♪♪♪ (theme)
♪♪♪ (1950s pop)
Ohh! I can't believe
the Mayo brothers started this way.
Or even the Mills Brothers.
Try reading something.
I read everything.
Toss a ball.
I've tossed everything, including breakfast.
There's always trawling for nurses.
I've trawled all the nurses.
Let's have a blast.
We could drown the dull in booze.
It won't do any good.
My dull has learned how to swim.
Maybe I can get a note from my parents
excusing me from the war.
MAN (on P. A.): Attention, all personnel.
Due to conditions beyond our control,
we regret to announce that lunch is now being served.
They got a lot of guts.
And they keep serving them.
You realize this is an anniversary?
They've given us liver or fish ten straight days in a row.
Eleven.
If they try to serve that to us one more time today,
‐I'm gonna throw a fit. ‐You won't throw a fit.
All right, then, I'll throw a berserk
with a strong resemblance to a fit.
It's somethin' to do.
Gonna eat with your feet?
Only if they have corn on the cob.
Terrific outfit, Klinger.
Like it? I don't usually wear floor‐length during the day,
but once in a while, you feel like bein' dressy.
You look like my dead aunt.
MAN (on P. A.): Nurse Chetsberger,
please contact the Red Cross representative.
Nurse Chetsberger,
please contact the Red Cross representative.
How can you eat this slop?
My mouth is tone‐deaf.
Succotash, Doc?
Yes, please.
Potatoes?
Fine.
Creamed corn?
Thank you.
(ladle tapping)
And for the entree today...
Here it comes.
Steady.
We have liver or fish.
I didn't hear you say that.
'cause it isn't possible.
It's inhuman to serve the same food day after day.
The Geneva Convention prohibits the killing
‐of our taste buds! ‐Easy.
I simply cannot eat the same food every day!
Fish, liver, day after day!
I've eaten a river of liver and an ocean of fish!
I've eaten so much fish, I'm ready to grow gills!
I've eaten so much liver,
I can only make love
if I'm smothered in bacon and onions!
Are we gonna stand for this?
Are we gonna let them do this to us?
No, I say! No!
We're not gonna eat this dreck anymore!
We want something else! We want something else!
(all chanting) We want something else!
Draftees of the world, arise!
You have noting to lose but your cookies!
We want something else! We want something else!
(shouting)
We want something else!
(shouting)
We want something else!
Just who do you think you are, Pierce?
I broke under the pressure, warden.
Eleven straight days, Henry.
Well, don't you think I've tried for some relieviation?
‐Yes, sir. ‐Radar‐‐
What happened to the frozen turkey
I ordered you to order?
Well, I put in the requisition, sir,
‐marked "urgent." ‐Well?
They sent us 5,000 athletic supporters.
Marked "urgent." (laughing)
I don't find that such a rib‐tickler, McIntyre.
Ribs.
All right, Radar, why don't you get on the horn‐‐
Trade the athletic supporters.
...see if we can't trade those athletic supporters?
Barbecued spareribs!
That's what I want! That's what I need!
What you need is a tranquilizer
about the size of a horse's rump!
There's a place in Chicago
near the Dearborn Street Station.
I don't know the name of it.
They served ribs. The best in the world!
They had a barbecue sauce with it‐‐
a flamboyant, devil‐may‐care, yet introspective sauce.
Spareribs?
Ambrosia.
The gods on Olympus,
when they got tired of pizza,
they sent out for these ribs!
Ha! Yum, yum.
I think he's gonna have an accident.
Get him the barbecue ribs, Henry.
I don't just want ribs. I want those ribs.
Pierce, you're acting like one of my kids.
Henry, I'm all ribbed out. I have barbecue deficiency.
Don't you get the clinical picture?
Withdrawal trauma.
Take blood, you'll see.
Half hemoglobin, half barbecue sauce from Chicago.
You're off your hinges.
Henry, they were sensational.
The ribs burned my upper lip.
I had a little cut.
