July, 2002, LOS ANGELES - The loss of a parent is an inevitable part of the journey of life. Thousands experience it every day. I, too, experienced it over two decades ago with the passing of my father. Yet, the pain of the death of my mother, Fumiko Emily Takei, on May 25th was unbearably sharp. It was singular, so personal. She was my final parental link with my past, my memory of a love and determination that carried our family through the turbulence of war and its aftermath. She was bull-headed strength combined with unqualified devotion to family. In her final years, she met the challenges of the many assaults on her health with the same defiant will to overcome. She left me a legacy of love combined with strength. Now, her ashes have joined my father's in the family crypt. I take comfort in the fact that she has, at last, found peace. The expressions of sympathy and generosity from good people far and near have been a great consolation. I feel blessed and grateful for the kind support of so many friends.
About a year ago, I had enthusiastically signed a contract to star in a concert production of Stephen Sondheim's musical "Pacific Overtures" for the Human Race Theatre Company of Dayton, Ohio. The play is an infrequently produced but brilliant musical about U.S. Navy Commodore Matthew C. Perry's effort to "open up" the closed island empire of Japan in 1853. I have been a passionate Sondheim fan who thinks "Pacific Overtures" is his best work. This was a wonderful invitation from the Human Race Theatre and a great opportunity for me to stretch as an actor. But now, the calendar showed that rehearsals were to begin in Dayton just five days after my mother's final memorial service. Can I even begin to think about performing so soon?
Then, I thought of my mother's approach to the challenges in her life. She always thought of the wellbeing of her family. She may have been torn up inside, but she never let on to her children. From being forced out of our home at gun point by the U.S. Army, through incarceration behind barbed wire fences during World War II, to the struggle to rebuild our lives from skid row in downtown Los Angeles, she was always Mama, there for us, strong and loving. Through thick and thin, she was always our Mama. Whatever she may have been feeling inside, she never allowed it to impose itself on her responsibility to her family. Now, I had a responsibility to a professional family waiting for me in Dayton. At this late date, the wellbeing of that family was at stake. I resolved to myself that I would do the best that I could as an actor - and I determined that I would work with my professional family without allowing my personal situation to intrude. I had to be my mother's son.
I arrived at the Dayton airport to be welcomed by Kevin Moore, the executive director of the Human Race Theatre Company and the director of "Pacific Overtures." We immediately hit it off. I found him to be a passionate theater person, a savvy leader of the regional theater community, and an energetic artist/administrator. On the drive in from the airport, we enthusiastically discussed the production.
On the first day of rehearsals, I met the company of singer/actors that Kevin had assembled. What an extraordinary collection of talent!
Two were from New York City with impressive New York credits, Alan Muraoka and Rich Ceraulo. Three were from Cincinnati: Michael Pincelli, Ryan Heinrich, and Juan Carlos Diaz. Actually, Juan Carlos told me he was really a San Franciscan studying at Cincinnati's College Conservatory of Music. Another member of the ensemble, Jamie Cordes, had worked with a variety of musical theater and opera companies throughout the country and had performed in such Sondheim productions as "Sweeney Todd" and "A Little Night Music." A cast member from New Jersey, Jose Solivan, had performed extensively in musical theater throughout the Northeast. Three were veteran resident artists with the Human Race Theatre: Jay Pierce, Scott Stoney and Kay Bosse. All were magnificently gifted performers and superb singers. An indispensable member of the company was our accompanist on piano, Brendan Kinsella.
There I was - a singer who does his best work in the shower - surrounded by singers who perform in operas! I knew I needed help. Neal Gittelman, the music director of the production, is also the conductor of the Dayton Philharmonic Orchestra. It was my singular privilege to work with him daily as my personal vocal coach. Neal was wonderful. He was patient, creative, spontaneous and relaxed. I knew I was going to like working with him, when, from the very first day, he kicked off his shoes before we began work. He is the inspiration for my decision to continue with voice lessons back here in Los Angeles.
