TABLE OF CONTENTS
1. The Last Episode of M*A*S*H
2. The Last Episode of Barney Miller
3. The Last Episode of “Recco Tool”
Anybody who has been around a place ( home, work, or school, etc.) for a long period of time, knows what it feels like when it’s time to go…for good.
For instance, the last day at an old house before moving into a new residence; or, the last day at school before graduating ; or, the last day at work on retirement day.
They all leave people reminiscing —some by quietly smiling reflectively; others by loudly shedding tears of joy regarding bittersweet moments—as they clean out their desks and/or lockers…for the very last time, knowing that they’ll never be there again as residents, students, workers, or whatever.
Come Monday morning, they’ll be somewhere else—the house will be empty, with no furniture inside; the locker at school will be assigned to another student; and the desk at work, will have empty drawers, and nothing but a lone telephone (and maybe a desk lamp) on the desktop—no family pictures; no coffee mug; no creature comforts.
It’s like the last episode of a well-liked TV show : all the faithful viewers gather around their TV sets to view the very last episode of that show to be made.
The Last Episode of M*A*S*H
They say that when M*A*S*H aired its series finale back in 1983, it had garnered one of the largest ( if not THE largest) TV viewing audience(s) in broadcast history. I think I read somewhere that “Cheers’ ” final episode also brought in a super large crowd of viewers
In any case, the final moment of the final M*A*S*H episode, shows Hawkeye (played by Alan Alda) , sitting shotgun in a helicopter as it rises into the air, and he’s looking down on his now-former-roommate B. J. Hunnicutt ( Played by Mike Farrell) as B.J. rides down a hill on a motorcycle, and Hawkeye sees a message that B.J. had left him spelled out in boulders on the ground below : “Goodbye”.
Hawkeye momentarily dons a reflective look on his face, as he leans back in his seat, and the camera shows the chopper flying off into the sunny foreground, and the show’s theme song begins to play.
That’s it. The End!
No more M*A*S*H.
No more seeing these people ever again—at least, not as cohorts in a Mobil Army Surgical Hospital.
Heck, they may not ever talk to each other again. Or even have an idea of where anyone would be 10 or 20 years from that time.
As far as the UN-scripted, post-M*A*S*H Hawkeye is concerned, we can only imagine that when he awoke the next morning, he didn’t wake up on a moldy, smelly, green flannel-covered cot in an un-insulated tent ( unofficially referred to as “The Swamp”), where the first thing he’d otherwise see would be one or both of his tent mates ( B.J. and/or Winchester ) , and then, presumably off to “The Mess Tent” for slop and slime masquerading as breakfast.
Instead, he’d raise his head off a clean pillow either in his own bed in Crab Apple Cove, Maine, or in a hotel/motel somewhere stateside en route to home.
Waking up and looking around, there’s NO B.J. cracking jokes, NO Winchester complaining that everything is beneath him; NO Col. Potter bestowing his wisdom on someone asking him a question ; NO Margaret or Frank pointlessly trying to hide a relationship that everyone already knew about , NO Radar or Klinger announcing anything over the camp P.A. system. NO sound of helicopters or jeeps coming or going picking up or dropping off patients or supplies, NO people wearing olive drab uniforms with rank insignias sewn to them; NO “war blood” to clean up.
Instead, civilian clothes and the smell of bacon frying up in the kitchen is likely what his next day experience would have started like.
A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT existence—in 24 hours!
However, prior to that moment of the episode-and-series-ending departure of the show’s two final characters, the writers had given pretty much all the other actors ( in ascending order ) a chance to exchange “goodbyes” among each other, to dramatize the relationships that had formed over the years.
It’s been a while since I watched that episode, but I remember they started with all the helpers, supply clerks, then nurses, then the company clerk, etc, and then they worked their way up the food chain .
First it was something like Rizzo then Klinger then Winchester, Houlihan, Potter, etc, and finally, B.J. and Hawkeye,
Then, the top two went their separate ways.
