“So, Alan,” the host said, leaning closer to the microphone, “everyone talks about how brilliant the writing was, but I have to ask about the physical toll. You were shooting out in the Malibu mountains, which doubled for the Korean landscape. Was there ever a day where the elements just entirely stopped production?”

I adjusted my headphones and leaned into my own mic. I had to laugh.

People always think of Southern California as this sunny, perfect paradise where the weather is always entirely agreeable.

But out at the Fox Ranch, where we shot the vast majority of our exterior scenes, it could get bitterly, fiercely cold in the winter months.

And the massive problem was, we were supposed to be in the middle of a sweltering Korean summer for half of these episodes.

We were out there in thin, unlined cotton army fatigues, shivering so hard our teeth were practically rattling in our heads.

I remember we were setting up this one particular shot. It was just me and Wayne Rogers, sitting in one of those authentic, incredibly drafty military jeeps.

We were parked on a dirt road miles from the main lot, and the wind was absolutely howling through the canyon. We could barely feel our fingers.

The camera crew finally took pity on us. One of the prop guys came jogging over and brought us this tiny little portable butane heater.

The idea was incredibly simple. We’d put the heater on the metal floorboard of the jeep, right between Wayne’s feet.

Then we’d drape a thick, olive-drab wool army blanket over our laps to trap the heat, hiding the whole setup from the camera lens.

It felt like an absolute stroke of genius. For the first time all day, we were finally warm.

The director yelled action, and Wayne started driving the jeep down the dusty road.

He was delivering his dialogue perfectly, doing that classic, dry Trapper John deadpan that he was so brilliant at executing.

But right in the middle of the scene, I noticed Wayne’s expression suddenly change.

He didn’t break character, but his eyes got incredibly wide.

Then I smelled something strange. It was this harsh, acrid scent mixing with the freezing mountain air.

Wayne’s voice started going up an octave. He was squirming awkwardly in the driver’s seat.

I looked down, and a thin, grayish ribbon of smoke was creeping out from under the heavy wool blanket.

And that’s when it happened.

Wayne suddenly screamed, stomped heavily on the brakes, and practically vaulted over the steering wheel of the jeep.

He threw the heavy army blanket into the dirt and started doing this frantic, wild tap dance right there in the middle of the road.

The host of the podcast burst out laughing just listening to me tell it, but I promise you, it was a hundred times funnier in person.

Wayne’s pants were literally on fire.

The little butane heater had tipped over while he was navigating the bumpy road, and the open flame had caught the edge of his cotton fatigue trousers.

Because he was trapped under the tight steering wheel, he hadn’t fully realized it until the heat actually reached his shin.

“Cut! Cut!” the director was screaming, completely bewildered by why his leading man was suddenly doing a frantic jig in the Malibu dust.

The entire crew froze for a split second, trying to process exactly what was happening.

And then absolute chaos erupted across the set.

One of the grip guys came sprinting over with a heavy canvas sandbag, looking like he was going to beat Wayne’s leg with it to smother the flames.

A production assistant grabbed a bucket of icy water we had been using for a wash basin in a previous background shot and hurled the entire thing at Wayne.

The water hit him right in the chest.

So now, Wayne Rogers is standing in the middle of a freezing mountain pass, soaking wet, shivering uncontrollably, with a massive, blackened hole smoldering near his left calf.

He just stood there, looking down at his ruined leg, then slowly looked up at me.

“Well,” Wayne deadpanned, his teeth chattering loudly. “I’m warm now, Alan.”

I lost it. I completely lost it.

I doubled over holding my stomach, laughing so hard that absolutely no sound was coming out.

The cameraman started laughing so violently that you could physically see the heavy Panavision camera bouncing up and down on the tripod.

Once everyone realized Wayne wasn’t actually hurt—just thoroughly soaked and missing a good chunk of his wardrobe—the entire set broke down.

The director was wiping tears from his eyes, leaning against the camera dolly just trying to catch his breath.

But the absolute best part of this entire ridiculous ordeal was the continuity issue.

We were miles away from the wardrobe department at the 20th Century Fox studio lot.

Wayne didn’t have a backup pair of those specific, perfectly weathered pants.

The director, still chuckling, walked over and examined the charred, dripping fabric.

“We have to finish the day,” the director sighed. “We’re just going to shoot you from the waist up.”

So we eventually got back into the jeep. Without the heater this time, obviously.

Wayne was sitting in a puddle of freezing water, his leg exposed to the biting wind, trying to pretend it was a blistering July afternoon in Uijeongbu.

“Action,” the director called out.

Wayne turned to me, ready to deliver this incredibly dry, sarcastic line about military bureaucracy.

But I simply couldn’t look him in the eye.

Every time I glanced over, I saw this blackened, singed hole in his pants out of the corner of my eye. It looked so ridiculous against his serious expression.

I started giggling. Then Wayne started giggling.

We ruined take after take. The director would call action, Wayne would open his mouth, and the two of us would just dissolve into absolute hysterics.

We must have done seven or eight takes.

The poor camera crew had to keep cutting because they couldn’t hold the camera steady.

Even the sound guy had to pull his headphones off because our relentless laughter was blowing out the microphones.

Wayne eventually tried to play the scene by staring strictly at the jeep’s windshield, refusing to look at me, but the sheer absurdity of the situation was entirely too much.

He was a brilliant actor, but trying to maintain that cool Trapper John swagger while wearing soggy, burnt pants in freezing weather was a bridge too far.

The podcast host was wiping his own eyes by the time I finished telling the story.

“That is the magic of the show,” the host said. “You guys really were trying to survive out there.”

And he was exactly right. We were making a show about people finding humor in impossible situations, while simultaneously finding humor in our own ridiculous Hollywood problems.

Whenever I see that episode now, I don’t hear the dialogue. I just remember the smell of burnt cotton and Wayne Rogers doing a tap dance in the dirt.

Humor really is the ultimate survival tool, whether you’re in a medical unit or just freezing on a television set trying to get through the workday.

What is the hardest you have ever laughed at the absolute worst possible moment?