The hit 1972 sitcom “M*A*S*H” introduced the world to a number of memorable and beloved characters, from the smart-mouthed yet compassionate Captain Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce to his endearing friend, Captain B.J. Hunnicutt. Almost every character had stuck in the minds of the fans.
One of the characters that often featured but was easily overlooked by his military counterparts due to his nervous nature was the 4077 MASH unit’s company clerk, Corporal Walter Eugene “Radar” O’Reilly. Although many of the staff on the base tended to take Radar’s effort for granted, the fans sure noticed him.
Radar was portrayed by the acclaimed actor Gary Burghoff from the start of the TV show in 1972 until the seventh season, which aired in 1979. Although fans clamored for more of the unassuming clerk, Burghoff revealed that he needed to step away from the show to rekindle his personal relationships and fight burnout.
“M*A*S*H’s” Influence and Burghoff’s Personal Identity
Although Burghoff enjoyed playing Radar, the role became increasingly demanding. The actor commented that it became difficult to separate himself from his character in the eyes of the public, which soon became tedious. He also noted that he despised being fawned over by the crowds:
“Aw, I know I’m cute. Cute, cute, CUTE! I was always cute because I was always the smallest kid on the block. I hate cute.”
Everyone saw Burghoff as an adorable, short, timid character as they’d known him on-screen and on the stage for many years. However, after years of being looked down upon, both metaphorically and physically speaking, Burghoff grew tired of the persona so easily attributed to him by scores of people he had never even met.
The actor lashed out against this view of him as a cute little fellow by defending his height. As he so rightly pointed out, 5 feet 6 inches isn’t irregularly short, and he would have seen the tops of Arte Johnson or Mickey Rooney’s heads had they ever met. Nonetheless, the persona stuck.
Luckily for all his fans, Burghoff didn’t let his disability stand in his way, and he pursued his dream of becoming an actor.
Despite his misgivings about how others perceived him, Burghoff’s fellow cast members adored him. The director Charles Dubin recalled working with Burghoff before he left “M*A*S*H,” noting how caring and pleasant Burghoff was to everyone on set. However, Burghoff had another aspect of himself that drove down his self-esteem.
Burghoff had been born with a congenital disability called Brachydactyly, a form of Poland Syndrome. The condition left the actor with three fingers on his left hand that were noticeably smaller than the rest of his digits, and the abnormality had plagued him since he was a small child. The actor commented:
“Of course, this defect affected me while I was growing up. I suppose when I was very young, I knew my disability would set me apart and make me special.”
Luckily for all his fans, Burghoff didn’t let his disability stand in his way, and he pursued his dream of becoming an actor. Yet, becoming a fan-favorite on one of the most iconic TV shows America had ever produced never managed to quell his insecurities about his stout fingers and stocky frame.
Throughout his run on “M*A*S*H,” Burghoff tried to hide his left hand from the camera. He would often position himself so that the camera could only see one side of his body and usually gestured with his right if the scene required it, although the actor would be obligated to use both hands now and again.
In one of the earliest episodes, viewers were introduced to Radar as he stood in an open area, wearing a greyish shirt and his trademark cap. As the actor turned around and looked at the sky — once again hearing approaching helicopters before everyone else — the camera briefly panned over both his hands holding a football.
When Colonel Sherman T. Potter first made his appearance on the show, taking over from the beloved Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake, Radar and the new commander shared a scene where they first met. As Colonel Potter exited the room to find the latrines, the camera centered on Burghoff’s upper body as he opened a box with both hands.
Another infamous scene caught Burghoff with both hands on camera. During a regular morning salute, with the loathsome Major Frank Burns leading the ceremony, Radar does his usual morning salute with a bugle. In a hilarious twist, one of the men fires off the ceremonial canon at Burns’s behest.
Naturally, Radar gets the short end of the stick as the cannonball flies directly at him, knocking his instrument clean out of his hands. In the next few seconds, Burghoff turns toward the camera in a pantomime of rage, balling his fists and stomping in outrage. Here, both his hands can be seen for a brief second.
In one of the later episodes, the writers showed off Radar’s softer side when he cuddled his pet guinea pig, Babette. Naturally, Radar stood with his left hand beneath his right, but just as he started to sing, Father John Mulcahy called for him. Burghoff’s hands were visible again as he put the Babette away.
One of the scenes where Burghoff openly showed his left hand came as part of another gag the show pulled. At the start of the scene, Radar could be seen walking across a dirt road while two other military personnel walked away from the camera. The man on Radar’s right first lifted his hand in salute, followed shortly by one on the left.
