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February, 2000, HONOLULU, HI - January began with the gentle waves of the Caribbean rolling onto a sunny beach in Cancun, Mexico. And the month is ending with another idyllic beach scene -- this time with the waves of the Pacific rolling on to the beach at Waikiki in Honolulu, Hawaii. But it wasn't all play.

I am the newly elected Chairman of the Board of the Japanese American National Museum. Our first meeting of the year was scheduled to be held in Honolulu. But to make our confinement indoors in the Halekulani Hotel conference room bearable, the Hawaiian weather kindly obliged us with dreary, drizzly skies. Throughout our two-day meeting, it was showery and gray. It was still raining when I adjourned our board meeting.

The next morning, with the runways still wet with early morning drizzle, Irene Hirano, the Japanese American National Museum's executive director, along with several trustees and staff members, joined me on a flight to the city of Hilo on the big island of Hawaii. We were going there for the opening of one of our traveling exhibits, "From Bento to Mixed Plate," at the Lyman House Museum. This was the exhibit that had enjoyed a hugely successful six-month run at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington, D.C.

We landed at the Hilo airport in a downpour. Our shuttle van valiantly struggled against the famously rainy welcome of Hilo. When we arrived at the museum, I saw what looked like an enormous convention of umbrellas gathered at the front entrance. As we stepped out, we were greeted by smiling faces under huge outspread umbrellas and quickly hustled through the crowd. We had arrived just in the nick of time for the 9 a.m. beginning of the opening ceremony.

It is a Japanese tradition to begin ceremonial occasions with a concert of drumming on enormous drums called Taiko. When the first thunderous "boom" sounded, as if pre-planned by some special effects man, the rain miraculously stopped, the clouds parted and golden rays of sunshine began to stream down on the gathering. If that is an omen for the "From Bento to Mixed Plate" exhibit's run at the Lyman House Museum, then it bodes very well for its success. After the ceremony, as expected, the event turned into something not unlike a Star Trek convention. I sat and signed autographs for the crowd of first day museum-goers. In the evening, legendary U.S. Senator Dan Inouye spoke eloquently about the exhibit at a lovely Hawaiian reception for the exhibit's generous supporters. And there I signed more autographs.

Although I have been to the state of Hawaii many times -- mainly to Honolulu -- this was my first visit to the "big island" of Hawaii. I'd heard and read about the beauty of this island, but the dramatic variety and contrasts in its scenery astonished me. Hilo, on the eastern side of the island, is a tropical rain forest matching our image of Hawaii.

The morning after the museum opening, I drove from Hilo to spend a few days of "R&R" at a resort in Kona on the opposite, west side of the island. Driving north, I left the rain forest jungles to a landscape of rolling green pasturelands that reminded me more of Wisconsin than any picture I had of Hawaii. There were herds of cattle grazing alongside white fences. I drove past a sign that announced "Parker Ranch," the biggest cattle ranch in the U.S. I stopped at a town called Waimea for lunch at a recommended place named the Paniolo Café. "Paniolo," I had been told, meant "cowboy" in Hawaiian. The waiter urged me to order the restaurant's famous paniolo hamburger. So I did. It tasted like hamburger - good, but no different than any other hamburger I've had on the mainland. I suppose that is what makes it famous in Hawaii.

About half an hour out of Waimea, the scenery changed again. This time, it became Arizona. Arid, scrubby desert landscape with occasional cactus plants trying to maintain themselves in the sandy soil. Even the sun seemed to get hotter.

Another half an hour and suddenly, the scene changed dramatically. It became a moonscape -- mile after barren mile of rocky, lifeless, unearthly vista. This was an ancient lava flow. Not a blade of grass could exist on this hot, forbidding terrain. I got off the highway on the road to the Orchid at Mauna Lani resort. The smooth roadway that cut through the jagged, rock-strewn topography seemed jarringly unnatural. What kind of god-forsaken resort did I get myself booked into, I wondered. Then, like a mirage, I saw graceful coconut palms swaying off in the distance. As I drove closer, bright splashes of crimson from Jacaranda bushes accosted me. Velvety green lawns appeared in sharp contrast to the jagged lava rocks. An elegant sign read, "Welcome to the Orchid at Mauna Lani." I drove up a curving drive to a grand porte cochere where a smiling group of stylishly clad bellmen was lined up to greet me. I had arrived at an unearthly oasis called the Orchid carved out of the stony crust of a lava flow.

