In the mid-1970s, the cast of M*A*S*H gathered for a press junket in Los Angeles. The show was soaring in the ratings, but women in Hollywood were still fighting to be taken seriously.
A reporter raised his hand, smirked, and asked Loretta in front of everyone:
“Loretta, be honest — do you think men tune in for your acting… or just to see how tight your uniform looks on TV?”
Some journalists laughed. Others actually wrote it down, ready to turn a cheap insult into tomorrow’s headline. Loretta sat frozen — her back straight, her lips pressed tight, refusing to let them see her hurt.
That’s when Larry Linville, sitting right next to her, leaned toward the microphones. In a steady, sharp voice he said:
“Ask her about her work, not her body. She carries this show with her talent, and you should damn well respect that.”
The room fell silent. The smirks disappeared. And for the first time that afternoon, the questions turned serious.
Loretta never forgot it. “Larry gave me dignity when others tried to strip it away,” she later said. “Without him, Margaret Houlihan wouldn’t have grown into the woman she became.”
Larry Linville may have played the cowardly Frank Burns on screen, but off screen he proved himself a true gentleman — the kind of friend who knew when to fight for you.
Tonight, we remember both of them — not just as characters on M*A*S*H, but as two souls bound by respect, laughter, and courage.
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