April, 2000, PASADENA, CA - The press conference theater was standing room only and a buzz of expectation was in the air. On stage, seated at a conference table, were Grace Lee Whitney, Commander Rand of "Star Trek VI," Susan Sackett, Gene Roddenberry's long-time executive assistant, and me. Russ Haslage, the leader and organizer par excellence of the Excelsior campaign, was standing with a microphone at the ready as the moderator. All of us wore black Excelsior T-shirts. Suddenly, Russ shouted out. "Excelsior!" The audience roared back in unison. "Excelsior!" A few fists shot up into the air. It was almost like a revival meeting.
This press event, at the huge Grand Slam Convention in Pasadena, was part of Haslage's strategy to convince Paramount Studios to do the next Star Trek television series based on the adventures of the U.S.S. Excelsior with Captain Sulu.
The people in the audience were not only American, but from all over the world - including Brazil, Germany, Japan, Italy, Britain and wherever else Star Trek had touched and inspired the viewers. A bit of history was present in the person of Bjo Trimble, who led the charge on the initial "Star Trek Lives" campaign to revive the show after its cancellation by NBC in 1969. The overwhelming sense of the people assembled there was a chorus of agreement. "We want Gene Roddenberry's shining vision back. We want the Excelsior and Captain Sulu back on the air!" It was impressive, flattering and humbling.
I never cease being astonished by the phenomenon of Star Trek fans. The passion of the fans from the very beginning in 1966 has not only remained constant but has grown and intensified over the years and the generations. That passion has been the singular force that drove the course of Star Trek's history throughout. After cancellation of the original series, it was fan effort that brought Star Trek back 10 years later as a major feature film. When the studio announced that "Star Trek - The Motion Picture" would be the only film because of the enormous cost over-runs, it was the unexpectedly explosive fan support at the box office that produced the series of Star Trek sequels.
When a producer decided that the 25th anniversary sixth film would be a prequel going back to the Starfleet Academy days of our heroes, thus recasting the beloved characters with younger actors, it was fan outrage that ultimately drove this producer off the studio lot and put the show back on course with my favorite Star Trek film, "Star Trek VI, The Undiscovered Country" directed by Nick Meyer. And, once again, the fans have become galvanized. Again, they have grabbed the helm to re-direct the course of Star Trek. Again, they are sending their message loudly and clearly. They want Gene Roddenberry's bright vision of the future back as Star Trek.
The fans have demonstrated time and again that they are the real proprietors of the Star Trek phenomenon. At every turning point in the history of Star Trek, they have ultimately prevailed -- against network cancellation, against studio executive pessimism and even against a producer's decision. They have prevailed because they have defined, established and sustained the Star Trek marketplace. And for the studio, that has got to be the Ferengi bottom line.
It puzzles me that the fans must continue to remind the studio powers-that-be of this simple fact: Star Trek fans rule!
January, 2002 I felt a rising sense of gravity as I was driven toward Manhattan. I'd just completed my engagement with Slanted Fedora Entertainment's Star Trek convention at the Meadowlands in New Jersey. The skyline of Manhattan was clearly visible in the crisp, mid-morning light. I saw the elegantly tapered silhouette of the Empire State Building once again dominant as the tallest structure on the horizon. The vacancy in that skyline was heartrending. It was almost as if I were being driven to visit the grieving family of a deceased friend - except that I, too, was a member of that family.
As we emerged from the Lincoln Tunnel into the relentless hurley-burley of 42nd Street, it was almost comforting to be engulfed by the familiar New York assault on the senses. Neon lights blazed in broad daylight. Traffic noise blared in competition with each other. And the unyielding mass of humanity still poured through the streets with determination. New York was resiliently, vibrantly alive.
The next morning, I went on my pilgrimage to "Ground Zero," the place of the devastated remains of the World Trade Center. There was a long line to the viewing platform that had been built just east of the site. It snaked past the wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery of old St Paul's Chapel dating back to 1780. The fence had become a grieving wall covered with photos, letters, Christmas wreaths, and other offerings posted in memory of the deceased and missing. They were bright, young people with ascendant careers. They were seniors ready to enjoy retirement. They were janitors and restaurant workers. They were people with names of every ethnicity in the world. When I read a letter addressed to "My little brother, our dearest son," my emotions wouldn't be contained. Tears ran cold down my cheeks. Snowflakes were falling softly. They reminded me of the ashes that fell from the sky that horrible September morning.