The three days of rest and recuperation were heaven. But I must confess that the environmentalist in me did feel a slight twinge of guilt in this unnatural lap of luxury.

The other trustees of the Japanese American National Museum had returned home by the time I checked out of the Orchid. But I had another speaking engagement at a conference of the Pacific Telecommunications Council a few days later in Honolulu. So it was back to Honolulu and the beach at Waikiki for me. An onerous burden - to have to kill a few days at Waikiki.

At the Kona Airport for the return flight to Honolulu, Kona resident Midori Fujimoto showed me a wonderful museum, a memorial to Ellison Onizuka, the astronaut who died in the explosion of the Challenger Space Shuttle. Midori, whose late husband Fred spearheaded creation of the museum, told me that Ellison was a native son of Kona and took great interest in motivating young Hawaiians. I had met Ellison Onizuka in Los Angeles shortly before he flew off to Cape Canaveral for his ill-fated mission. I remember joking with him then that he was the 20thcentury ancestor of the character I play in Star Trek and thanked him for being one of the builders of the launching pad for the world of Star Trek. He modestly demurred and told me that Star Trek was one of his favorite shows and Sulu his inspiration. I thought of our mutual flattery with poignance as I walked through the Ellison Onizuka Space Center at Kona Airport, a most fitting tribute to the spirit of a space adventurer of our times.

Back in Honolulu, Hoyt Zia, executive director of the Pacific Telecommunications Council, had invited me to speak at his conference, where I met contemporary adventurers of a different kind. This was the annual gathering of high tech communications engineers, executives and entrepreneurs from the Pacific Rim countries from Asia to north and south Americas. Their great challenge is to connect people and nations through telecommunications. They are the explorers of today, linking up not just people, but ideas - sharing ideas, bringing ideas together to spark new ideas. They are the builders of our future in ways not unlike Gene Roddenberry's ideas that he shared through the telecommunications medium of television.

And, as it turned out, these conference delegates were eager Star Trek fans from way back in their college and university days. Star Trek was vibrantly alive even on the beaches of Waikiki. As the soft trade winds caressed us, the coconut palms swayed and the sound of the rolling waves serenaded us, we talked Star Trek and telecommunications.

October, 2001, LOS ANGELES - It has not been a month since the horrific events of September 11th but our lives have been undeniably transformed. Our resolve to get back to our "normal" lives now seems abnormally resolute. Despite our determination, however, my calendar has been changed by the cancelations and postponements of scheduled meetings and events. Today, normality requires conscious effort. We are aware of the need for caution in surroundings that we once blithely accepted without a thought. Even with some of the most normal activities -- like spending money -- I am conscious of our need to buttress up our wounded economy. Shopping has an air of patriotism about it. Indeed, the American flag can be seen everywhere - fluttering from cars, draped on buildings, prominent in advertising and adorning peoples' lapels and dresses. Most of all, I have been deeply affected by and learned from the people who have contacted me since the tragedies.

I've had phone calls and letters from friends far and near - from Europe, Brazil, Japan and other parts of the world. My statement on the tragedies of September 11th, which I posted on my web site last month, brought a tidal wave of comments. I heard from people in the military, industry colleagues, journalists, and from fans throughout the world. I appreciate the strong words of support that I've received. I've been touched by the concerns expressed. I've been stirred by their outrage. And, I have learned from the many thoughtful views that were conveyed to me. I'd like to share a sampling of their comments with you.

One writer, in describing the hate crimes being inflicted on Arab Americans, said that they "simply happened to resemble the enemy-du-jour." That phrase has a chilling echo for Japanese Americans who were incarcerated by our own government simply for "looking like the enemy." The writer emphasized that in the effort to assure security, civil liberties must not be compromised. He then referred to a statement from Benjamin Franklin. "Those who would sacrifice liberty for security deserve neither," he quoted from Franklin. In his own words he said, "If my neighbor is not free, then neither am I."

An industry colleague wrote, "I'm proud of the leadership and patriotism that you show in your statement regarding the tragic events of 9/11. I am also proud of the courageous efforts made by yourself and other members of our industry [he is a visual effects operator] who have a visible presence around the world. I believe it truly shows the motto 'E Pluribus Unum' (of many - one) that this country, in particular, stands for."