I kept the scar alive for a year.
The pain was exquisite.
What was the name of this place?
I can't remember!
It was near the Dearborn Street Station.
Well, why don't you call the station and ask?
The number's DEarborn 5‐7500.
How the hell do you know that?
I was born in Illinois.
I spent half my life at the Dearborn Station.
It was the first place my mother let me
go to the men's room alone.
Come to think of it,
it's where I met my wife Lorraine.
I gotta have those ribs.
Sounds like you're ready to go into labor.
I'll get 'em... somehow.
Pierce, I don't care what you do in private.
You want ribs? It makes me no never mind.
But as long as you're in this man's army camp,
you behave yourself, and you fly in formation.
‐RADAR: Yes, sir. ‐Radar?
Let's get started on the inspection.
Yes, sir.
It was oregano in the sauce,
and just the slightest suggestion of vinegar.
And the coleslaw tasted like heather.
But those ribs, those ribs!
I'm sure they came from pigs that were virgins.
You know? You know?
(laughing) They were terrific.
Mm!
‐HAWKEYE: Mm. ‐(muffled groaning)
I gotta have 'em.
I gotta have 'em, Trap.
(clatter)
Halt! What's the password?
Out of my way, or I'll split your head open.
Close enough.
Radar?
Radar, it's Hawkeye. Let me in.
I gotta use the phone.
(knocking continues)
Radar! Come on, wake up!
The war's over. We won, 8‐5.
‐Radar. ‐Don't shoot!
Get on the phone.
‐Who's calling? ‐You are.
Get out of bed, or I'll take your tonsils out
through your armpits.
Come on. We're calling Chicago.
DEarborn 5‐7500.
‐Chicago? ‐That toddlin' town.
Home of the stockyards, Mrs. O'Leary's cow,
The White Sox, The Cubs, Carl Sandburg.
Who's he pitch for?
The poet.
"Chicago."
Hog Butcher for the world.
Tool maker, stacker of wheat,
Player with railroads and the nation's freight handler.
Stormy, husky, brawling, city of the big shoulders.
Sandburg knew, Radar.
Spare‐ribber for the universe.
Maker of meat on a bone.
The home of the Pigsicle.
Give me your tired, your poor, your coleslaw.
Sparky?
Yeah, it's‐it's Radar.
Yeah, listen, I really‐‐ I‐I know it's late, Sparky.
But, uh, can you patch me through to Tokyo,
Honolulu, San Francisco?
Yeah, I'm headed for Chicago. I'll hold.
Radar, I'll let you lick my fingers for this.
Are these ribs really that great?
Ah... better than sex.
I don't know how good sex is.
No woman could follow them. Especially the big ones.
The ribs, not the women.
They come in a sheet about that size.
Wow!
It's like making love to a xylophone.
He's got Honolulu asking for San Francisco.
Good man, that Sparky.
There may be a knighthood in this for him.
With sparerib clusters.
Okay, pal. I'll take it from here.
Thanks. You done terrific!
You did terrific.
That's what I said he done.
Hello‐‐
Hello!
San Francisco? Right.
Uh, can you speak up a little louder, please?
I'm calling from Korea.
Korea!
Rhymes with "dia."
Right. The place that Bob Hope comes to all the time.
Uh, listen, this is official military business,
priority one!
Uh, can you put me through to Chicago?
Chicago!
Y‐Yeah, the place with the big shoulders.
DEarborn 5‐7500.
Right!
They're dialing.
‐I love her. ‐It's a he.
I love him.
It's ringing.
Dearborn Station?
Yeah? Hold on!
Uh, hello. This is, uh, Cranston Lamont
of the Chicago Tribune.
Uh, I'm over here in Korea, doing a, uh,
story on our star‐freckled spangled fighting boys.
‐Wow! ‐Uh, I'm doing a backgrounder
on a Windy City boy,
and I need to know something.
Uh, across the street from the station,
down the block, there's a five‐and‐ten.