When I reached the platform, I was stunned by the sheer enormity of the site. Sixteen acres of barrenness where once there had been structures teeming with the energy of global commerce and the two tallest office towers in the United States -- all only memories now. In their place was a vast emptiness. Only a great hole in the ground with a tangled mess remained. Tractors moved somberly among the rubble, clearing the wreckage. Only the day before, the remains of another person had been found. Surrounding this huge void were scarred, soot covered, vacant buildings, some covered with black netting like shrouds of mourning. That snowy January morning, I relived in my mind and bore witness to the horror and pain of the morning of September 11, 2001.
I bore witness to the results of that dreadful day, but I know New Yorkers who actually lived through the terrors of the atrocity. Through friends with the Asian American Legal Defense and Education Fund, I arranged to have lunch with one of the heroes of September 11th, Officer David Lim of the Port Authority Police Department. A native New Yorker, he told his story in the punchy accent distinctive of Queens. Officer Lim is with the Canine Patrol in the World Trade Center. He was in the basement of the South Tower with his dog named Sirius inspecting the incoming cars when his walkie-talkie crackled that there was an explosion in the North Tower. His first thought was that someone had gotten a bomb past them up into the building.
He left his dog in the basement kennel and ran to the North Tower. On pure adrenaline, he rushed up 44 floors past fleeing people in roughly 20 minutes. There were office workers still sitting at their desks too stunned to react. Officer Lim went from floor to floor making sure everybody got out. He was in the stair well at around the 27th floor, when the whole building started to vibrate and rumble. It was the South Tower, which had been hit second but collapsed first, coming down. The North Tower was still upright. He urgently needed to get everyone out quickly. Officer Lim continued bellowing at the top of his voice, "Down is good. Down is good." When he reached the fifth floor, suddenly the entire building began to shudder with an indescribable sound combining an approaching train with an avalanche. He heard the snapping of pipes and cracking of concrete together with the deafening roar as they began to fall. He remembered thinking, "If I'm gonna die, please God, make it fast." Then there was silence. Miraculously, he and two other officers found themselves together and alive, trapped in a pocket. They were imprisoned in that cranny for about five hours before they were able to claw their way out. He ended his story by telling us, "My dog died in the collapse of the South Tower. I know exactly where Sirius is. They still haven't gotten to him yet."
I had dinner with Stan Honda, a photojournalist friend, who took photographs of the attack on the World Trade Center that have now become iconic. His picture of an African American woman completely covered in ash, looking shell-shocked and almost ghost-like, staggering away from the wreckage was published in virtually every newspaper and magazine in the world. Fortune Magazine used his photo of the ash-coated businessman, still in full suit and tie, still carrying his briefcase, on its cover. As I reminisced with Stan about my trips to New York in the early 70's, noting on each flight the progress of the steel skeletons of the World Trade Center as it worked its way 110 stories up into the sky, he shared with me his panic working frenetically as the great structures came roaring down.
A photo exhibit titled "Faces of Ground Zero" opened at Grand Central Station while I was in New York. I made a date to get together with my actress friend, Pat Suzuki, for lunch and a viewing of the exhibit. The display was made up of bigger than life-size photos of the heroes of the tragedy taken with a giant camera the size of a small room. The oversized images of people that we would ordinarily call "common guys" -- firefighters, police officers, medical workers, spouses of those that didn't survive, and others -- were profoundly moving. They were "common guys" caught in an extraordinarily uncommon situation who rose to the full challenge of the occasion with uncommon valor. They were the faces of the muscles and energy of working New York. They were the faces of the diversity of New York -- Hispanic, white, black, Asian and, yes, Middle Eastern. They were indeed, the faces of American resolve and American unity. Those faces and the quotes accompanying them were, at once, deeply touching and so uplifting. Over lunch, Pat revealed to me that for a couple of months, she had gotten up at 4 a.m. in the morning to volunteer as a breakfast cook for the rescue workers at ground zero. It seems all New Yorkers were involved in one way or another. They are all kindred.
