July, 1999, LOS ANGELES, CA - It's hard to believe, but here we are now halfway past the final year of this century. For that matter, the final year of this millennium. It does give me a sense of the momentousness of time.
July began with a singularly 20th-century experience that resonated with portents both terrestrial and extra-terrestrial. I did a Star Trek convention in Roswell, New Mexico, the place that claims to have had a visitation from outer space just a bit more than fifty years ago. There couldn't be a more fitting locale for a Star Trek con. My manager, Brad Altman, and I flew into Albuquerque, then he drove me the three-plus hours down to Roswell across the sun-scorched New Mexican landscape. We saw incredibly picturesque billows of dark clouds edged in radiant light. Then, off in the distance, we saw a flash of silent lightning on the horizon. As we drove on, we saw more flashes with increasing frequency. Before we knew it, we were driving through a storm of lightning bolts spearing the ground all around us. Right, left, front and rear. All with no sound, no rain. We drove on through this bizarre storm for about five minutes and suddenly, it was over. As if we had crossed some invisible meteorological border, the soundless lightning flashes stopped. But a few minutes later, like bullets fired at us from the sky, hailstones began falling on our rental car. The pounding got so loud, it seemed like we were being attacked by some fighter craft from above. We could barely see beyond the windshield. Then, as suddenly as it started, the hail assault was over. The sky cleared and we were driving through picture postcard New Mexican scenery again.
An hour later, a Days Inn Motel, looking brand spanking new, appeared on the roadside. We drove past a simple but tidy Travel Lodge, then a 7 Eleven, a Burger King, a Ramada Inn, the signposts to Americana U.S.A. Before long we were driving down Main Street with dress shops, thrift stores, a bookstore, and a Denny's on the corner. Then we came upon a 1930's art deco movie theater that obviously had been converted to more distinctive use. There was a crowd anxious to get in waiting under the sun bleached, jazz era marquee. It read, "U.F.O. Museum." We had arrived in Roswell, New Mexico. It was the very picture of a pleasant, upbeat community but with a singular distinction. The unidentified flying object was not only a local phenomenon and an alleged government conspiracy but a thriving industry as well.
The Chamber of Commerce was one of the sponsors of this Star Trek convention. It began with a ribbon cutting at a specialty store called Alien Zone. Roswell mayor, Bill Owen, was there to greet the public and the press. The local Toyota dealership was providing transportation for the celebrities and dignitaries. The business establishment was solidly behind this Star Trek convention. Chatting with Mayor Owen after the event, I learned that he was a native of Roswell but had been an FBI agent in Washington, D.C. in another life, as had his attractive wife. It occurred to me that an "X Files" convention could do well here as well.
Every convention has something unique about it but I must confess Roswell is the only place where I did my autograph signing sessions in a gallery filled with displays of mock-up alien visitors to Roswell back in 1947. They are depicted as about four feet tall with swelled, bald heads and enormous, dark, haunting eyes. Their spindly, elongated limbs are attached to a thin torso. Why do these alien life forms consistently seem to take on somewhat anthropomorphic shape? Is it that the people who have these encounters cannot see alien life taking forms other than basically our own? Much as Japanese artists who saw white people for the first time with Commodore Matthew Perry's visit to Japan in 1853 drew Caucasians with unambiguous Japanese features distinguished only by strange costumes and odd beards. If we are going to be venturing beyond this planet, it seems to me, we are going to have to have much more open minds and far greater imagination.
The consistent element with these conventions however, is the fans. Wherever we go, they are enthusiastic, dedicated and celebrants of the Star Trek view of pluralism. "Infinite diversity in infinite combinations" was vibrantly on display in Roswell in the combinations of ethnicities, lifestyles and ideas. May it live long and prosper.
Ethan Philips, that wonderful actor from one of our spin-off shows, "Star Trek: Voyager," was the other guest at this con. What a terrific stand-up comic he is! His performance at the convention dinner was painfully funny. Without any sense of shame or conscience, he told "my wife" jokes with his long-suffering wife right there in the audience in front of him. The crowd roared as she sat impassively in its midst.
I'm writing this on July 14. Tomorrow morning, I'm off to another convention in Raleigh, North Carolina with Walter Koenig, Jimmy Doohan and Nichelle Nichols. We keep on trekking, boldly going wherever this trek will take us. Next month, I'll be in Chicago on August 5, on the Navy Pier celebrating a summer festival. Stay tuned.
March, 2000, LONG BEACH, CA - We look up to the night skies with wonder. We see the stars and imagine galaxies beyond. In our mind's eye, we conjure up the possibility of alien life forms. We envision challenges and promises that the "final frontier" might hold. We are creatures conditioned by Star Trek.
Some of the most fantastical reality is found, however, not by looking up, but just by simply looking downward. I went to the dazzlingly new Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach, Calif., last month and discovered the almost surreal world swarming just under the surface of the water. The most incredible life forms have literally been just below us under the water line since the beginning of time.
I saw almost transparent, mushroom-like sea life virtually invisible but for the luminous glow outlining their outer edges. There were tanks teeming with microscopic, needle-like fish, each with a single neon dot but swimming in perfect unison to appear like one large, moving creature made up of a million shimmering polka dots. There was a huge, python-like eel so well camouflaged lazing on the bottom of a sandy aquarium that it became detectable only when it moved. No Star Trek episode had fictional alien life forms more fantastical than the real ones at the Aquarium of the Pacific.
There were more recognizable but nevertheless exotic sea life like the colorful tropical fishes from the south Pacific. Sea horses, I learned, carry their young in pouches until they are old enough to fend for themselves --- just like kangaroos. And sharks lay their leathery eggs, already containing little, wriggling fingerling sharks, among the sea kelps. We saw such an egg on display with a tiny, miniature shark visibly moving in it.