And right next to that there's a dry cleaning
and, uh, and dyeing place.
And right next to that,
there's this place that sells ribs.
What‐what's the name‐‐
Adam's Ribs! That's it. Adam's Ribs.
A‐D‐A‐M‐S R‐I‐B‐S.
That's it. That's it.
‐Mm! ‐You'll smear it.
I‐I got it engraved on my tongue.
Listen, you got a telephone book there?
Uh, all right‐‐
I want you to look up the number for me!
Look, I know you're busy, Mister.
Um, what is your name, please?
For the article.
Resnick?
Bernard Resnick?
Is that with an S or a Z?
Uh, thank you, Mr. Resnick.
That's a lovely name.
One of my daughters is called Resnick.
You got it? All r‐‐
DEarborn 5 2‐7‐5‐0.
5 2‐7‐5‐0.
Wait, wait, wait! D‐Don't‐don't hang up!
Get the operator for me.
Thank you, Mr. Resnick. God bless your choo‐choos.
Operator?
I want DEarborn 5 2‐7‐5‐0.
This is it, Radar. We're approaching Nirvana.
Is that near Chicago?
Hello!
What do you mean, busy?
Operator, I'm a soldier. I'm a wounded man in Korea.
I'm trying to reach my family from a foxhole!
(imitating shell whistling and explosion)
(imitating cannon firing)
(imitating rifles firing)
Hello, Adam's Ribs?
I'd like to place a takeout order, please.
All right, you got a pencil?
I want 20 pounds‐‐
No, make that 40 pounds of your best ribs.
The jumbos.
And I want some barbecue sauce.
A gallon.
Yeah, we're having a party.
My mother's out on parole.
All right, now, look. Now, don't cook 'em.
I just want them packaged.
Name of Pierce. B. F. Pierce.
Somebody'll pick 'em up.
Good, okay. Thank you.
Couldn't have done it without you, Radar.
Thank you, sir.
‐Oh! ‐What?
‐Damn it. ‐What?
I forgot to order the coleslaw.
Hello?
Step one. Spareribs ordered.
Check.
Step two. Ribs must be picked up.
Step three. Ribs must be paid for.
Step four.
Ribs must be flown to us here in Paradise Valley.
What a picture you are of gluttony, greed, lust,
oral sensation.
You're seeing the real me.
As a child, I once ate 12 banana sandwiches.
I slept in the bathroom for a week.
‐Charming. ‐Now, Inspector,
I figure that the same person
who picks the ribs up can pay for them
and take them over to the airport in Chicago.
Elementary.
This as‐yet‐unknown person gives them to a pilot
or a stewardess, who delivers them
to Military Air Transport in San Francisco.
The rest is downhill.
So is your head.
They all laughed at Christopher Columbus
when he said the world was round,
but he went on to write a great song.
You keep this up and the squirrels are gonna
bury your head somewhere.
Pilots and stewardesses love to do us favors.
I once did a stewardess a great favor.
I didn't scream while she forced herself on me.
TRAPPER: There's an interesting couple.
Tillie and Mac.
Sir, I've got a bone
I'd like to pick with you.
Wait a minute, Klinger.
First bones first. Any luck, Radar?
Oh, I checked the personnel roster and all the patients,
and nobody lives in Chicago.
What a great time to steal it.
Rats! Double rats!
Sir, in the riot you caused by going off your noodle,
you got succotash on my stole!
I apologize, Klinger, from the heart of my bottom.
And liver, too, you got on it!
Don't say "liver!"
You say that word again, I'll set your teeth on fire!
I'll have your skunk cleaned.
Right now I'm thinking about bigger things.
Don't you come from Chicago?
No, he's from Toledo.
But I get my lingerie from Chicago.
And it's beautiful.
I hear.
You know anybody in Chicago?
I got an uncle there.
This could be something.
Does he like you? Would he do you a favor?
Favor? He'd kill for me.
He'd kill for you.
For $100, he'd kill for anybody.
Why don't you put out a contract on the spareribs?
