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August, 2004, LOS ANGELES - I have been privileged in my life to work with many groundbreakers, real pioneers in television, who have become legends. This month, I participated in three major conventions that celebrated three of these noteworthy individuals.
The first of these was a rarely produced convention built around the classic television series created by Rod Serling, "The Twilight Zone." This event was, for me, a tribute to the genius of a master storyteller and dramatist.
Serling was a writer whose work I first saw on the distinguished live television series "Playhouse 90" when I was a teenager. His dialogue was tough yet sensitive; real and yet poetic. His characters were strong, determined but flawed people. I was particularly impressed by his drama "Requiem for a Heavyweight" that starred Jack Palance. Serling won three Emmys for his writing among his many other awards. He saw television as more than a theater of personal human dramas but as a powerful medium for addressing issues of the times as well. Like other iconoclasts in television, however, he met resistance from the networks. Frustrated by the battles he had to fight, he came up with a creative solution. He would slip his controversial issues under the network radar, disguised as fantasy or science fiction. He created a new series titled "The Twilight Zone," and thus made television history.
A year before I worked on the "Star Trek" pilot, I was cast in an episode of "The Twilight Zone" titled "The Encounter." It was a red meat acting role in a two-character drama with that fine actor, Neville Brand. Working on that episode was a tremendously fulfilling experience. As a fan of the creator of the show, I got an unexpected treat. That special bonus was the opportunity of meeting the man whom I had so admired as a youngster, Rod Serling. As the host of the series, he welcomed the audience at the opening and then the close of each episode in his deep, sonorous voice. He filmed these pieces in batches of about half a dozen, all in a few hours. Thus, actors working on the series did not necessarily get to meet Serling. So, it was a special thrill for me to watch him film his intros and closes, then to chat with him when he was finished. His voice was as resonant in life as in film and he was as warm and gracious as I had imagined him to be. All these memories from forty years ago came flooding back to me at "The Twilight Zone" convention.
What a trip down the proverbial "memory lane" the convention was. So many of the actors who had worked on the series were there. Shelley Berman, Theodore Bikel, Terry Becker, with whom I had worked on "Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea," H.M. Wynant, who had also impressed me on so many "Playhouse 90" dramas, Lloyd Bochner, who I liked on the series "Hong Kong," Paul Comi, who played my cohort navigator on a first season episode of "Star Trek," France Nuyen, who played the Elaan of Troyus on an episode of "Star Trek" and so many others, were all there. The convention was one that brought back so many fond memories - and the most prominent presence there was the spirit of that venturesome and imaginative television pioneer, Rod Serling.
Then, I flew to Toronto, Canada, for a gigantic convention that combined four genres, sci-fi, anime, comics, and horror movies. It attracted over 25,000 fans. Any convention that might have any part of it dedicated to science fiction, by definition, would be paying tribute to Gene Roddenberry, the creator of "Star Trek" and another visionary iconoclast of television. His contribution to television legend would be well represented. Patrick Stewart and I were the "Star Trek" guests. On arrival in Toronto, I was alarmed to learn that Patrick could not make it due to an angioplasty procedure that had to be performed on him. I was assured that he was making good, steady recovery. In his place, Michael Dorn and Levar Burton of "The Next Generation" stepped in to fill the breach. The convention was an enormous success. The organizers told me this was the biggest gathering of its kind in Canada and I certainly believed them. It was huge.
This popular convention had, for me, however, a different complication. I was contracted to do this August convention in Toronto many months before and I was also to be doing a very special convention - my dear friend, Jimmy Doohan's final public appearance - in June back in Hollywood. But when it was learned that Jimmy would, at long last, be receiving his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in August, the date of his convention was suddenly changed to the very same weekend that I was scheduled to do this Toronto convention. I had a contract and now a dilemma. I couldn't be in two places in two countries on the same weekend. Thanks to my business manager's good negotiating skills, I was released from the last day of the Toronto convention so that I could fly back to Hollywood to do the "Beam me up Scotty... One Last Time" convention. I flew in the dark of early Sunday morning on the "red eye" flight back to Los Angeles for the final day of Jimmy's last convention. It was a rough journey but it was for a beloved friend.