Kay Bosse, the only woman in this company of actors, was the anachronism of the cast. "Pacific Overtures" is always performed in classic Kabuki style, where all roles, both male and female, are played by men. In Kabuki, women performers do not exist. The art of depicting females is a specifically male domain in Kabuki, where an actor devotes his entire career to perfecting the portrayal of women through the changing stages of their life. Kay was the token female in this revolutionary Kabuki production. But in terms of talent, she was a full member of the company. She stopped the show with her number, "Chrysanthemum Tea," as the sweetly murderous mother of the Shogun. I got to play her victim - and it was histrionic good fun being poisoned by her chrysanthemum tea.
My principal role was that of the Reciter. In Kabuki, the Reciter is not only the narrator and bridge for scene transitions, but participates in the scenes as well playing many different roles. Thus I got to be Kay Bosse's poisoned Shogun. Another unique Kabuki convention is the role that the Reciter has in giving voice to the inner thoughts and emotions of other characters. There is a scene in the drama where a samurai returns home to find that his beloved wife had committed suicide. A samurai must never show his emotions - even under this tormented circumstance. He stoically swallows his pain. In Kabuki, the Reciter is the one who gives voice to his emotions. It was only in this sequence that I allowed my own pent-up grief over my mother's death full release in the anguished cry I emitted for the tormented samurai.
The production was a smashing success. Opening night was a sellout with a gala party following and the subsequent performances were near full houses.
A surprise treat was seeing my good friend and colleague from the Star Trek movies, Robin Curtis, who played Lt. Savik. She is now living in Cincinnati and drove all the way up to Dayton with her husband for the second night performance. She came backstage to see me after the show, as sparkling as she always has been. She told me how moved she was by my cry of anguish for the grief-stricken samurai. Then she conveyed her condolences on the passing of my mother. I wonder if she had sensed her presence in that tortured wail.
All the time that I was in Dayton, I thought of my mother. I missed her terribly. But, as she did in her life, I never let my personal sorrow intrude on my work with my professional family. When she did make her presence known, it was to help me make my stage emotion that much truer.
I had a rich and engaging experience with "Pacific Overtures" working with a company of talented artists. I appreciate the many new friends that I made in Dayton. The experience I had with the Human Race Theatre was profoundly fulfilling. All this and more are gifts that my mother's love continues to give me. I dedicate my performance in this "Pacific Overtures" to the woman whose loving strength never stops guiding my life - to my Mama.
August, 2002, LOS ANGELES - The pleasant days of summer combined with people's urge to travel seem to be the convivial mix that brings far flung friends and relatives together. A second cousin of mine from Japan, Shunichi Takei, whom I hadn't seen in over a decade, dropped in. He works for Hewlett-Packard Japan and had crossed the Pacific for a meeting at its Silicon Valley headquarters in California. A Fourth of July family get-together at the home of my Orange County relatives, James and Midori Uyeda, followed this.
Flying in from New York were Stan Honda and his wife, Ann Levin, whom I had visited in Manhattan earlier this year. He is the photojournalist who took some of the shots of the World Trade Center horrors that have now become iconic. One of his photos, of a dust-coated and dazed businessman, still carrying his briefcase, became the cover of Fortune Magazine. Another, of a stunned African American woman also completely covered in dust, appeared in newspapers all over the world. The Japanese American National Museum is planning an exhibit of Stan's works in September 2003.
The museum was the attraction for many visitors. A long-time friend, Sarla Joy of Dayton, Ohio, where I had performed in a concert production of Stephen Sondheim's "Pacific Overtures" in June, came to Los Angeles for her first visit to the Japanese American National Museum. She went back to Dayton, not only impressed with the exhibits, but also enthusiastic about lobbying the Dayton Art Institute to invite one of our traveling exhibits there. Another visitor to the museum I was delighted to welcome was Mr. T. Kubota, a representative of the influential Association of Japan Corporations, known in Japan as the Keidanren. He joined us for the festivities surrounding the opening of our newest exhibit, "Passports to Friendship," about the exchange of dolls between the children of Japan and the United States.
Interspersed through the month were travels of my own. One was to San Francisco for a speaking engagement and another to Minneapolis for a Star Trek convention.
There was a comedy review titled "Triple Espresso" playing at a nearby theater. I'm an addict - not of coffee but of theater. "Triple Espresso" - what hilarious, high-caffeine nonsense! I laughed 'til it hurt. There, I met its producer, Dennis Babcock, who had also produced Leonard Nimoy's play "Vincent" that toured the country. Dennis told me that he is a member of the Charles Dickens' Club of London and that he was going to be there in December. What serendipity! I, too, am planning to be in London in December, I told him. I now seem to have inveigled myself an invitation to join Dennis as his guest at their December dinner gathering to meet the club's honorary chairman, Cedric Dickens, the great grandson of the great Dickens himself, Charles. I thought surprising happy events like this happened only in Dickens novels.
