Keep writing, Kid

 

“Keep Writing, Kid” — Harry Morgan’s Last Letter to Gary Burghoff

In the final winter of Harry Morgan’s life, when his hands had grown unsteady and his days had become quieter, he asked his wife to bring him a stack of old stationery. The kind he used to keep in his desk on the MAS*H set — simple, cream-colored pages he often used to write notes to the crew.

He told her, “I need to write to Gary.”

For a long time, he just sat there, holding the pen. The man who once commanded the 4077th with warmth and humor now moved slowly, carefully, choosing every word as if he were stitching a wound. Gary Burghoff wasn’t just a former co-star to him. He was “Radar.” His kid. The gentle soul who gave MAS*H its heart.

The letter took Harry nearly an entire afternoon to finish. When he sealed the envelope, he smiled the way Colonel Potter used to smile after saying something he truly meant.

Days later, Gary opened his mailbox at his quiet home in Connecticut and saw Harry’s handwriting — shaky, but unmistakably his.

Inside was a single page.

“Dear Kid,” it began.

Gary froze. No one had called him that in decades. Only one man ever said it with affection instead of condescension. Only one man made it feel like a badge of honor.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Harry wrote. “About those days on set. About the mornings you’d come in with a drawing tucked under your arm. About the way you softened every scene just by walking into it.”

Gary had to sit down.

The letter continued:

“You always had a gift, long before the cameras started rolling. Not just acting — that was easy for you. I mean the gift of gentleness. The world is starving for it, Radar. And you always had more of it than anyone I ever met.”

Gary wiped his eyes. He could picture Harry saying it, voice steady, eyes warm.

“And so I’m writing to ask you this,” the letter said. “Don’t stop creating. Don’t stop writing. Don’t stop painting. Don’t stop bringing that softness into the world. We needed it in Korea — and we sure as hell need it now.”

Near the bottom of the page, Harry had added a line that Gary would later frame above his desk:

“Keep writing, kid. Your heart is still your best talent.”

Weeks later, Harry Morgan passed away. When the news reached Gary, he went into his studio, closed the door, and read the letter again — slowly this time, letting every word land.

Friends say he cried harder that day than he had in years.

He folded the letter carefully, placed it in a wooden box next to his old MAS*H dog tags, and said quietly to the empty room:

“Goodbye, Colonel.”

Harry Morgan didn’t leave behind just a legacy of kindness onscreen. He left behind one last piece of wisdom — a reminder to keep creating, to keep caring, to keep offering the world a little more gentleness.

And Gary has kept that promise.

All because one man took the time, at the end of his own life, to say:

“Keep writing, kid.”

#fblifestyle

Hot, hot, hot in the Valley

 81 degrees and humid in La Feria, TX at 7:00 pm Friday.  Has been 15 to 20 degrees warmer than normal with high humidity for the last several weeks, according to TV Weather Reporters.

Got our under-counter water
filters renewed.

Thursday evening we went to McAllen for our first, of the season, concert, one of 5 concerts between now and mid-March.  Click here to see schedule   This one was 5 guys playing Trombone, Trombone, French Horn, Trumpet and Trumpet.  

Their story

Rest of their story

They had a variety of music, comedy, phylical antics, and made an enjoyable different evening.

One of their many mini-skits.

We ate at 492 BBQ in Mission before going to the concert.  Our barbershop group is eating there at noon on December 1st to help our chorus Director celebrate his 89th birthday.  With it being a rather large group, maybe as many as 30, I am helping with arranging to get orders from our chorus members and having them to the restaurant before hand so any fresh-made barbecue can be made up ahead of time.

Wednesday evening we went to church
 choir practice in Harlingen. 

 

Couple

photos

of our

grandson-

inlaw and

great

grandson

a couple

years 

apart.

At Darrell's in Miami - 2010

Below - some

old photos 

that came up

on memories

lately.

