THE RADIO WAS A TOY… BUT FOR US, IT WAS REALITY
The studio lot was quieter than I remembered it being forty years ago. The sound of my own shoes on the gravel felt too loud, a rhythmic crunching…
THE DAY THE MONOCLE OF COLONEL KLINK GAINED A MIND OF ITS OWN
The studio lights were a bit too bright, and the air conditioning was doing that low-frequency hum that usually bothers a man trained in the nuances of orchestral…
THE DAY COLONEL KLINKS PRUSSIAN PRIDE COLLAPSED INTO A CREAM PUFF
Werner Klemperer sits back in the leather chair, the soft light of the studio catching the sharp lines of his face. Even in his later years, he carries…
THE RADIO WAS JUST A PROP UNTIL THE ROOM WENT SILENT
The table was covered in a dusty velvet cloth, hidden in a corner of the soundstage. Robert Clary reached out first, his fingers hovering just inches above the…
RICHARD DAWSON REFLECTS ON THE CHAOS OF STALAG 13
The studio lights were low, and the hum of the air conditioning provided a steady, rhythmic backdrop to the conversation. Richard Dawson sat back in his chair, a…
THE NEW COLONEL AND THE SURPRISING SURGERY OF THE STEAMED ARTICHOKE
The studio lights were dimmed low, casting a warm, amber glow over the set of the late-night retrospective. Harry Morgan sat comfortably in a leather armchair, his face…
THE DAY JAMIE FARR’S WEDDING DRESS TURNED INTO A MUD SLIDE
The microphone was humming slightly as I sat across from the host of the podcast. It’s funny how, even after decades, people still want to talk about the…
THE SOUND THAT STOPPED THE LAUGHTER IN THE MALIBU HILLS
The dry heat of the Malibu hills hasn’t changed much in fifty years. It still smells of scorched sage and dust that never quite settles. Mike Farrell stood…
THE DAY HARRY MORGAN ABSOLUTELY SHATTERED THE MASH PRODUCTION CREW
Jamie Farr leans back in the leather chair of the recording studio, the soft glow of the “On Air” sign reflecting off his glasses. He is guesting on…
THE JEEP WAS JUST A PROP UNTIL MIKE FARRELL SAT IN IT AGAIN.
The sun was beginning to dip behind the dry, golden hills of the Malibu ranch, casting long, dramatic shadows across the dirt. Mike Farrell stood with his hands…