This convention was the most personal, the most heartfelt, and more than a little bitter sweet. Jimmy had been diagnosed with early Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, and other diseases. I had lost my mother to Alzheimer's just two years before. I know from experience what challenges lie ahead.
But Jimmy was in fine spirits at the convention. He was rolled out to me in his wheel chair. He looked wonderful. His eyes sparkled with joy and his smile was radiant. When I bent over to him and said, "It's great to see you Jimmy," he repeated in a whispery voice, "It's great to see you, George." His hand had lost his familiar firm grip but he held on to mine and wouldn't let go. I love this man, this old pal, this guy I used to call my favorite drinking buddy. I introduced him to sushi way back when and he had become an enthusiastic sushi connoisseur.
We had shared so much of our lives together - working on "Star Trek," doing conventions together throughout the world, even going into business together selling cosmetics. And, he is a first rate professional. When it came time to pose for photos with the cast, he was there smiling throughout. I suspected he was tired, but he has the resilience of a "black Irishman." Yes, he is Irish - although he has drunk enough Scotch to be able to claim a lot of Scotch in him. All the activity and excitement must have been exhausting for him, but he sparkled the whole time.
The unveiling of the James Doohan star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame was two days later on a Tuesday. So many of Jimmy's family, friends, colleagues, and fans were gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Hollywood Entertainment Museum. Jimmy's wife, Wende, stood beside him carrying their little four-year-old, Sara, and his children and his many grandchildren were scattered throughout the crowd.
From the cast, Walter Koenig, Nichelle Nichols, Grace Lee Whitney, and I with guest stars Barbra Luna and France Nuyen were there to celebrate this happy day and tribute to Jimmy's career achievement. The bank of photographers and news cameramen punctuated the occasion with calls of "look this way," "now this way please," and "one more this way." The Mayor of Hollywood, Johnny Grant, began the ceremony with his usual flourish. In my congratulatory talk, I said, "This is a galactic day in this town filled with a galaxy of stars. We've gathered from throughout this planet to congratulate you Jimmy, and say to you, we love you. We thank you for your luminous talent. We thank you for the gift of an unforgettable character, that ingenious and beloved engineer who could fix anything. We thank you for who you are and we love you." Jimmy beamed as he clutched the small replica of his star and waved to the gathered fans and press. Jimmy was truly transported. This will be a day I will cherish in my memory.
October, 2002, LOS ANGELES - September was a month rich with resonance from the past. The shock and terror of a year ago still haunts us with silent anxiety. The media, though, was not so quiet. The air was filled with reminders of the horrors of September 11, 2001. There were for me, however, other reminders of other events from history that brought a larger context.
The month began for me with a visit to Sacramento, California. The trip took me back to another kind of horror that occurred almost sixty years ago. I went to my state capital for a reunion of the people interned during World War II in the American internment camp for Japanese Americans in northern California called Tule Lake. That was one of the two camps in which my family and I were incarcerated simply because of our Japanese ancestry. I was the keynote speaker at the reunion banquet. I spoke of my childhood memories of my years of confinement at Tule Lake. I also spoke of the power of our American democracy to learn from and heal the wounds of its past errors. Where else is there a government where the victims of the violation of our civil liberties can initiate a process for redress, with the effort led by Japanese American legislators in the U.S. Congress who themselves had been incarcerated? Where else is there a nation with its Constitutional principals set so shiningly high that its history has been a constant work-in-process? To the elderly people there at that banquet with memories of internment and to the younger people there with searching, inquiring minds about that history, I made the point that ours is a participatory democracy that calls for and is crucially dependent on the involvement of good, principled citizens.
My next trip was to Hawaii. This one took me a few more months further back into history. It was here in Oahu that the attack that precipitated the war occurred at Pearl Harbor. That attack also ignited the hysteria that put Japanese Americans into those internment camps. I had the honor of serving as co-master of ceremonies, together with the first Miss Universe from Hawaii, Angela Baraquio, of a concert called the Aloha Peace Concert. The program was dedicated to world peace sponsored by the International Committee of Artists for Peace. The featured performers were the great jazz artists, pianist Herbie Hancock and saxophonist Wayne Shorter. The show was a huge success and played to a sold-out house.