Radar, the pleasant character he was, lifted his right hand in response to the first salute, as military etiquette dictates. Caught off guard by the quick second salute, Radar lifted his left hand as well, essentially performing a double salute. Feeling sheepish, he frowned and lowered his hands slowly in one of Burghoff’s classic displays of confusion.
My Neighbor Totally Ruined My Windows with Paint after I Refused to Pay $2,000 for Her Dog’s Treatment
An increasingly heated argument starts when Julia declines to pay her neighbor $2000 for a small dog accident. Julia is dealing with family issues and navigating the chaos as tensions grow. But Julia loses it and plans some heinous retaliation after her neighbor paints over her windows.
Allow me to share with you the story of the moment I nearly went insane while residing in a quiet suburban neighborhood.
I’m Julia, and I shared this sweet small home with my husband Roger and our ten-year-old son Dean for more than 10 years.
As long as you disregarded the ongoing concern for Roger’s well-being, everything was fairly wonderful. However, when Linda moved in next door, everything was different.
Linda. The mere thought of her makes my blood boil. We never got along from the day she came in with her golden retriever, Max.
At first, it was simply small things, like her loud music or the fact that she allowed Max go anywhere he wished, nothing serious. However, things took a bad turn one sunny afternoon.
Max came running over to me while I was cutting my roses in my backyard, wagging his tail like he owned the place. Really sweet dog, but intrigued. He took in certain scents, and before I knew it, he yelled.
The poor creature has a little thorn embedded in his paw. I bent down, comforted him, and carefully pulled the thorn out. I patted Max’s head after he licked my fingers.
I accompanied him back to Linda’s, perhaps anticipating a thank you. Rather, she merely stood there, frowning and with her arms crossed.
Why does my dog have a limp? How did you act? She lost her temper.
“He simply trod on a small thorn,” I retorted, attempting to remain composed. “I removed it, and he seems OK.”
She gave a huff, and I assumed that was it. How incorrect I was!
One morning, I discovered a message affixed to my door. “You owe me $2000 for Max’s treatment,” it said.
I was astounded as I stared at it. Two thousand dollars? For what purpose? The dog only received a small cut. I made the decision to visit and make everything clear.
Linda, what’s the deal? I asked, pointing to the message.
Her tone was cold as she continued, “That’s for Max’s vet bill.” “That thorn caused him pain all through the night.”
“I apologize, but that is absurd,” I answered. “As a gesture of goodwill, I’ll give you $100, but two thousand is out of the question.”
Linda squinted her eyes. “You’ll regret it or you pay up.”
Linda turned my life into a living misery the moment she met me.
Every time she drove by, she would flip me off, honk, and tip over my trash cans. Her attempt to have Dean arrested was the worst. Dean, my sweet, naive boy, was simply riding a minibike like all the other kids in the area.
I was enjoying a cup of tea on the veranda one afternoon when I heard Linda’s car horn familiarly screaming. Glaring at Dean, who was playing in the driveway, I looked up.
She said, “Get that brat off that bike before I call the cops!”
“Linda, these are only children!” Feeling my patience wane, I yelled back.
She shot back, “Your kid is a menace, and if you don’t do something about it, I will.”
I was unable to yell, weep, or take action, even though I wanted to. Since Roger was back in the hospital, I was already overburdened with trying to keep things together. Taking a deep breath, I looked up at Dean.
I kindly murmured, “Come inside, honey.” “We’ll switch up the game.”
With tears in his eyes, Dean argued, “But Mom, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I understand, my love. Simply put, it’s complicated.
I made an effort to ignore Linda’s shenanigans and concentrate on Roger and Dean. However, it felt as though a ticking time bomb was nearby. I was always afraid of what she might do next. Finally, she pushed me over the edge.
I got the call in the afternoon of a Sunday. Roger’s condition had gotten worse, and I had to head to the hospital right away.
After gathering our belongings, I dropped Dean off at my mother’s house and hurried to the hospital.
I stayed by Roger’s side for two excruciating days, not eating or sleeping, my mind racing with worry and tiredness.
Upon my return, all I wanted was a little break, an opportunity to regain my composure.
Upon walking up my driveway, I discovered that my house had been turned into a nightmare for graffiti artists. Paint in the colors red and yellow spattered my windows, dripping in unkempt streaks.
My house appeared to have been attempted to be converted into a circus tent. And there it was, Linda’s note “Just to make your days brighter!” sitting on the doorstep!
A house covered with paint splatters | Source: Midjourney
I was shaking with fury as I stood there, my fatigue from the previous two days melting away in the fire of my fury. That was it. This was the tipping moment.
I clinched my teeth and whispered, “Dean, go inside.”
“But Mom, what took place?” His eyes wide with terror and perplexity, he questioned.
I said it again, softly this time, attempting to maintain my composure. “Just go inside, honey.”
