winchester,
the party of one.
Dinner is served.
What is this?
Well, let me see.
For your appetizer,
the last of the macadamias,
followed by a mixed grill
of Lebanese salami,
sugar‐cured ham,
pigs' feet, and hog jowls.
We have seconds on those.
Sorry, sir.
No smoked oysters.
I just smoked
the last one.
‐But I,
‐Ah, and for dessert...
Frisco fudge
and nutty fruitcake.
All laced with hemlock,
I'm sure.
Sorry, sir. No hemlock.
But I can get you
some ketchup.
And what, pray tell,
is the catch of the day?
Oh, just one catch, Major.
Uh‐huh.
The source of this
Christmas dinner
must remain anonymous.
It's an old family tradition.
Thank you, Max.
Merry Christmas, Charles.
I'm still getting a pulse,
but it's awfully thready.
‐What time is it?
‐11:25.
Come on, kid.
We're almost there.
No pulse.
Come on.
I'm not getting anything.
Come on.
Nothing.
Adrenaline.
1 to 10,000.
No.
It's over. Let him‐‐
Let him rest.
(sighs)
Never fails to astonish me.
You're alive, you're dead.
No drums. No flashing lights.
No fanfare. You're just dead.
I'll get the death
certificate.
Look. He made it.
Time of death:
12:05, December 26.
Falsify a record.
Christmas should
be thought of
as a day of birth.
That'll be a first for me.
War is full of firsts.
And lasts.
♪ Long lay the world ♪
♪ In sin and error pining ♪
Ho‐ho‐hold it
right there.
Well, well, well.
Santa happens to know
you've been very good
boys and girls today,
and because of that,
we've got a special
present for ya.
Elf?
Fudge.
All the way
from Mill Valley, California.
Last four pieces.
♪ Sleep in heavenly ♪
‐Merry Christmas.
‐♪ Peace ♪
Merry Christmas.
♪ Sleep ♪
♪ In heavenly peace ♪
♪♪♪ (theme)