Another man now living in Austin, Texas, expressed the same kind of understanding. "I was born and spent a lot of my life in southern Arkansas - typical Smalltown, USA. I didn't realize [the U.S. internment camp for Japanese Americans] was only forty miles from the place my family called home. A good friend of mine took me to the site at Rohwer, and I was deeply moved. We walked up to the memorial [in the graveyard] and stood silent for a few minutes. Then we began to look around and I thought how awful it must have been to be wrenched from a place you thought of as home and placed in this isolated, desolate place. Then I started wondering, 'What about the people who died there? Will they be forgotten, what they went through erased by time? I have since made a point to tell friends, family, and others about that place and why it's important NOT to forget. I picked up the paper and read of a gentleman who had his business set on fire over the weekend because he was Muslim. People don't get it - they just added another casualty to the list. They are no better than the terrorists."

A Japanese American woman from New York wrote, "After seeing the sheer devastation of the World Trade Center and knowing many of my neighbors are among the missing. I hear so much anger and need for revenge against anyone of Muslim or Middle Eastern ethnicity. Your words in your book [To The Stars] were so profound about the prejudice Americans vented against Americans I wish you would write so that the level of current hate would not escalate... I too am a Nisei [Japanese American] who grew up in the suburbs of NYC where there are so few Japanese Americans or any other Asian groups and I always cringed to hear ethnic jokes and gestures. A shame that my children still endure the same type of prejudice I tolerated."

Words have tremendous power to hurt. From the letters I received, I've been reminded of the care that I, too, need to put into the words I use. In my statement on the tragedies of September 11th , I used the word, "rednecks." In my anger, I referred to the deluded fanatics among us here in America that lashed out in blind vengeance against Arab Americans for only looking like the enemy. They were white men ranting that they are "American." I used the word "rednecks" to mean racist, bigoted whites with a proclivity for violence. I've had more than a few people remind me that there is a larger connotation to that word. One wrote, "I understand (and maybe even agree in principle) with the sentiment some people may have with regards to ignorant, inconsiderate people, but as a white male, I am sensitive to what I consider a term mostly aimed at white people, particularly males: it seems it's okay to single out some, still. We should eradicate ALL racist remarks from our vocabulary, no matter how they are meant, in order to, hopefully, achieve the world that Gene Roddenberry and yourself hoped to inspire."

Words and how we use them indeed do have great force. Especially in this great multi-cultural and multi-racial society of that we live in, I should have exercised keener understanding of that simple fact. I was careless. My thanks to all who have written to remind me of the responsibility and care we all must take with the power of words. I have learned. I have revised my September 11th statement, substituting the phrase "domestic fanatics" for the now-deleted "rednecks." I know that I will continue to learn. Perhaps there are some silver linings we can find in all this, after all.

November, 2001, LOS ANGELES - As if some atavistic urge compels me, I always seem to have a need to go to London near the end of the year. I love the crisp, bracing air; the holiday hubbub; the sound of English spoken as in Merchant-Ivory movies. This year, the urge was even more compelling. The trip to London became symbolic. It was an assertion of defiance against the terrorists. I wasn't going to be intimidated. Vigilant - yes. Careful - surely. Anxious - perhaps. I wasn't going to let the terrorists change my plans. Besides, the British people and government have been our strongest allies in the effort against terrorism. Prime Minister Tony Blair has been a true stalwart.

We got to the airport three hours before departure. As I had anticipated, the security was tedious and time-consuming. But, I was glad. The hassle was reassuring. We felt exceptionally well examined and very secure. The trip was gratefully uneventful.

The reward for my determination was a trip filled with lucky, out of the blue experiences - like a joy ride up to a spectacular view of London on our first afternoon. Last year, when we tried to take a ride on the Millennium Eye, the giant Ferris wheel on the south bank of the River Thames, it was closed because of wind conditions. And all tickets for future opportunities during our stay were sold out. This year, we just walked up to the ticket booth, bought our tickets, and got in the glass capsule that leisurely lifted us up to the highest vantage point in all London. The air was crystalline and the vista was sharp and clear. The sky churned with dramatic clouds, just like a Gainsborough painting. And all of London lay before us from the office towers of Canary Wharf off in the distance, to stately Tower Bridge rising up across the Thames, to the classic dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, all the way down to familiar old Big Ben just below us. It was a sensational experience.

I had old English five pound and ten pound notes that had gone out of circulation from some previous trip. Banks all over London wouldn't exchange them. I had to go to the Bank of England itself in the financial district of the city known simply as the City. We got there before it opened so we decided to roam about the area admiring the imposing, gray architecture of the City. Serendipitously, we chanced upon a new men's shirt shop that had just opened its doors for the first time. It was an exclusive shop that catered to the financial people of the district. As a celebration special, they were throwing in a selection of handsome ties for the price of a shirt. What a bargain! I stepped in and they promptly made a sale. Now I own a shirt and tie just like the ones worn by those British bankers.