At the Rec Hall - Christmas
Dinner 2015

Grandpa Kermit
Miles with
Cameron - late
1960's

Probably 1968 or 69

Later, LCM

"GROWING UP IN THE 50's

 This is obviously not mine,  but interesting.....Lynn 

Growing up in the fifties, things were so different. They really were! 

Women would breastfeed their baby anywhere and no one thought anything about it.  They might or might not cover their breast. 

Not many people had bathrooms and if they did they had a bathtub and no shower. 

Many of us girls aspired to be a home-maker as a career. Home economics was a popular class. 

We were given more responsibility, especially watching younger children. 

We would play outside in the woods or river all day long. Boys started hunting at an early age. We had few store bought toys. We mostly got a sock with candy, fruit and nuts for Christmas. 

Most churches gave brown paper bags with candy, oranges, apples and nuts to all the children who attended Christmas services. Almost all churches had a Christmas play. Most grade schools had Christmas plays. Grade schools and some high schools had a morning devotional. Many high schools had Bible clubs. Grade schools had missionaries who came around once a month and told stories with flannel boards. If we learned 250 Bible verses in school we would get a free week at Bible camp. 

We all sat down at the table for supper. We ate a home made breakfast. The cafeteria at school had home cooked meals that were amazing. We drank milk at school lunch in cafeteria. We walked to the drug store if we did not carry our lunch or eat at the cafeteria. The drug stores sold amazing hamburgers and hotdogs. Hotdogs came with chili. 

Girls wore dresses (with a slip) no woman or girl went without a slip for fear of being ‘sunned’. We drank milk or kool aide for dinner and supper. Dinner was at lunch time and supper was in the evening. 

We spent a lot of time outside. Neighbors were allowed to discipline us if we were bad or rude. 

We used Mrs or Mr and sir and mam. We got switched with a keen switch that we had to go get for the disciplining. 

When a person was dying, they often preferred to die at home and neighbors would gather and sit with them. A dead person would be brought home for one night before the funeral. Funerals were at the church not the funeral chapel. Someone would go around the neighborhood and collect money for flowers. Women from church or the community would go into the home and clean the house to prepare for the setting up. Food was brought. 

Most of the time women would be buried in a sort of gown. I think it was called a shourd I forgot how the men were dressed. Funeral flowers had large ribbons on them and after the funeral the ribbons would be gathered and given to the family. Sometimes they would be made into quilts or other keepsakes. Children attended funerals and learned early that death was a part of living. 

Most people attended the church in their neighborhood regardless of the denomination. We were baptized in the river. Most churches had an all day meeting and dinner on the ground. 

Memorial Day was called decoration day and was very important to mountain people.

Many people ate squirrels, rabbits, ground hog and some ate raccoon and opossum and most fished a lot. 

We ate mostly vegetables. Pinto beans, cornbread and fried potatoes was eaten at least a couple of times a week. We seldom ate between meals and if we did it usually would be fat back and a biscuit left over from breakfast. We had biscuits for breakfast almost every day. 

Hamburgers and hot dogs were a treat and so was pop. 

We loved holidays and seldom missed a parade. Paper fans advertising funerals were used in church in the summer. 

We would run outside if we heard a plane so we could see it. Big planes broke the sound barrier and made a loud noise and we loved that. 

Once a small plane crashed and the pilot had parachuted out. He left the parachute which was a bright color between orange and yellow. My brothers and cousin got it and divided the material for mama and my aunt. They made curtains, pillow covers, aprons and there may still be things around made out of it. 

Books were scarce. Some people did not have electricity. Most houses did not have closets but if they did they were small. 

We never lived in a house that was painted. You read your own electric meter. Most people had a garden. Most people canned their food for winter. We cooked everything from scratch. 

Fast food was when mama hurried and built a fire in the cook stove and heated up soup beans and made corn bread while the potatoes were frying! We charged things at the local stores and paid them on payday. We were given a bag of all sorts of penny candy whe it wsd paid. Most people seldom bought ‘light’ bread. Few people ate sandwiches. We didnt buy buns for hamburger or hot dogs. We used regular bread. If we ran out of sugar or some other small thing we would borrow from a neighbor instead of running to the store. We saved food scraps to feed dogs, cats and hogs. Nothing was wasted. Most women sewed. Many quilted. We gathered at grandmas house or another relatives, for Sunday dinner. We often had someone else at our table for a meal. We offered a meal to anyone who stopped by.  