Dean gave a nod and rushed inside, leaving me to harbor my rage on my own.
With my thoughts racing, I crumpled Linda’s paper in my hand. It had to end. Linda was going to get a war if that was her desire.
I took a drive to the hardware shop that afternoon. I strolled through the aisles, my rage melting into a detached, analytical concentration. When I saw the Japanese Beetle traps, a strategy started to take shape.
I purchased multiple packets of the beetle-attracting smell lures and traps. I put the aroma packets in the freezer as soon as I came home. The wax would be easier to work with in the cold. Anxiety mixed with excitement caused my heart to race. This needed to function.
I slipped into Linda’s yard at three in the morning while the neighborhood was silent due to the darkness.
I had the impression of a figure from one of Roger’s favorite spy films. My heart leaped at the sound of every distant leaf rustle. However, I was adamant. I hid the smell packets behind the layers of mulch in Linda’s well-kept flower beds.
By the time I was done, the first rays of morning were appearing.
I crept back inside my house, feeling my heartbeat finally begin to settle down. Despite being tired, I felt a sense of somber fulfillment as I got into bed. It was now a matter of waiting.
When I looked out my window the following afternoon, I noticed swarms of Japanese beetles descending on Linda’s garden. They were glinting in the sunlight. It was functioning.
Her lovely flower gardens were completely destroyed over the course of the following few days, the once-vibrant blossoms reduced to frayed remains.
Allow me to correct the information. Hi there, my name is Linda, and I came to this area in search of solitude.
My golden dog, Max, went into Julia’s yard by mistake and snagged a thorn in his paw, shattering that fantasy. She pulled it out as if she were doing me a favor, rather than just giving it back to him.
I asked Julia to pay Max’s vet bill the following day.
He was in discomfort and walking with a limp all night. However, she was so bold as to offer me just $100 rather than the $2000 it would have cost. I told her she would regret not paying up after our argument. Things didn’t seem to be getting out of control.
Yes, I did, a couple times knocked over her trash cans and honked as I went past, to let her know I wasn’t going to back down. However, Julia painted myself as the bad guy.
I didn’t know things had gotten out of hand until insects decimated my garden.
I was like a crazy woman, rushing around my yard. When I was picking away dead flowers on the third day, I noticed something strange hidden in the mulch. When I saw that it was a piece of plastic packaging—part of a Japanese beetle trap—my heart fell.
Someone had intentionally done this. And I knew who it was, very well.
My wrath blazing, I stormed straight to Julia’s house. I knocked on her door, presenting the proof that implicated her.
“Julia! Let yourself in!” I yelled, fury trembling in my voice.
Appearing composed as ever, she unlocked the door. “What’s going on, Linda?”
“You know what you did to my garden?” I threw the plastic fragment towards her. This was discovered in my flower bed. Yes, you did this, right?
Although Julia maintained a neutral expression, there was a hint of something—guilt, perhaps—in her eyes. “Lucina, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t tell me lies!” I let out a cry. “You destroyed my yard! Why would you act in this manner?
A wail sounded from within the home before she could respond. When I looked behind Julia, I noticed Dean, her son, seated on the floor with tears running down his face.
“Is Dad going to pass away, Mom?” With his tiny voice breaking, Dean cried.
Julia looked past me, her expression softening as she turned to greet her son. “No, sweetheart, everything will be OK. The medical professionals are exerting every effort.
I watched this scene play out while freezing in place. My rage seemed so trivial now.
Julia was more than simply my obnoxious neighbor; she was a mother taking care of her sick husband and her afraid child.
“Julia, I.” I opened my mouth, but my words stumbled. How do I put it? I hadn’t paused to think about what she might be going through since I was so overwhelmed by my rage.
With a look of fatigue on her face, Julia turned to face me. “Linda, I apologize for your garden. However, I didn’t do it. I can’t handle this anymore, let alone caring about your flowers.
My fight was gone from me. “I apologize too,” I said. “I had no idea that things were so horrible for you.”
She gave a nod, remaining silent. I recoiled, embarrassed by my own foolishness. How could it have gotten so out of control?
That being said, I kept to myself. I realized that Julia had enough on her plate and put an end to the small-time harassing. My garden recovered slowly, and although Julia and I never became friends, we were able to live in harmony together.
I still think about that period of time years later. Sometimes, in order to understand what others are going through, you have to look past your own problems. Even though Julia and I have remained estranged neighbors, we have a silent respect for one another that was developed through hardship.
Though it has been romanticized for artistic purposes, this work draws inspiration from actual individuals and events. For reasons of privacy protection and story improvement, names, characters, and details have been changed. Any likeness to real people, alive or dead, or real events is entirely accidental and not the author’s intention.
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