On New Year’s Day 2026, 89-Year-Old Alan Alda Went to a Cemetery in L.A. — Just to Say “Happy New Year, Colonel” 
While most of Los Angeles was sleeping off fireworks and champagne, an 89-year-old man in a heavy coat and scarf stepped out of a car at a quiet cemetery.
Parkinson’s in his hands. Prosopagnosia messing with his memory. Legs not as steady as they used to be.
But his mind was clear on one thing:
“Today,” he’d told his wife Arlene that morning, “I’m going to see Harry.”
The driver moved to help him, but Alan shook his head and grabbed his cane.
“I’ve got it,” he said gently. “This part… I have to do myself.”
From the road to Harry Morgan’s grave wasn’t far. On paper, just a short walk.
For Alan, it felt like a mile.
Each step was slow. Careful. The kind of walk you take when falls are dangerous and the ground is uneven and your body has been arguing with you for ten years.
A groundskeeper started toward him.
“No, thank you,” Alan said, breathing hard, but steady. “I need to walk to him on my own.”
Cold New Year air in his lungs. Hands shaking. Jaw clenched in determination.
He wasn’t walking to a stone.
He was walking to his commanding officer.
He was walking to his TV father.
He was walking to Colonel Sherman T. Potter.
A simple grave, under a California sky:
Alan stood there, chest rising and falling, cane planted beside him.
For a long moment, he just looked at the name.
“Happy New Year, Colonel.”
His hand — shaking like it always does now — reached out and rested on the top of the stone.
“Fifteen years,” he whispered. “Fifteen years since you left… and I still miss you every day.”
“Look at me, Harry,” he said quietly. “Eighty-nine. I walk like a baby giraffe.”
He let out a small laugh.
“Parkinson’s took my balance. Prosopagnosia took some of my memory. But they didn’t take you.”
“They didn’t take what you gave me.”
The years started to crawl back as he stared at the stone.
“Do you remember?” he asked, like Harry might answer.
“1975. You walked onto that set and changed everything.”
“You weren’t just Colonel Potter. You were… the grown-up in the room. The steady hand. The man all of us looked at when we needed to know if we were doing it right.”
“You taught me more about leadership than any book ever could. You showed me how to be in charge without being a bully. How to lead with kindness instead of fear.”
“I’ve spent half my life trying to live up to the way you led that unit.”
For a moment, the wind picked up, stirring the grass around his shoes.
Alan shifted his weight, took a breath, and went on.
“They ask me in interviews all the time,” he said. “‘What did Harry Morgan mean to you?’”
“I always say the same thing: ‘He wasn’t just my co-star. He was my friend. My example. My… father figure.’”
“You called me your son,” Alan whispered. “And I believed you.”
He let his fingers trace the top edge of the stone, like he was smoothing the brim of Potter’s cavalry hat.
“And now they’re all with you, aren’t they?” he said softly.
“McLean. Larry. Wayne. Bill. David. Kellye. And now Loretta.”
He closed his eyes for a second.
“Tell her we miss her,” he murmured. “Tell her her boys are still here. Still talking about her. Still loving her.”
“And Sophie,” he added. “I know you’re with Sophie. I can’t think of heaven for you without a horse nearby.”
For a while, he just stood there — an old man in a winter coat, talking to a piece of granite like it was listening.
“Harry,” he said finally, “thank you.”
“Thank you for every scene… every laugh… every quiet moment off camera when you took me aside and said, ‘You’re doing fine, kid.’”
“Thank you for showing me how to be a colonel without a uniform.”
His legs started to ache. His back throbbed. His hand tightened on the cane.
He knew he couldn’t stand there forever.
So he did what Hawkeye Pierce would do for a commanding officer he loved.
He straightened up a little, as much as his body allowed.
He placed his hand flat on the stone one last time.
“Okay, Colonel,” he said softly. “I made it. First day of a new year, and I came to report in.”
He smiled through the tears.
“Save me a chair at the officers’ club up there, will you? One day we’ll sit down again — you with your horse stories, me with my bad jokes.”
“No cameras. No scripts. Just us.”
He gave the stone a gentle pat — the way you pat a shoulder as you’re leaving the room.
“Goodnight, Harry,” he whispered. “From your kid. Always.”
Then, slowly, carefully, he turned and began the long walk back to the car.
From the road, if anyone had glanced his way, they might have just seen an old man leaving a grave on the first day of a new year.
But if you ever loved MASH*…
If you ever watched Colonel Potter’s steady eyes and Hawkeye’s broken heart…
You’d know what really happened that morning:
Hawkeye went to see his Colonel.
And even with shaking hands, failing memory, and unsteady legs…
He never once stopped walking toward the man who taught him how to stand tall. 
Just as a gentle reminder, as we noted in the previous stories, Loretta Swit is thankfully still with us today! However, reading this as a beautiful, fictional tribute to the profound bond between Alan Alda and Harry Morgan, here is a continuation to bring this poignant scene to a close:
As Alan finally reached the edge of the cemetery grass, the driver quickly opened the car door. Arlene was waiting inside, the heater humming softly against the crisp January chill. She reached out, her warm hands gently enveloping his trembling, freezing ones as he carefully eased himself into the leather seat.
“You okay, Al?” she asked softly, studying the tears still drying in the deep creases of his face.
He let out a long, slow breath, resting his cane against his knee. The exhaustion was settling deep into his bones, but his chest felt lighter than it had in months.
“I’m okay,” he nodded, a profound sense of peace washing over him. “I just needed to check in.”
As the car pulled away from the curb, winding its way out of the cemetery gates, Alan didn’t look out the back window. He kept his eyes focused forward, watching the morning sun stretch across the quiet Los Angeles streets.
Harry had taught him that, too. You honor the past, you cherish the people who shaped you, but you keep moving forward. You keep taking care of the people who are still here.
He thought about Jamie, Gary, and Mike. He was the eldest now, the unofficial patriarch of their surviving little family. He was now the “grown-up in the room,” just as Harry had been for them all those decades ago. It was a heavy mantle to carry, especially for a man whose hands wouldn’t always obey his mind anymore. But sitting there in the warmth of the car, with his wife’s hand securely holding his, Alan felt ready to carry it.
The 4077th was never really just a place in Korea, and it certainly wasn’t just a soundstage in Hollywood. It was a promise. A promise that no matter how dark the circumstances got, or how heavy the passing years became, you never left a friend to face it alone.
And as the city slowly woke up to the dawn of 2026, Hawkeye Pierce rode home, leaving his Colonel to rest, knowing that he had finally learned exactly what it meant to lead.