After New York, I flew to Park City, Utah, for the Sundance Film Festival. I had worked on a small, independent film titled, "Noon Blue Apples" last year and it was to be premiered as part of the festival. I had been to the Venice Film Festival in Italy twice but this was my first visit to Sundance. What a contrast! It was as dramatic a difference as snow and water, as distinct as skis and gondolas.
However, there are also similarities. Both are storybook cities. Both places look like movie sets - one a floating Italian Renaissance capital turned popular tourist destination, the other an old western mining town turned ski resort. The energy, excitement, tensions, and partying are exactly the same. The overwhelming choices of film screenings are dizzyingly alike. Deal making seemed to be going on everywhere at Sundance, in restaurants, bars and even street corners. "Noon Blue Apples" is a psychological thriller by independent filmmaker Jay Lee with a fine performance by young actress, Lauren Fox. A member of the cast, actor Montel Williams, has a chalet in Park City and threw a lavish party for the cast, crew, press, and distributors. Jay and his producer sister, Angela Lee, were energetically wooing potential distributors.
During my four days at Sundance, I gorged myself on movies - from midnight screenings to early morning shows. But, like gorging on food, constant movie going can cause cinematic indigestion. I ingested some discomforting movies. Among them, however, were gems that I enjoyed greatly. "Love in the Time of Money" and "The Laramie Project" were impressive films with wonderful performances. But the very last movie I saw at Sundance before I left for the airport was the best. It was a 9 a.m. screening of an independent film starring Robin Williams titled "One Hour Photo." It was the highlight of my Sundance movie-going experience. First time feature director Mark Romanek had given Robin Williams his most challenging opportunity to stretch his creative muscles. And he rose fully to the challenge with a brilliant characterization of a sad and chilling loner. I predict that both Mark Romanek and Robin Williams will be Academy Award contenders next year.
June, 2002
(The June installment of George Takei's monthly column has been canceled
because of his mother's passing. George's column is scheduled to return in July.)
Obituary
Fumiko Emily Takei passed away in Los Angeles on May 25, 2002, after a long illness. She was 89.
She was born in Florin, California, on September 29, 1912. She was the daughter of Benkichi and Shigeno Nakamura.
In 1922, her parents sent Fumiko to Japan to be educated. She returned to California, and, in 1935, she married Takekuma Takei in Los Angeles.
With the outbreak of World War II, Fumiko and her family together with 120,000 other Japanese Americans were placed behind the barbed-wire enclosures of United States internment camps. They were evacuated from their Los Angeles home in 1942, first to the Santa Anita Race Track assembly center, then to the internment camp at Rohwer, Arkansas, and then to the internment camp at Tule Lake, California. They returned to Los Angeles after the war.
Widowed in 1979, she was active in the Hompa Hongwanji Buddhist Temple and the Pioneer Center. She was a dedicated volunteer at the Koreisha Chushoku Kai senior citizens hot meal program.
Fumiko and her husband were avid travelers, having covered almost all the continents of the globe. They had been to the African countries of Kenya and Tanzania, Iran, Egypt, India, Singapore, Tahiti, Bora Bora, the Russian cities of Moscow and St. Petersburg, South America, Europe, and Asia. In recent years, she joined her son George on cruises to Alaska, Bermuda, Mexico, and the Caribbean.
She is survived by her children George Takei, Henry Takei, and Nancy Reiko Takei, all of Los Angeles; her grandchildren, Scott Takei of Los Angeles and Akemi Louchheim of Seattle; two great-grandchildren, Hana and Markus Takei of Los Angeles; and her sisters Yukiko Tamura of Hiroshima, Japan, and Setsuko Thurlow of Toronto, Canada. Fumiko's and Takekuma's first-born child, Furuto, died in infancy.
In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to the Japanese American National Museum, 369 East First Street, Los Angeles, CA 90012.
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.