Interviewer: Harry, everyone who watched the show remembers Colonel Potter as the rock. You were the one who kept the 4077th from spinning off its axis. But I’ve heard rumors that behind the scenes, you were actually the easiest one to crack. Is that true?

Harry: Oh, it’s more than true. It was a liability, really. You have to understand, I came from a very different background in the industry. I’d done Dragnet with Jack Webb, where if you breathed at the wrong time, you were in trouble. It was all about precision and that stoic, hard-nosed delivery.

Then I get to the MAS*H set, and I’m surrounded by these… these lunatics. Alan Alda and Mike Farrell, especially. They were like two mischievous schoolboys who had been given the keys to a multimillion-dollar playground.

Interviewer: Was there one specific moment where the “Colonel Potter” mask just completely shattered?

Harry: There were many, but there’s one night shoot that stays with me. It’s funny how the brain works—I can remember the smell of the diesel generators and the way the fog was rolling off the mountains in Malibu. It was one of those long, freezing nights where everyone just wanted to go home.

We were filming a scene in the office. It was a heavy one. A lot of medical jargon mixed with some very earnest, heartfelt dialogue about the toll the war was taking. The director was Gene Reynolds, and he was a stickler for the emotional beats. He wanted this to be the anchor of the episode.

Interviewer: So the stakes were high.

Harry: They were. The crew was exhausted. We had been there since dawn. Gene comes up to me and says, “Harry, I need you to be the moral center here. No jokes. Just give me that Potter gravitas.” I told him, “Gene, I’m your man.”

I looked over at Mike Farrell. He was standing just off-camera, waiting for his cue. He had this look on his face. It wasn’t even a funny look—it was a look of pure, concentrated innocence. And I knew. I just knew he was waiting for the perfect moment to ruin me.

And that’s when it happened.

Harry: I started the line. I believe it was something about the casualty rates coming in from the front. I was looking directly at Alan, and I could feel the gravity of the scene working. I was being “The Colonel.” I was being the rock.

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t make a noise. He simply shifted his weight and very slowly, very deliberately, crossed his eyes just a fraction of an inch.

Interviewer: That was it? Just a look?

Harry: On any other set, it would have been nothing. But after fourteen hours in the cold, with Mike Farrell’s face three feet from yours, it was like a grenade going off. I felt this little bubble of air hit my throat. I tried to swallow it. I really did.

I managed to get out the next three words, but they came out in this high-pitched, strangled wheeze that sounded like a tea kettle reaching a boil.

Interviewer: What did the director do?

Harry: Gene yelled, “Cut!” He looked at me with this mix of confusion and pity. He said, “Harry, let’s take it again. You’re doing great, just… watch the breathing.”

We reset. Silence on the set. The cameras start rolling again. I take a deep breath. I look at Alan. Alan is trying to be professional, but I can see the corners of his mouth twitching because he knows I’m compromised.

I get to the same spot in the script. I’m determined. I’m an actor! I’ve been doing this for decades! I am Harry Morgan!

Then Mike Farrell lets out a tiny, almost imperceptible “meow.”

Interviewer: Oh no.

Harry: I didn’t just laugh. I imploded. I doubled over the desk. I was pounding my fist on the blotter, tears streaming down my face. And the worst part is, once I start, I cannot stop. It’s a physical condition.

The crew starts chuckling. Then Gene Reynolds, who is supposed to be the adult in the room, starts to shake. He’s trying to hide behind his monitor, but you can see his shoulders bouncing.

Interviewer: Did you get the take on the next try?

Harry: Not even close. We went for Take Three. I couldn’t even look in Mike’s direction. I stared at a spot on the wall behind Alan’s head. But then I heard Alan’s stomach growl, and for some reason, in that silence, it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. I lost it again.

By Take Six, the camera operator was laughing so hard he actually bumped the tripod. He had to step away to compose himself.

By Take Ten, the entire camp was in a state of collective hysteria. The more we tried to be serious, the more absurd the situation became. We were these grown men, dressed in olive drab, supposedly in the middle of a war zone, and we were behaving like toddlers in a church pew.

Interviewer: How did you finally finish the scene?

Harry: Honestly? We had to send Mike Farrell to his trailer. Gene finally had enough. He said, “Mike, get out. You’re banned from the set for thirty minutes.”

Mike walked away with his hands in his pockets, looking like a choir boy who had just been wrongly accused of a crime. He didn’t say a word, which made it even funnier.

Once he was gone, I managed to pull myself together. We got the shot in one more take. But for the rest of the night, if Mike and I so much as made eye contact across the mess tent, the giggles would start all over again.

Interviewer: It sounds like a wonderful way to work, even if it was frustrating for the directors.

Harry: It was the best way to work. People ask me why that show lasted so long and why the chemistry was so palpable. It’s because we truly, deeply loved each other’s company.

The laughter wasn’t a distraction from the work; it was what made the work possible. We were dealing with very heavy themes—death, loss, the futility of war. If we hadn’t had those moments where we absolutely lost our composure over something as silly as a crossed eye or a well-timed “meow,” I don’t think we could have survived the emotional weight of the show for eleven years.

Interviewer: It’s a beautiful legacy to leave behind.

Harry: It really is. Whenever I see a rerun of that episode and I see Colonel Potter looking particularly stern or particularly moving, I just have to smile. Because I know that just three inches out of the frame, Mike Farrell is probably doing something ridiculous to try and make me crack.

It’s the most cherished memory I have of my time in that olive-drab world. We weren’t just actors; we were a family that couldn’t stop laughing at the dinner table.

That’s the secret of MAS*H, I think. We took the work seriously, but we never, ever took ourselves seriously.

And if you can find a job where your biggest problem is that your friends make you laugh too much, then you’ve really made it in this world.

What’s a moment in your life where you couldn’t stop laughing at the absolute worst possible time?