The irony, however, of a peace concert in the city where an historic war began was compelling. Herbie, Wayne, and I, together with members of the International Committee of Artists for Peace, made a pilgrimage to the Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor. The Hawaiian afternoon was bright and sunny but the atmosphere was solemn as a special U.S. Navy barge took us out to the Arizona Memorial where 1,177 sailors are entombed in the sunken ruins of the battleship, USS Arizona. Floral wreaths had been prepared for us to present to those who perished in the devastating surprise attack. My wreath was on behalf of the Japanese American National Museum. I approached the marble wall etched with the names of those sailors whose bodies lie in the waters just below us. It was these men -- most of them mere boys -- who made the ultimate sacrifice so that we could be there advocating for peace. It was a deeply moving experience.
My final trip of the month was to Washington, DC and the autumn Board of Trustees meeting of the Japanese American National Museum. We had recently become an affiliate of the Smithsonian family of museums, so we scheduled this meeting in a conference hall at the National Museum of American History on the great mall. This trip was also an opportunity for me to connect with more current history.
The Memorial to Japanese American Patriotism during World War II had recently been completed near the Capitol building. The Memorial is made up of a long granite wall with the names of the 10 internment camps and the number of people incarcerated in each. Further down the wall are the names of all the Japanese American soldiers who died fighting for this country in World War II. In the center of the plaza is a sculpture of two cranes caught up in a tangle of barbed wire struggling to reach for the sky. The names of the two camps where I, together with my family, was incarcerated, Rohwer in Arkansas and Tule Lake in California, happened to be placed right next to each other. The irony and the power of this newest of monuments in our national capital is deeply personal to me as well as gravely important to our nation.
At the conclusion of our board meeting, our Museum hosted a symposium addressing the aftermath of September 11th. The participants were Secretary of Transportation Norman Mineta, who happens also to be a trustee of our Museum, and photojournalist Stan Honda, who captured some of the iconic images of the horrors at the World Trade Center on that devastating day. I served as the moderator. Intrinsic to any discussion of September 11th by Japanese Americans is dialogue weighing civil liberty with national security. The generational perspectives brought to the discussion by Secretary Mineta, who had himself been incarcerated during the World War II and Honda, who had not yet been born at the time, added another dimension to the discussion. Nevertheless, there was agreement that our government made a severe Constitutional error then and that Japanese Americans have a singular responsibility to do all that we can to prevent that from being repeated with another group of people just because they happen to "look like the enemy."
The travels of September took me on a time journey from the immediate history of a year ago to those of more than six decades past, then full circle round back to a discussion on the responsibilities we bear as Americans today. We must not forget the lessons from our history. It was a full and thought-provoking month of travels.
September, 2002, LOS ANGELES - Movies are historic documents. They chronicle the times in which they were filmed. Oscar-winning movies in particular, beyond their acknowledged cinema artistry and box office popularity, can illuminate the temper of the country at a point in time. They capture the styles, the social values, and a sense of the political climate of the year in which they won the Academy Award.
This year is the 75th anniversary of the Oscars. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has been celebrating this Diamond Anniversary by screening all of the Academy Award winning Best Pictures in sequence most Monday nights at its Samuel Goldwyn Theater in Beverly Hills. This past month, the Oscar winners from the 1940s have been screened. These award-winning films gave me a good sense of the spirit of this country during those turbulent times.
The 1940 winner was director Alfred Hitchcock's "Rebecca," starring Laurence Olivier, Joan Fontaine, and Judith Anderson. The country was just emerging from the Great Depression and hungering for escape. The people wanted a break from the lingering gloom. Their romantic fantasy was the notion of happiness prevailing over adversity, come what may. Joan Fontaine played a beautiful but poor young housekeeper in a great manorial estate owned by Laurence Olivier, whose wife had recently died. She falls in love with the dashing young owner in spite of the relentless intrusions of a stern and mysterious head housekeeper played by Judith Anderson.
