For five iconic seasons, Larry Linville made audiences laugh and cringe as the pompous, insecure Major Frank Burns on MASH*. His character was the perfect foil, a man viewers loved to hate. Yet, in his final days, Linville carried a profound fear: that the world would remember him only as that bumbling villain, overshadowing the thoughtful actor and friend he truly was. This fear led to one of the most poignant farewells in television history—a late-night phone call to his former co-star, Loretta Swit.
The call came two weeks before Linville’s passing in 2000. Awoken from sleep, Swit heard the fragile voice of a man she hadn’t spoken to in years. He revealed he was dying of cancer and carried a heavy regret for letting their friendship drift apart after his departure from the show. But his deepest confession was about his legacy. He asked Swit a final, vulnerable request: not to remember him as the actor who walked away or only as Frank Burns, but as “Larry. The man who tried his damnedest to play that fool and still keep his soul.”
Swit’s response offered the absolution he sought. She assured him that was exactly how she saw him—a decent, vulnerable man. In his final days, they reconnected, sharing memories and watching old episodes. His parting words to her, “Goodnight, Margaret,” were met with her reply, “Goodnight, Frank,” a tender acknowledgment of the indelible bond forged through their characters. Linville’s story is a powerful reminder that an actor’s greatest role is often themselves, and that the most enduring legacy is the humanity they share off-screen.