Would your uncle handle a package for me?
Sure, for a price.
He doesn't have to kill the package.
Just pick it up and deliver it to the airport in Chicago.
It's done. Won't cost you a dime.
Lady, you're a real gentleman.
All you gotta do is sign my psycho discharge papers,
you and Captain McIntyre.
Klinger, that paper has to be signed by three doctors.
We're only two.
Nobody else wants to be three.
Okay. The deal's off!
Wait a second! Wait‐‐
No discharge, no package,
And I expect you to un‐succotash my stole, sir!
TRAPPER: So emotional.
Meanwhile, my ribs are sitting there
like barbecued orphans.
Gee, I wish I could help.
I wonder how you'd taste charcoaled.
Hey!
You know, I just remembered.
I knew a redhead in Chicago.
Oh, boy. You talk about your ribs.
Yeah, yeah?
What was her name?
Mildred.
That's right. Mildred Feeney.
Would she do you a favor?
She already did.
She could pick up the ribs.
She could pay for them and put 'em on a plane.
‐I'd send her a check. ‐You're hallucinating.
I haven't seen her in years.
It was a one‐night stand.
No, it was a two‐night.
No, I think it was three.
Radar, prepare finger. Ready to dial.
Hello.
Uh, yeah, Mildred Feeney?
Uh, right. Hold on. Go.
Hi, Mildred?
This is John McIntyre.
That's right, Big John.
Big John?
Lucky.
Look, honey, I know it's been a lot of years, but, uh‐‐
No, I'm not actually in Chicago now.
Little bit west of there.
I'm in Korea, to be exact.
Well, I got called up into the war,
and, uh, I got to thinkin' about you.
What?
The war, Mildred.
The war!
(imitating bomb exploding)
Come on, you guys, take it easy.
You're worse than the real thing.
‐Lay it on her, will ya? ‐What, baby?
Me? Married? Married?
Of course I'm not married, Mildred.
‐Come on. ‐Who could follow you?
Cut it out.
We could lose this line.
Lay it on her, will ya?
Uh, honey, look. I want you to do me a favor.
There's a package under the name of Pierce
at a place called Adam's Ribs
next to the Dearborn Street Station.
I want you to go in there and pay for it,
and take it to the M. P. s at Midway Airport.
Yeah, I'll send you a check for it.
Uh, mark the package "Dr. B. F. Pierce.
"4077 MASH, Korea.
Rush: Medical Supplies."
What?
It's ribs and sauce.
‐Yeah, we use 'em for, uh... ‐Anatomy practice.
Anatomy practice, right.
Well, they don't allow us to work on real people.
The sauce?
Well, uh, they don't let us use real blood, either.
You understand?
Boy, she's smart.
Thanks a lot, Mildred. Right, honey.
‐Bye‐bye. ‐Come on, come on.
Mildred, I can't keep the war on hold.
I gotta go. Bye‐bye.
Ha ha!
‐Radar. ‐Yeah?
Wire the M. P. s at Midway Airport.
Tell 'em that the package is for
Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce.
Yeah‐yeah.
General MacArthur's personal physician.
MacArthur. Wow.
I've never been in the stockade before.
Then wire the, uh, Military Air Transport Service.
‐A.P.O. San Francisco. ‐"A. P. O"...
Tell 'em it's urgent. Critical medical supplies.
‐"Critical"... ‐Handle with Care. Highly Infectious.
Uh, mark it "Quickest possible.
Do not spill. Keep refrigerated."
Way to go, Big John.
Sir. Wake up, sir.
The spareribs are here.
Where? Where?
They're in a supply depot down in Ouijongbu.
Uh, they're hung up in channels.
Who hung 'em?
Well, I talked to a Major Pfiefer.
He wouldn't even talk to me when I talked to him.
What'd he say? What'd he say?
He started with, uh, "Drop dead,"
and then he got rude!
We'll get him, even if we have to call Klinger's uncle.
‐Trap. ‐Mildred...
