M*A*S*H (September 14, 1972-February 28, 1983): Last night saw the death of an old friend, a mainstay of America's popular culture. M*A*S*H offered us a funny bone in the skeleton of the Korean War for 11 years, nearly four times the length of the actual war.

While some might say the social importance of a weekly sitcom is limited. M*A*S*H earned a cult prominence and then a social significance that guaranteed it more than a sitcom's respect.

Colonel Blake's sad departure, Trapper's hasty exit and Radar's return to Otumwa, Iowa prompted mourning and drunken reflection from avid viewers nationwide. M*A*S*H's final episode, not surprisingly, became a national phenomenon, and we join the rest of the nation and the host of last-episode, not surprisingly, became a national phenomenon, and we join the rest of the nation and the host of last-episode partiers in saying farewell.

Farewell to the helicopters, clarion call of the wounded, which open each show Farewell to the Swamp, home of Hawkeye's infamous still, which kept the camp in high spirits Farewell to the mess tent, the only place in camp the refused to patronize.

Farewell to the most recent additions to the cast. To Colonel Potter who saw the war as a Zane Grey western. To Charles Emerson Winchester III, Harvard's own representative to the 4077th. To B.J. Honnicut, whose quiet manner let him get away with murder.

Most of all, farewell to the oldtimers. To the camp fashion consultant, Corporal Klinger. To Father Mulcahey, the perfect priest in the Korean War. To Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan, and to the memory of Frank "No Lips" Burns, who together perfected the art of irritation. And finally to Benjamin Franklin Pierce--Hawkeye--whose limitless storehouse of wit kept American punsters in full supply.

To the 4077th M*A*S*H we raise our martini glasses one last time (ingredients: plenty f gin and a toast to Lorenzo Schwartz, the inventor of vermouth).