Totally FICTIONAL people, yet, I was actually sad to see them go.
The Last Episode of Barney Miller
The final episode of the Barney Miller show also exited in a similar manner.
They started out with a large group of former characters ( victims and criminals, alike ) that, after hearing the word that the 12th Precinct was closing, actually stopped into the squad room to say goodbye to the detectives who had either helped or arrested them in the past.
Somehow, though, I would not envision that someone who got sent to jail, would be interested in socializing with the officers who arrested them in the first place. But that’s just me, I suppose.
One by one, everyone left the squad room until there was just Barney and his top three detectives —Wojo, Harris, and Dietrich, played by Max Gail, Ron Glass, and the late Steve Landesberg, respectively.
The three detectives offer to take Barney out for one last drink together, but in his perpetually-aloof way, he declined the offer ( twice! ) and the three detectives finally exit the squad room.
Barney looks around, momentarily reminiscing about some of the other former police officer characters like Fish ( played by Abe Vigoda) and Wentworth ( Linda Lavin ) who also had their funny moments.
Finally, ( with a screen wipe that implied some time had passed by—whether that be five minutes or an hour, who knows?) there’s Barney, all by himself, standing there, with a small cardboard box filled with his personal belongings ( office knick knacks, coffee mugs, family photos, and what-have-you ) and he takes one last look around the squad room, heads toward the squad room door, opens it, reaches for the light switch, turns off the light, closes the door behind himself, a farewell salutation from the show’s producers is displayed on the screen, and the audience applauds……for the VERY LAST TIME.
NO ONE says, “See you tomorrow,” because they know that’s not going to happen…ever again.
They could waste their time and show up the next day just for “reminiscing-about-happy-sad-and-bittersweet-moments” purposes, but the building would be likely locked up, or if it was open, most of the lights would be off, and all the hallways and rooms darkened, and the silence would be deafening.
The finality of it all is just so unsettling for me.
Again : FICTIONAL people, that I will miss dearly.
I raise this fictional “Last Episode” issue simply because of a VERY REAL “last episode” of my own.
The Last Episode of “Recco Tool”
Specifically, the company that I started at in 1998 finally went the way of the dinosaur, and became extinct in 2016.
The myriad reasons for our demise is another story for another article, but today, suffice it to say that, like Hawkeye and Barney, I had seen so many faces come and go while I worked there; and to know that my face was one of the THREE FINAL SOULS to inhabit this company’s payroll, was somehow, like I said, unsettling for me.
I’ve sat at three different desks over the years.
I could easily do a Barney Miller and reminisce about all the things that have occurred over the DECADES, and the people that made those things happen.
But many of the people that once inhabited a work station at this company are now deceased.
The original owner, Wes, passed away going on 14 years ago this November; Harry ( our shipping clerk) , and Bill ( one of our drivers ) both have passed away within the past ten years.
Of those that are still alive, most probably would NOT feel any deeply-felt connections to us here; but just having known their names and faces, has me thinking that I’ll always remember them.
I wasn’t the Hawkeye or Barney Miller of our company—more like a Radar O’Riley who outlasted everyone who worked here, except the owner’s son, who became the owner upon his father’s earthly departure in 2006.
Call me a sentimental fool, but I was constantly reminiscing about the “good ol’ days” even before my final day at the company.
We all saw the rapidly-approaching curtain call.
The phones LITERALLY were’t ringing anymore. There were no customers walking in off the street or contractor pickups; there were no cars in the parking lot, except, of course, the three employee vehicles—the owner, the repair guy, and yours truly.
Missing was the fume-spewing, rumble of diesel engines as trucks come and go picking up repaired tools and dropping off broken ones ; there was no sound of the two large overhead doors opening and closing in the process of interacting with the customers’ pickups and dropoffs; There was no sound of a radio, or two, playing in the background; there was no sound of employees talking and laughing.