Wake up. Me and the ribs, we're all in Korea!
Let's eat!
Come on, Dan. It's on the way to Seoul!
No room. I gotta take this kid down for X‐ray.
Unless you wanna use the rumble seats.
‐Okay, you got it! ‐Gimme your hand.
Climb under.
Watch your head. Okay, get him in.
"4077 MASH."
Oh, yes, talked to some cocky little nurse at your outfit.
Radar.
Tried to muscle me on the phone.
She's a tough little cookie.
There it is. "One box, medical supplies.
Marked urgent." Figures.
We're doctors. We need that stuff, Major.
It's important.
Yeah, it's a new wonder drug.
Top shelf.
Keep those code numbers to the front
so we can read them.
Oh, sorry. It's only our first day on the job.
What about our package?
You know what I've got to process?
Twelve Sherman tanks, 2,000 blankets,
100,000 rolls of toilet paper,
A trainload of semiautomatic corn poppers,
and baby A‐bomb components.
They're delicious with popcorn.
Whatever it is, I've got it.
And you want me to find
one insignificant little box of med supplies.
We sometimes use them in our work.
You think because you save lives, it's important.
Move this over there.
Sure.
Another box of hernias, huh?
(grunting, sighing)
Major, you're not gonna cooperate, huh?
If I help one person, I have to help everybody.
You can't run a war on cooperation.
All right, fine. We'll go up the line.
‐Who's your boss? ‐My sergeant.
‐Where is he? ‐Look, he's very busy,
and I don't want him upset.
We're not gonna upset him.
He's over in Admin. Sergeant Tarola.
Please don't tell him I sent you.
Thank you, Major. You've been a tower of Jell‐O.
Nobody cut requisition orders on this.
Emergency medical shipment, Sergeant.
Yeah, there's no S47‐19J accompanying.
I told you we should've got an S47‐19J accompanying,
but you wouldn't listen.
That's necessary?
Necessary?
We don't go to latrine around here
without an S47‐19J.
Sorry.
You know, I wasn't gonna say anything,
but this little supermarket of yours here
‐isn't all that clean. ‐Yeah.
Ideal breeding environment for cholera, the plague.
You're kidding.
You always sweat in 40 degree temperature?
‐I'm not sweating. ‐You should be.
Nothin' wrong with me. I feel sensational.
Ah, there it is. Say that again, will ya?
I feel sensational?
Definite slurring of the S.
Classic early symptom.
Followed by the eyes blinking
‐in an up‐and‐down motion. ‐Mm‐hmm.
You know, if there's plague here,
we'll have to close the place.
Post it as a contagious area.
Give you a chance to be reassigned.
You're probably anxious to get up
to the fighting war anyway, aren't you?
What's in the package?
Spareribs and sauce from Chicago.
Adam's Ribs?
You know?
I'm from Joliet.
I'd walk to Chicago on my knees in the snow
for a takeout order.
He's one of you.
‐How many you got? ‐40 pounds.
I'll take 20 and a quart of sauce.
10 and a pint of sauce.
12 and a pint and a half.
And coleslaw.
We didn't order any coleslaw.
You sent all the way to Chicago
and no coleslaw?
Forgive us. We're draftees.
Ah.
(whistling)
Shall we give thanks?
Praise the Lord and pass the sauce.
MAN (on P. A.): Attention, all personnel. Attention.
Ambulances in the lower compound.
Choppers on the upper pad.
Incoming wounded. Repeat, incoming wounded.
All O. R. personnel report on the double.
‐Come on! ‐Repeat,
ambulances in the lower compound.
‐No! ‐Choppers on the upper deck.
No, that's not fair!
‐Come on. ‐No, no, wait a minute!
No, it's not fair! We got ribs now!
We got ribs from Adam's Ribs in Chicago!
We lied to Mildred and everything!
I had to send her a check!
Let me have a rib. One rib. One little‐‐
A riblet. A little rib.
♪♪♪ (theme)