Ok what did I forget??? Have a good evening!!!

Texas Happenings

81 degrees here in La Feria, tX at 9:50 am Wednesday - predicted high of 90º this afternoon.

I put in an extra panel for our
Bouganvilia plants

This main plant is really growing tall!

Here are a couple photos I captured off video of brother Darrell & nephew Jonathan's choir in Leesburg, Florida last Sunday.

And, here are a couple taken from video of last Sunday's service in Harlingen, Texas where we both sing in the choir.

Last week we spent time in Mexico at the Dentist Office, both of us needing work on replacing teeth.  We return today (in a few minutes) for Phyllis' work and I am to go back next Monday.

One night last week we helped Lisa Urban celebrate her 63rd birthday with a shrimp boil, and lots of silly hats.  She and her husband, Tom, started back to Pennsylvania yesterday to spend holidays with family and will return around Christmas time.  They bought Darlene Winslow's home and expanded it with a big Texas Room.

One night a week ago we attended a concert in McAllen.

Gotta run, leaving for Nuevo Progreso in Mexico.

Later, Lynn

Dale Evans

 She lost her baby daughter and was told to hide the tragedy—instead, she wrote a book that changed how America saw children with disabilities forever.

Before Dale Evans became the "Queen of the West," she was Frances Octavia Smith—a small-town Texas girl with a big voice and even bigger dreams.

Born in Uvalde in 1912, Frances discovered early that music was her escape, her joy, her calling. She sang on radio stations across the country, reinventing herself as "Dale Evans"—a name that would eventually become synonymous with American values, faith, and the golden age of Hollywood.

In the early 1940s, 20th Century Fox took notice. Her cheerful personality and vocal talent landed her roles in musical films, and her star began to rise.

But in 1944, everything changed.

She was cast opposite a charming cowboy named Roy Rogers in "The Cowboy and the Señorita." Their chemistry wasn't just good—it was electric. What started as professional partnership soon became something deeper.

On New Year's Eve 1947, Dale Evans became Mrs. Roy Rogers.

Together, they created magic. Over 30 films. The legendary "Roy Rogers Show" that captivated America from 1951 to 1957. Dale wasn't just a sidekick—she was spirited, resourceful, and equal to any cowboy on screen. She could sing, act, ride horses, and hold her own in any adventure.

She also wrote. Prolifically.

Dale composed over 400 songs, including the one that would become their eternal signature: "Happy Trails." Every week, millions of families gathered around television sets to hear that warm, hopeful melody that promised, no matter what happened, there were always happy trails ahead.

But behind the cameras, Dale's trail wasn't always happy.

In 1950, she and Roy welcomed a daughter, Robin Elizabeth. The baby was born with Down syndrome—at a time when doctors routinely advised parents to institutionalize such children and "forget about them."

Dale and Roy refused.

For two beautiful, heart-wrenching years, they loved Robin with everything they had. When she died just before her second birthday, the world expected Dale to grieve privately and move on.

Instead, she did something revolutionary.

In 1953, Dale published "Angel Unaware"—a book written from Robin's perspective in heaven, describing the love and purpose of her short life. In an era when disabilities were hidden away in shame, Dale Evans brought them into the light with love, faith, and unflinching honesty.

The book became a bestseller. More importantly, it changed hearts.

Thousands of families wrote to Dale, saying her words gave them permission to love their children openly, to reject the stigma, to see blessing instead of burden. She didn't just write a memorial—she sparked a movement toward acceptance and inclusion that predated modern disability rights by decades.

Dale and Roy went on to adopt several children, including children with special needs, creating a blended family that reflected their belief that every child deserves love and belonging.

Through it all, Dale kept creating. She wrote dozens of inspirational books. She performed. She advocated. She lived her faith not just in words, but in action.

