So, the host of this podcast looks at me, leans into the microphone, and asks a question I haven’t heard in a while.

He asks, “Jamie, what was the absolute worst part about wearing those dresses on the 20th Century Fox lot?”

I had to laugh.

People always think it was the high heels.

I mean, sure, the heels were torture on a long shoot day, especially out in the dirt and rocks at Malibu Creek.

But the real danger wasn’t the footwear.

It was the geography of the Fox studio lot itself.

You have to understand how we filmed MASH*.

We had our outdoor set at the ranch, but a huge chunk of the show—the mess tent, the swamp, Potter’s office—was filmed on Soundstage 9 in Century City.

It was a massive, busy, working studio lot.

And right in the middle of our production schedule, Fox was running these daily VIP studio tram tours.

They would drive these open-air trams full of tourists, executives, and special guests right past our soundstage doors.

Most of the time, we were locked away inside.

But on this particular afternoon, it was about a hundred degrees inside that soundstage.

The lights were blazing.

I was wearing one of Klinger’s most ridiculous getups.

I’m talking about a full, floor-length, bright red evening gown, complete with a massive feathered boa.

I had heavy makeup on, big earrings, and a hat that looked like a bird had crash-landed on my head.

We were on a break, and I was sweating through the chiffon.

I needed air.

I needed a break from the noise.

And more importantly, I desperately wanted to smoke my cigar.

So, I pushed open the heavy soundstage doors and stepped out into the bright California sunlight.

I lit up a huge, thick prop cigar, just taking a moment to breathe.

I didn’t hear the hum of the engine approaching.

I was just staring down at my hairy arms, adjusting my feather boa, enjoying the nicotine.

The air was totally still.

The crew inside was quietly resetting the cameras for our next scene.

I thought I was completely alone on the street.

And that’s when it happened.

Around the corner comes the official 20th Century Fox VIP tour tram.

And it wasn’t just a regular Tuesday crowd of tourists from Iowa.

Oh, no.

This was a special delegation.

Fox executives were hosting a group of very high-ranking, very serious military brass.

I’m talking generals.

Guys with stars on their shoulders, chests full of medals, the whole nine yards.

They were visiting the lot, probably getting a prestigious tour of the historical movie sets.

And right as their tram rounds the corner, the guide is on the megaphone.

I can hear him saying, “And to your left is Soundstage 9, currently home to the hit television series, MASH*.”

All the generals turn their heads in unison.

They are expecting to see the magic of television.

Maybe they are expecting to see Alan Alda in his combat boots, or Harry Morgan looking authoritative.

Instead, what do they see?

They see a hairy, sweaty Lebanese man in a bright red evening gown and a giant feathered hat.

I am standing there in broad daylight.

My skirt is hiked up to my knees because of the heat, exposing my hairy legs and combat boots.

And I am puffing on a massive, smoking cigar.

The tram literally screeches to a halt.

The driver hits the brakes so hard, I think one of the executives almost went over the windshield.

There is absolute, dead silence on that tram.

You could hear a pin drop on the asphalt.

The military brass are staring at me.

I am staring back at them.

The Fox executives look like they want the earth to open up and swallow them whole.

They are absolutely horrified.

Now, I could have turned around.

I could have run back inside the soundstage and hidden in the Swamp.

But when you are wearing a red chiffon gown and smoking a stogie, you have to commit.

You just have to own it.

So, I took the cigar out of my mouth.

I stood up perfectly straight.

I brought my hand up to the brim of my ridiculous feathered hat.

And I gave them the sharpest, most crisp military salute you have ever seen.

In my deepest, gruffest, manliest voice, I barked, “Afternoon, gentlemen! Welcome to the 4077th!”

For three excruciating seconds, nobody moved.

The executives were sweating bullets.

I just held the salute, the feather on my hat blowing gently in the breeze.

Then, the general sitting in the front row—a guy who looked like he chewed gravel for breakfast—suddenly broke.

A massive grin spread across his face.

He started to chuckle.

Then, he raised his hand and returned the salute.

That was all it took.

The entire tram erupted.

The generals started roaring with laughter.

They were pointing at the dress, pointing at the cigar, just completely losing their minds.

The Fox executives finally exhaled, realizing they weren’t going to get shut down by the Pentagon.

A few of the crew members had poked their heads out the soundstage door by this point.

The heavy metal doors squeaked open, and out peeked our director, along with a couple of the camera guys.

They were wondering why I had been gone so long.

They saw the tram.

They saw the laughing military brass.

And they saw me, standing at attention in a dress that looked like a valentine exploded.

Our director immediately burst into laughter.

He had to lean against the wall of the soundstage just to keep his balance.

The camera crew was practically on the floor.

It actually delayed our production for a good twenty minutes because every time I walked back onto the set to do a take, the crew would start giggling.

Alan and Wayne couldn’t look at me without picturing those generals saluting a guy in red chiffon.

Multiple retakes failed inside the soundstage that afternoon because everyone was just laughing too hard.

Gene Reynolds, our producer, finally stepped out, took one look at the scene, and just shook his head.

He walked right back inside without saying a single word.

He just knew it was typical Klinger chaos spilling over into the real world.

The tour guide, trying to recover, tipped his hat to me and slowly drove the tram away.

As they rolled down the street, I could still hear the brass laughing over the sound of the engine.

I took another drag of my cigar, hiked my dress back up, and walked back onto the set.

Alan looked at me and said, “What took you so long out there?”

I just smiled and told him I was entertaining the troops.

It became a legendary story among the cast.

Every time we had a VIP visiting after that, they would jokingly ask if I was going to serve on the welcoming committee.

I always told them I’d only do it if the dress matched my cigar.

That was the magic of our set, though.

The absurdity of what we were doing was never lost on us, and sometimes, the best comedy happened when the cameras weren’t even rolling.

It just goes to show that if you’re going to get caught looking ridiculous, you might as well salute and own it.

Have you ever been caught in a completely absurd situation that you just had to lean into?