For my summer Hollywood Bowl concert night, I invited local friends that I don't see often enough to share a box with me. My guests were Lynn Arthurs, former chair of East West Players, Tim Dang, artistic director of East West Players, Brian Arthurs, and Darrell Cummings. It was a wonderful summer evening with the Los Angeles Philharmonic and the guest flutist, the incomparable James Galway.
Back on a plane again to gather with friends at another Star Trek convention, this time in Las Vegas. A unique enhancement of this convention was a tribute to Leonard Nimoy - Creation Entertainment's Lifetime Achievement Award.
There are many accolades given to people who have been successful in their careers. But this one to Leonard was so fitting on so many levels. Certainly, Leonard has been eminently successful as an actor and a director. He has been the recipient of standing ovations, rave reviews, and career honors galore. Leonard and I share a Grammy nomination in the "Best Spoken Word or Non-Musical Recording" category for our work together on a Star Trek audiocassette. He has published his poems and other writings. But a little-known aspect of Leonard that is highly deserving of recognition is his civic spirit and quiet generosity. He and his wife, Susan, have been great philanthropists to many institutions that have enriched the Los Angeles community. The Japanese American National Museum has been a beneficiary of their generosity, as has the Museum of Contemporary Art of Los Angeles. The historic Griffith Park Observatory, now undergoing enormous renovation work high up in the Hollywood Hills, has been a major recipient of the Nimoys' vision and bigheartedness. The new theater that will be a part of the expanded observatory is to be named very appropriately the Leonard Nimoy Theater. This observatory shall truly "live long and prosper."
While in Las Vegas, I got together with old friend Pat Morita and his delightfully witty wife, Evi.
The restaurant was abuzz with excitement - Mr. Miyagi of the Karate Kid having dinner with Captain Sulu of Star Trek! In the middle of the Nevada desert, fine wine flowed, bottle after bottle. We were the last ones to leave the restaurant. The next morning, I missed my regular sunrise jog.
I returned to Los Angeles just in time to greet my new friend from my "Pacific Overtures" run in Dayton, Ohio, actress Kay Bosse. She played my sweetly conniving murderer mother who poisoned me with her concoction of chrysanthemum tea. I enjoyed my stay in her city, Dayton, so I wanted to reciprocate by showing her how vibrant my hometown, Los Angeles, can be. Of course, the first stop was the Japanese American National Museum. Then, to the birthplace of my city, El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de Los Angeles Sobre el Rio Porciuncula. This historic state park includes the charming Mexican shopping street, Olvera Street. The thick walls of the Avila Adobe, the oldest adobe structure in Los Angeles, fascinated Kay. We crossed the street to our great mission style art deco railway station, Union Station, to catch the newest subway system in the nation, our Metro Rail. Along the way to Hollywood, we stopped off at our spectacularly restored Central Library. We stopped for drinks at the trendy rooftop lounge of the newest boutique hotel in downtown Los Angeles, the Standard Hotel. Then, back on the Metro Rail to Hollywood to see the original Star Trek casts' handprints and autographs in the forecourt of Grauman's Chinese Theater and to the new home of the Oscars, the Kodak Theater next door. Dinner was at The Grill, a new restaurant in the spectacular Hollywood and Highland complex.
Kay's final evening in Los Angeles was a very Hollywood event. The American Cinematheque was celebrating the 20th anniversary of "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan" with a screening of the film followed by a panel discussion with its producer, Harve Bennett, director Nick Meyer and two actors, Walter Koenig and me. The historic Grauman's Egyptian Theater, the new home of the American Cinematheque, was filled to capacity. They had to schedule a second screening to accommodate the demand. After the screening, Kay was caught in the crush of Star Trek autograph seekers. She was bumped and shoved ruthlessly as the determined fans tried to get to me. But I suspect she was thrilled by every uncomfortable second of it. As I write this, she is now winging her way back to Dayton. I think she is already planning her next visit to Los Angeles.
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.