When Dale Evans passed away on February 7, 2001, at age 88, she left behind more than movies and music. She left a blueprint for how to turn grief into purpose, how to use platform for good, and how to love without limits.

She proved that a woman could be tough and tender, successful and faithful, a star and a servant.

And every time someone hums "Happy Trails," her legacy rides on—a reminder that the best journeys aren't measured in miles, but in the hearts we touch along the way.

Some trails never end. They just keep leading us home.

Grace Ingalls

 While her sister became famous writing about the prairie, Grace Ingalls was the one who remembered what the wildflowers actually looked like.

Grace Pearl Ingalls was born on May 23, 1877, in Burr Oak, Iowa—the baby of the family, arriving during one of the hardest years the Ingalls family would face. By the time she took her first breath, her parents had already survived blizzards, poverty, grasshopper plagues, and the slow, cruel loss of their daughter Mary's eyesight.

Grace grew up in Laura's shadow, but she didn't seem to mind.

She was the quiet one. The steady one. While Laura dreamed big and wrote bigger, Grace became a schoolteacher, just like her sisters before her. She studied at Redfield College, then taught in Manchester—close enough to ride home to De Smet on weekends, close enough to help when Ma needed another pair of hands.

In 1901, she married Nathan William Dow, a local farmer with kind eyes and calloused hands. They never had children, but their home was never empty. There were always nieces and nephews visiting, neighbors who needed help, students who stopped by long after they'd left her classroom.

Grace didn't write her story down. She lived it instead.

When their parents passed away—Pa in 1902, Ma in 1924—someone had to care for Mary, who had been blind since the age of fourteen and had spent her entire adult life dependent on family. That someone was Grace.

For years, Grace balanced her own household with caring for her older sister. She'd describe the world Mary couldn't see—the way sunlight looked on snow, how the prairie grass moved like ocean waves, the exact shade of blue in a robin's egg. The same details Laura would later pour into her books.

Because here's what most people don't know: when Laura started writing the Little House series in her sixties, she'd ask Grace to remember.

What did the house in Burr Oak look like? What flowers grew by Plum Creek? What songs did Ma sing while she churned butter?

Grace's memory became Laura's manuscript.

She worked as a local newspaper correspondent for years, writing small stories about small-town life—church socials, school programs, weather reports. Nothing that would make her famous. Everything that made her community work.

In 1932, the same year Laura's first book was published, Grace fell seriously ill with diabetes. This was before insulin was widely available, before the disease was manageable. Her body slowly failed her—the same body that had walked miles to schoolhouses, carried water from wells, cared for a blind sister through decades of dependence.

As Grace grew weaker, Carrie—the middle sister, the survivor, the one who outlived them all—would visit the hospital. And legend says she brought something special with her: a copy of "Little House in the Big Woods."

Imagine that moment.

Grace, dying slowly in a hospital bed, listening to her sister read their childhood back to them. Hearing Laura's words describe the very memories Grace had helped preserve. The wildflowers she'd named. The hillsides she'd remembered. The home she'd helped Laura rebuild on paper.

Grace died on November 10, 1941, at the age of 64.

The obituary was small. Local. Nothing like the attention Laura's death would receive twelve years later.

But here's what matters: Laura's books have sold over 60 million copies. They've been translated into 45 languages. Millions of children have fallen in love with a prairie childhood they never lived, described in details so vivid they feel like memory.

And some of those details—maybe more than we know—came from the sister who didn't write them down.

Grace didn't need to be famous. She was the kind of person who makes fame possible for others. She remembered the wildflowers so Laura could write about them. She cared for Mary so Laura could have time to work. She lived the quiet, devoted life that holds families together while one person reaches for the stars.

Every time you read about Ma's button lamp or the sound of Pa's fiddle or the exact way sunlight looked on new snow, remember:

Somewhere behind those words was Grace, closing her eyes, reaching back across decades, and saying, "It looked like this."

She may not have written the books.

But she lived the life they honored.