The film would be seen today as a piece of high-class soap opera. But it well captured the escapist appetite of a nation just shaking off the dreary dust of economic hard times. "Rebecca" is an entertaining, but transparently corny gauge of the period. This movie won for Best Picture over a much more substantial film that depicted the true hardships of the period with powerful realism, "The Grapes of Wrath." If I were voting then, this would have been my pick. The Best Direction award, aptly, went to the director of "The Grapes of Wrath," the great master, John Ford.
An added bit of fun with "Rebecca," on the other hand, was watching a young Judith Anderson as the sinister head housekeeper. Her career-capping movie was "Star Trek III: The Search for Spock" in which she portrayed the stern ancient Vulcan priestess. She seemed pretty stern in real life as well when we worked on that film. For her role in "Rebecca" she won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar.
The 14th Best Picture Academy Award winner, "How Green Was My Valley," was released in 1941. The Oscar ceremony honoring it was nearly canceled. The award presentation took place on February 26, 1942 - two months after Pearl Harbor. The governors had been thinking of canceling the show after the surprise attack. But, after much debate, they decided to go ahead with a modified version. The tone was subdued, formal attire was banned, and there were no searchlights fanning the skies outside Los Angeles' Biltmore Hotel, where the ceremony was held.
The winning film still reflected the economic struggles of the nation rather than the now-raging world conflict. "How Green Was My Valley" is about the struggles of a Welsh coal mining family at the turn of the century. Parallel to the trials and tribulations of a tight-knit family gradually breaking up were the economic issues of unionization, labor versus capital, and class divisions. It was still a "fighting through hard times" movie. The film's director, John Ford, won his second Oscar, thus becoming the first director to win two in a row. He had won the previous year for "The Grapes of Wrath."
The Fifteenth Oscar presentation was on March 3, 1943, in the Coconut Grove of the Ambassador Hotel. This time, the Academy Awards ceremony radiated patriotism. Jeannette MacDonald sang the National Anthem. Marine private Tyrone Power and Air Force private Alan Ladd unfurled an industry flag announcing that over 26,000 members of the motion picture business were in uniform. For the first time, the bronze-filled, gold-plated Oscar statuettes were made of plaster due to wartime shortages. And the Best Picture of the year award went to "Mrs. Miniver," a film unabashedly glorifying the courage of an English family under wartime Nazi assault.
The Mrs. Miniver character, played by Greer Garson, personified heroic British spirit and resilience. The downed German pilot spouted Hitler's master race slogans like a robot. The devastation of war was heartbreakingly depicted. British Prime Minister Winston Churchill called the film "propaganda worth a hundred battleships." I noted an interesting bit of the moral code of the times in the separate beds occupied by the loving wife and husband in their own bedroom. Greer Garson received the Best Actress and Teresa Wright the Best Supporting Actress Oscars. The director, William Wyler, won for his work on the film but could not attend the ceremony because he was stationed in England at the time. The world was engulfed in war and so, too, was the Academy Awards ceremony.
The Oscar ceremony of 1945 was moved back onto Hollywood Boulevard to the legendary Grauman's Chinese Theater. The news from Europe was looking hopeful
Within two months, Germany would surrender. The Japanese would follow suit in August. The country was feeling optimistic.
The Best Picture Oscar winner was the bright and sentimental Paramount Studios film, "Going My Way," starring Bing Crosby. It was also the first Best Picture to include the Best Song. Crosby, as the idealistic, easy going, crooner priest Father O'Malley, won as Best Actor and Barry Fitzgerald as the charmingly cantankerous Father Fitzgibbon, won as Best Supporting Actor. America had struggled through more than a decade of economic misery and now seemed victorious in a world conflict. We were feeling good. We felt upbeat about the future. "Going My Way" was a precise picture of the country.
This Academy series on the Best Picture Oscar winners set me to thinking on the films that might reflect the temper of our times.