The Bank of England should be open by now. We crossed the street and walked past the now open bronze doors of the building where British banking began three centuries ago. A stern looking security guard stood blocking entry at a second set of doors. As I approached, his eyes narrowed. They seemed to penetrate right through me. Why is he scrutinizing me like that, I wondered. I'm not going to rob his bank. He stared intently at me until I stepped up to him. Then he demanded, "You're on Star Trek, aren't you?" I was completely thrown off balance. That phrase has been like "open sesame" for me. "I love your show," he stated. Star Trek has magically opened doors for me into some of the most inaccessible places in the world. The stern guard, still unsmiling, said, "Follow me, sir." He courteously escorted into an imposing marble domed banking hall. My outdated bills were graciously exchanged for me. Then my stern friend asked, "Would you like to visit our Museum of Banking, sir?" Would I? Door after unanticipated doors opened for me into a museum of the history, not only of the Bank of England, but of banking itself in England. That was a fascinating and educational afternoon - and totally unexpected.

London, for me, is theater land. My main mission, when I'm in London, is to immerse myself in some of the best theater in the English language. I spent every night in a theater. And every night was rich and engaging. There was a perfect production of Noel Coward's "Private Lives," starring Alan Rickman, who, you might recall, played the character based on Mr. Spock in "Galaxy Quest." At the National Theater complex, I saw a big and brilliant production of John Osborne's "Luther" in the Olivier Theater and in the Lyttleton, a sensational new play, "Mother Clapp's Molley House" about commerce and prostitution in the 18th century and today. There were revivals galore - a wonderful production of "Joe Egg," a hilarious production of "The Royal Family" starring Judi Dench, and a powerful production of Lillian Hellman's "Little Foxes" with a commanding performance by an actor named Penelope Wilton. British actors seem to have a gift for playing characters of the American south. But, the serendipity for me, was in the sold out hit, Lerner and Lowe's "My Fair Lady" with Jonathan Pryce playing Professor Henry Higgins. I didn't recognize the names of the actors playing Eliza, a Martine McCutcheon, and Doolittle, played by a Dennis Waterman. The reviews that were on display outside the Drury Lane Theater gave their performances glowing raves. You can imagine my disappointment when we arrived at the theater to learn that understudies were going on that performance for Eliza and Doolittle. Thank goodness, Jonathan Pryce was there to play Henry Higgins. We settled down in our seats not without some grumbling.

The overture started up and the Cockney denizens of Covent Garden sauntered out to set the stage to perform a delightfully choreographed dance prelude. It seemed to be getting off to a good start. Eliza entered. Her first sounds of Cockney seemed "spot on" as the British say. Through her smudge-smeared make-up, one could see that she had a beautiful face. Her first exchange with Higgins went perfectly. Her first song number, "Wouldn't It Be Loverly?" revealed a gorgeous voice. She was wonderful!

When the character of her father, Doolittle, entered, we knew immediately that he was a fun-loving, conniving witted, energetic, Cockney low-life. He had the cockiness of a bantam rooster on coke. Then he exploded on stage with his first production number, "With a Little Bit of Luck." He brought the house down! Both understudies were extraordinary! I couldn't imagine the regular actors topping their performances. My bravo, bravo, bravos go to Kerry Ellis as a brilliant Eliza and to David Shaw-Parker as the best Doolittle I have ever seen. "My Fair Lady" was an unforgettable experience. And yes, as we expected, Jonathan Pryce was good as well. But the understudies, Ellis and Shaw-Parker, were our serendipitous, unexpected good fortune.

London is a place of magic that passes too quickly. All too soon, we were in a London taxi headed back to Heathrow Airport for the trip home. The driver seemed eager to chat. He talked about current events. He firmly believed that the Taliban would fall soon enough. He lamented the absence of tourists in London. He told us that the English like to take their holidays in Spain. He nattered on and on. When he said "holiday in Spain," I suddenly realized. His accent was perfect Cockney! As a matter of fact, we had Doolittle himself driving us to the airport! As we neared our terminal, he said, "with a little bit o' luck, your flight will take off on time." I almost expected him to break out in song. He was the perfect driver to see us off back to Los Angeles, California. Ah, I shall look forward to the next serendipitous return to London.