And she helped her sister remember it right.

In our winter home in Texas!

86º with bright sunshine, humidity 39% here in La Feria, Texas at 3:00 pm Wednesday.

I found this little ditty was interesting ----" I went to a mixed religious convention today.  The Christian priest held my hand and said “By the Will of Jesus Christ, you will walk today.  I smiled and said ”I'm not paralyzed.“  Then the Rabbi took  my hand and said, ”By the will of God Almighty, you will walk today.“  Again, I said, ”I'm fine really.“  Then the Buddhist monk said, ”By the will of Buddha, you will walk today.“  I rolled my eyes.  After the service...I went outside and saw my car had been stolen."

We arrived at our winter home about 6:30 pm Sunday evening after driving about 560 miles that day with the trailer behind us. 

We had left our Clarinda home about 9:00 am (after routine doctor appointments at the hospital) and made it the nearly 500 miles to an RV campground in Cape Girardeau by that evening.

We spent Thursday and Friday with my brother Don and his wife Vicki at the Chaateau Girardeau care facility.

This is us waiting for the doctor in the
hospital waiting room in Clarinda.

Waiting with Don.

Waiting with Don.

Vicki had an appointment with a dentist and the Chateau's van took her to it.  Us waiting with Don on his Ground Floor hall by his dining room until about 11:30 am when they let them into the diining room.  And then we went up near the main entrance and waited for Vicki.  There had been some confusion on the part of the driver and she had to wait nearly 45 minutes afer her checkukp for a ride back.

We took Vicki and got a bite to eat at Chick Fila since she had missed her lunch, then stopped at some shops, Doller Tree, Hobby Lobby and went to a T-Mobile store to return our Home WIFI we use in Clarinda that they wouldnt put on vacation without sevearal dollars a month.  

We returned to the Chateau by 4 pm and was down on Don's floor before 4:30 when we ate with them.  Don is getting so feeble standing or walking so is not possible for him to get into the pickup.  They are not even taking him to church in the car account him being dead weight to transfer.  When he gets up to move to a chair he has to be pulled up, then he takes probably 15 teeny steps to turn to sit down at the next place, wobbling all the time. After eating we did play dominoes.

Friday we picked Vicki up after lunch and went to Walmart in Jackson, MO.

Played some more

dominoes Friday evening.

Both nights I rolled Don down the long hall to his bedroom, which he shares with a retired Veternarian.

He is nearly non-verbal, does what he is told to do and is assisted a lot by the nurses, etc. He never seems upset at anything, but doesn't really smile, either.  We told both of them we would see them in April as we return from the Valley.

Photo in Vicki's apartment - from 5-29-24

Our bougainvillea's are doing well.

We went to the first, of this season, Barbershop Chorus practice Tuesday in McAllen, Texas.  Had 19 people there, not bad for this early.  Hope for another 10 to 15.

This morning we went up the office Lounge for coffee and donuts put on by the staff.

Takes a lot of time getting everything from the trailer, pickukp, into the house and Texas Room and situated.  Put up the two awnings that are lowered while we are gone, filled the hot-tub with water (nice to use that since our one in Clarinda sprung a leak and we don't have one there). Took down the Rigid Rib panel I put over the north door of the Texas Room. 

 Had a noise show up with the differential to the front wheels of the pickukp about 20 miles before getting here Sunday -- my local mechanic fouind the oil it it appeared a little low and maybe hadn't ever been changed--only have 186,000 miles on it.   He changed it, with some additive and it seems to be okay now.  We will be heading uptown to Harlingin for the 7:05 pm choir practice after bit.

I need to add this -- our park Maintance Man was here earlier and had to take off some skirting to crawl under our unit to take pictures of our water meter, then let it run 10 gallons and take another photo.  It seems like someone, I don't kknow if it was RHP, the owners, or the water people, thought the meter wasn't working since there was no register of usage this summer.  We turned the water off on March 28th and just returned.  Whoever it was apparently doesn't understand seasanal usage of these units!

Till next time, LCM