Today, we could be said to be living in a time prickly with uncertainty. The air is filled with insecurity whether it is in the wild gyrations of the stock market or the fear of some startling terrorism in our land. News of rising unemployment is accompanied by conflicting reports of possible attack on Iraq. The air is tense with a vague anxiety. I saw a film earlier this year at the Sundance Film Festival that I think brilliantly captures this societal unease. It is "One Hour Photo" starring Robin Williams in a chillingly fine performance. The film was recently released nationwide. "One Hour Photo" is one of the best pictures I have seen this year and a good candidate for Best Picture consideration.
November, 2002, LOS ANGELES - There is a warm and gracious Japanese custom called "omiyage." It could translate as both "gift giving" and "memento offering." When one is a guest, it is, of course, appropriate to take a gift to your host. "Omiyage" can also be a special memento of a wonderful place that one has visited which is given to a friend back home. I had an unforgettable two-week visit to Japan in October and the memories of that experience I would like to make my "omiyage" to the readers of this column.
The Japanese American National Museum has had one of its exhibits touring the southern parts of Japan for the past two years. In October, the exhibit opened in the northern prefecture of Niigata. I participated in the opening ceremony as the chairman of the museum. One of the wonderful "omiyage" that I've come to look forward to on these occasions is the gathering of Japanese Star Trek fans that I've met on previous exhibit opening trips, as well as at many Star Trek conventions in the U.S. As I looked over a sea of formally dressed guests gathered for the ribbon-cutting opening, I could recognize many familiar faces of fans that have now become friends. Instead of Starfleet uniforms, they were in suitable 21st century business attire. Their loyal support and friendship have been one of the many "omiyage" that I consider among my blessings. They even gave me an elegant "omiyage" of lacquer sake cups.
Niigata is the snow country of Japan, just north of Nagano, where the last Winter Olympics were held. When I visited, it was early autumn, and the weather was ideal. The Niigata museum is only two years old and the building is an impressive modern structure on a hilltop overlooking a vast expanse of rice paddies. The area is celebrated for producing the best rice in Japan - and fine rice and good water means top-quality sake. The sake of Niigata is renowned. My Star Trek friends gave me another unique "omiyage" - a tour of one of the major sake breweries of Japan called Yoshi-no-gawa. I realized then that my gift sake cups were intended, not to be just decorative, but to be used as well. We viewed the entire process of producing the famed libation of Japan. The part of the tour that we were most eagerly anticipating - the tasting of the sake - came at the very end of the tour. We tasted about a dozen different types of sake - sweet, strong, mild, fruity. To me, they were all superb. In a high state of predisposition, we were ushered into the brewery's shop. I came home with an "omiyage" for myself - sake in a gold, gourd-shaped flask. It is a handsome memento of that visit gracing the sideboard in my dining room. But I have yet to savor its content.
Before moving to Niigata, our exhibit had enjoyed a successful run in Hiroshima. That success was, in large part, due to the wholehearted support of Hiroshima Governor Yuzan Fujita. I needed to call on the governor to express our museum's appreciation for his invaluable assistance. I also wanted to visit an elderly aunt I have in Hiroshima. But Hiroshima was practically at the southernmost end of Japan. Even on the super-speed Bullet train, it would have been a grueling eight-hour ride. I decided to treat myself to historic places in Japan that I had not visited as I worked my way south.
The first stop was the old castle town of Kanazawa. It is one of the few cities that had not been touched by war. History was richly intact here. Kanazawa Castle, an impregnable fortress with deep moats and heavy defense towers, was under heavy siege when I visited - this time by modern day tourists. The battle seemed to have been lost to the invading horde. Kenroku-en Garden, one of the three garden treasures of Japan was transportingly beautiful. Until 1871, this oasis of lakes, waterfalls, and forest teahouses, was a private sanctuary exclusively for feudal lords and their clan. Even samurai could not be admitted. We arrived early in the morning to enjoy the serenity of the garden as the lords did. But by the time we were ready to leave, the morning calm was being shattered by the megaphoned voices of banner-bearing tour guides describing the "tranquil loveliness" of the garden to herds of gawking, photo-taking tourists. The residential district of the samurai and the geisha quarters were carefully restored as they originally were. It was like walking onto the set of a samurai epic. Except for the incredible hordes of tourists, Kanazawa was like beaming back in time.