The place was dead quiet.
Everyone was gone, and I frequently stood alone, momentarily reminiscing, in an empty, unlit, echo-filled hallway as the business sun set on the company….for the very last time.
“There won’t be a tomorrow.” I thought to myself, as I remember that the very last sound I heard was the sound of the very last paycheck being printed, and the printer, itself, being turned off…for the very last time.
Listening to the silence, one could easily hear a pin drop.
I followed my boss to the front door as he opened it, offering me the opportunity to be the first through the doorway, and he followed me through, closing it behind us, sticking the key into the lock one last time, turning the key, hearing the click of the tumblers, and knowing the door is locked…for the very last time.
He momentarily stared at the key and silently contemplated reflectively, then put the entire key ring into his pocket since his keyless, remotely-started vehicle was already running with a pre-air conditioned interior for the 19-mile ride home from work….for the very last time
Actually, Mike did come in regularly for another month afterward to tidy up loose ends, but our exit was the true finale as a company opened to the public.
He looked at me, and reached to shake my hand—for the very last time.
“Well, Floyd?…Here we are. This is it, brother. It’s time to go home from here…for good. I can’t say, ‘ See ya’ Monday’, ’cause, well,….ya’ know…”
“Yeah. ” I quietly replied trying to fight back a tear or two, ( looking around the soon-to-be-abandoned-looking-and-weed-infested-and-fenced-in parking lot, remembering all the vehicles that called this place, “work”…and all the different vehicles I drove throughout my years of working here….’ Barney Miller-ing’, the paking lot, so to speak.) “…I’m gonna miss this place.”
He silently nodded in agreement as I let go of his hand, and I walked off to my car in this parking lot…for the very last time.
“Take care, Floyd.”
“You, too, Mike.”
I walked over to my car, got in, started it up, and revved the engine to ensure a full, complete start on the first try—since, in my experience, cars that don’t start successfully on the first attempt, almost always glitch out on the second attempt, making me a bit nervous that it might NOT start at all.
For me, I’ve always had a “Hope Diamond” type of bad luck with all the cars I’ve had in the past.
It either starts on the first attempt ( VROOM!) OR….. I go into panic mode.
My officially-now-ex-boss looked over at me, sitting in my car, making sure that my car started ( HE KNEW MY LUCK! ).
I revved the engine again, he heard it, and nodded, acknowledging that he knew it was running.
I normally closed the gate at night. But that day, for obvious symbolic and sentimental reasons, he wanted to do the honors; and so, I put the car in gear, and slowly pulled out of my parking spot—for the very last time.
I honked the horn and waved…one last time, as I pulled out of the parking lot and out onto the street …for the very last time.
And I drove so slowly—I deliberately put on my flashers so I could go as slow as possible—so I could glance into my side-view mirror, and watch my boss CLOSE AND LOCK THE GATE on the parking lot…for the very last time.
Zoom! Zoom! Cars passed me on the left as I crawled along the road peering into my mirror, watching ever-so-intensely.
“Click.”
From a block away, I could almost hear the sound of the lock’s shackle grab the tumbler—for the very last time.
“It’s Official : we are closed and out of business….for good…..I’m never coming back.” I couldn’t stop thinking.
Having seen the final deed done (i.e., locking the parking lot’s gate) , I turned my flashers off, and watched Mike get into his Ford Escape, and then, I resumed a normal speed, as I pulled away from work….for the very last time.
I continued to drive somewhat slower than my usual five-miles-over-the-speed-limit driving M.O., hoping that my now-ex-boss could catch up to me in traffic, so I could say, “There’s goes my boss—hopefully NOT for the very last time….since I still need a boss, or, at least, income of some sort.”
In closing, the first part of the journey home had me wishing—sentimentally, of course—that I could have left a message spelled out on the roof or hanging on the fence for all to see : “Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen”.
How am I gonna pay my mortgage now?
Bye, Mike. Bye, Recco.