We continued our trek back in time with our next stop, Nara. This was the ancient imperial capital even before Kyoto, which, in turn, preceded Tokyo. What serendipity! We arrived when the great Todai-ji Temple, reputed to be the largest and oldest wooden structure in the world, was celebrating its 1,250th anniversary. Within this ancient temple is the giant bronze Buddha, another of Japan's great, historic objects. Alas, the momentous ceremony was by invitation only. But again, serendipity! Mr. Ito, the manager of the ryokan - the inn where we were staying -- had connections. He was able to get us invitations to the celebration in the great court of the temple. There we were. Seated in the blazing sun in our dress shirts to witness a rite that could happen only once in 1,250 years. A giant ritual drum the size of a house was in front of us. Beside it stood the priestly drummer in a voluminous, brocaded robe. Alongside the drum was a row of television news cameras. Craning our necks, we could barely see the headdresses worn by the priests and officiants as they paraded by. But at least we had seats. There were people standing in every available space. Sweat began trickling down my forehead. Then, I heard a gruff voice behind me roar in Japanese, "TV cameramen, get out! Get out of here!" At a sacred observance never to happen again, nerves were getting frayed. The angry voice kept up his bellowing until a few of the cameramen reluctantly packed up and left. The ceremony was a great spectacle. There were hundreds of elaborately bedecked officiants, hundreds of ritual performers and scores of costumed children in the historic great court. It was rich pageantry combined with technology and bad manners. I wondered what future ceremonies commemorating the 2,000th anniversary of the great Todai-ji Temple might be like.
Mr. Ito, the innkeeper, arranged another unforgettable experience for me - a rickshaw ride through old Nara village. The narrow alleyways and ancient buildings were charming. But the most amazing part of the experience was our young rickshaw man, Nao-san. He had the strength of a horse and the physical control of a precision stockcar. Going downhill with a load of two grown adults, Nao-san's powerful legs became our brakes. Going uphill, his whole physique became the accelerator and engine. As he huffed and puffed, he pointed out landmarks in charmingly academic English. "It is said that this quaint structure - as it were - was once the rice storage of the feudal lords," he huffed between puffs. And through it all, he maintained an enthusiastic smile. We stopped for a sip of sake at, what Nao-san called, "one of the oldest and my favorite sake places in ancient Nara." As I sipped my sake, I noticed that he was drinking water. I'm sure he sipped sake when he came back to collect his commission for bringing us there. He was amazing. Nao-san was a powerful athlete, a delightful linguist, and a wonderful tour guide with a good touch of marketing. I asked him what his goal in life might be. I suspected him to be an athletic college student studying foreign affairs, history, or business administration. Nao-san answered, "to make you happy is my goal." He most certainly accomplished that. Nara, for me, will be a place with a richly glorious past with a future personified by the energy, enthusiasm, and savvy of a young rickshaw man.
Another Bullet train ride and we were in Hiroshima. This is a place with a more recent significance in history. In the center of the city is a vast open park embraced by two rivers. Named Peace Park, it commemorates the dropping of the world's first atomic bomb. Alongside the river is the ruins of the building that was at the epicenter of the blast. The skeletal dome of the structure is to remain forever as a reminder of the devastating horrors of war. Today, the city of Hiroshima is a dynamic, modern metropolis with sleek high-rises soaring into the skyline. Its governor, Yuzan Fujita, is a young, vigorous leader who had lived in New York for a time as a banker. My meeting to thank him for his invaluable support for our museum exhibit there, however, was conducted all in Japanese. The Japanese American National Museum's hope is to build on the relationship that had been established by the visit of our exhibit there earlier this year. It wasn't until the formal conversation was concluded that he broke into English - the rascal. I had another reason for going to Hiroshima. My aunt, my mother's younger sister, is there, now in a rest home. She suffers from Parkinson's Disease but her mind is lively and she is as chatty as she has ever been. I passed on to her a Mexican necklace that my mother had treasured. She immediately launched into an anecdote of the time she was in Mexico.
On our way back to Tokyo, we stopped off in Nagoya to visit a national park with a collection of buildings from the Meiji period appropriately called Meiji village. The Meiji period of Japan, the time of the reign of Emperor Meiji, was almost parallel to that of the reign of Queen Victoria of Britain. The park is studded with, what we might call, structures in the Victorian style. The Meiji era was a time when Japan was eagerly importing ideas and technology from the West. I was particularly interested in this visit because a portion of the original Imperial Hotel, designed by iconic architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, had been moved there from Tokyo. It was classic Wright, bold, horizontal, and reminiscent of the Biltmore Hotel in Phoenix, Arizona, which Wright had also designed. The coffee shop was still operating. So, we enjoyed a refreshing pause in our tour of Meiji period railway stations, residences and even a kabuki theater.
The great joy of our much too brief stop in Nagoya, was meeting a young American named Matthew Rossi. He had been interested in Japanese culture as a teenager in Florida. He first came to Japan as a student with the JET program to teach English. He returned to the U.S. a born-again Japanese. He came back to Japan, this time to live with a Japanese family in a small mountain village where he was the only foreigner. He ate, slept, and lived the life of a rural Japanese with every pore of his being absorbing in the culture. After that singular experience, he studied and worked in Nagoya and had become, for all rights and purposes, culturally Japanese. But his personality and spirit remain vibrantly American. And Matthew just happened to be the Vice President of the Kanko Hotel where we stayed. He also happened to be a Star Trek fan. When my reservation was made, he enthusiastically offered to serve as our personal guide to Meiji village. What an extraordinary treat that was! He took a half-day out of his office to be our guide. To have an enthusiastic American who, at the same time, was so thoroughly and proudly Japanese, show us a part of Japan's history was an experience we can never forget. I pledged to him that I would return to Nagoya. He gave me a tantalizing bait. He told me that he was opening a trendy new restaurant called Morgan and Rossi in the hip part of Nagoya. He even pointed out the building he and his partner, Morgan, had selected for their new enterprise. It was a wonderful old Meiji period building right alongside a canal. Nagoya, and Morgan and Rossi are definitely on my agenda for a return to Japan.
All too soon, our two weeks in Japan were coming to an end. Our last hurrah was Tokyo, the highlight of which was a day at the kabuki - yes, literally, a day at the kabuki theater with intermission breaks for sushi. The performance began at 11 a.m. and finished at 9:30 p.m. The play was the classic revenge drama "Chushingura" or "The 47 Masterless Samurai." It was electrifying theater. There were elaborately brocaded costumes, sets on turntables to reveal both the exterior and interior, and dramatic musical accompaniment with sonorous big drums and high-pitched clackers. The final assault of the 47 samurai on the palace of the evil lord took place in a driving snowstorm. The choreography of the mass sword fights was spectacularly athletic. It was, at once, exhausting and exhilarating - which is a good summation of the entire two weeks in Japan. We came home with glowing "omiyage" memories in our hearts.
On the day of my return, I was greeted by tragic news. A very dear friend, Beulah Quo, had suddenly died that very afternoon. The news was like a jolt of electric current. I had talked with Beulah on the phone the day before I left for Japan. We had made plans to get together for lunch on my return. The shock and pain of loss was unbearable.
Beulah Quo was a fine actress with whom I had acted on many shows. I first worked with her on an episode of the television series "My Three Sons" back in 1963 and we had become good friends. We worked in partnership on the KNBC public affairs show "Expressions: East West" from 1971 to 1973. She served as the producer and I was the moderator. We collaborated on many civic and community projects together. We were co-chairs of the fundraising campaign to move the oldest Asian American theater company in the nation, the East West Players, from a 99-seat theater into a 240-seat house. Beulah had boundless energy and a passionate dedication to the ideals and causes we shared. Most of all, she was a caring friend. If I should get sick, Beulah was there with hot soup and healing Chinese potions. She gave me so much. She inspired so many. She achieved so much. Beulah was a gifted, Emmy award-winning performer, but more than that, she was an actor in the fullest sense of the word - a person who takes action. Beulah Quo leaves a rich legacy of accomplishments, her life "omiyage" to the community she served so well. Thank you, Beulah, for having shared your extraordinary life with us.