The aquarium itself is a technological marvel. The tank containing fish from north Pacific waters is churning turbulently, replicating the choppy waters of the Alaskan currents. This primeval savagery of the sea is powerfully recreated by unseen sophisticated technology. There is another tank that is the equivalent of a three-story building filled with sharks and other large fish happily plunging down and shooting right up the entire height. The newest addition to the aquarium, a torpedo-like Blunt Nosed Seven-gill shark, was curiously exploring the full loftiness of its new home. I was in awe of the strength of the clear plastic enclosing what must be tremendous pressure from all that water in the gigantic tank.
The Aquarium of the Pacific is nature's science fiction world made possible by the advances in technology. But the sobering message from the day at the aquarium is that the technology that helps display this wondrous sea world so realistically, also threatens this world. Sea life is endangered by improved fishing technology, massive pollution and rapacious oceanic exploitation. The tired irony of our times is that the wonders of nature are placed in jeopardy by the wonders of technology.
As I drove back to Los Angeles with the night sky twinkling down, I realized that we don't have to look up to the sky and wonder about strange alien life forms. We don't have to conjure up fictional challenges. We don't have to imagine some future "final frontier." We have it all, right here, right now, right under us.
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!
May, 2000, NEW YORK - This has been a month of travel and tri-city theater going. I flew from home in Los Angeles to Washington, D.C., for my commission meetings, then on to Manhattan for the weekend. And wherever I am, theater is something I search out. It is my refreshment, my muse and my passion.
Before I left Los Angeles, I had taken in two wonderful productions, the Odyssey Theater Company's interpretation of Shakespeare's "Hamlet" in contemporary dress and an imaginative new play based on the myths of Ovid, "Metamorphosis," by Mary Zimmerman at the Mark Taper Forum. Even before I began my trip to the East, I was transported back and forth through time by both productions with their ever-compelling tales that still resonate with such contemporary relevance. To quote Mary Zimmerman, "Myths are public dreams, dreams are private myths."
Then on to Washington, D.C., for the meetings that consumed most of my time there. On the last night, I joined friends for dinner and theater. My friend Marc Okrand sits on the board of the Washington Shakespeare Company and the play we were to see that night was its interpretation -- in collaboration with the African Continuum Theater -- of Shakespeare's "As You Like It." And I liked it! It was delightful. It was very today. Have you ever heard iambic pentameter spoken to hip-hop rhythm? Can you see the forest of Arden in New York's Central Park? And can you imagine the frolickers in that park as Blacks, Whites, Asians and Latinos? I saw it, I heard it, and I was thoroughly enchanted by it. Old Will can be so now! Shakespeare was vibrantly multi-ethnic in his infinite variety.
The theatrical offerings of New York can be overwhelming in volume as well as in diversity. One has to be selective -- and lucky. Tickets for new Broadway shows can be enormously difficult to get. I was very lucky. I was able to secure great tickets to three dazzling new productions. The first night was Julie Taymor's stylish "The Green Bird." The next was a matinee of Elton John's and Tim Rice's rock version of "Aida." And the final evening was the highly praised import from London, the Royal National Theater's production of "Copenhagen."
Julie Taymor is the boldly inventive director who created the big Disney smash of a few seasons back, "Lion King." She has the gift of taking the conventions of ancient theater such as masks, marionettes and shadow puppets and magically transforming them into the language of today's theater as she did with the Disney hit. With "The Green Bird," she used the style of the old Italian, Comdia del Arte with its cast of stock characters in masks and comically exaggerated costumes to create an entertaining evening of Broadway theater. As much fun as the style was, however, the story was as rambling as a tale told by an over-enthused Italian raconteur.
The tragic love story of Aida, the Nubian princess, is one that lends itself to extravagant production excesses. Some opera productions have even had real elephants and camels parading on stage. Elton John's and Tim Rice's "Aida" is also richly produced but, unlike other Broadway musicals, there are no chandeliers crashing, helicopters landing or other show-stoppingly spectacular effects. The effects used are imaginative and organic to the plot and the characters. The satire on the obsession some women have with high fashion is dead on and the fashion effects are hilariously, fabulously spectacular. The effect of looking down on a huge oval pool with swimmers languorously moving about in the water is pure stage magic. And the music is not only beautiful but has deep resonances beyond the love story. The lovely song "Elaborate Lives" could be taken as a cautionary commentary on our present affluent society. The bookending of the play with contemporary scenes in the Egyptian gallery of some museum seem to underscore the story's relevance to our times. At the core is a deeply moving tragic love story sung and acted by three brilliant performers. Heather Headley as Aida, Adam Pascal as the hero, Radames, and Sherie Rene Scott as the Princess Amneris are all shining stars.
Perhaps the most impressive play was the London import from the National Theater, "Copenhagen." It is based on an actual event but moves beyond that to explore issues of morality, nationality, personal responsibility and the mysteries of the human psyche. The central event is a meeting between Niels Bohr, the brilliant Nobel Prize-winning physicist who helped develop the atomic bomb and his former student, Werner Heisenberg, also a Nobel Prize-winning physicist and a Nazi. That they met in 1941 in Copenhagen during the war is known fact. Why Heisenberg wanted to see his mentor and what they discussed is unknown. Michael Frayn, the playwright, moves us back and forth in time to speculate from different vantage points on the motives, the discussions and the reactions of the brilliant but conflicted scientists at that meeting. "Copenhagen" was theater at its finest.
American theater at the beginning of this century is vibrantly alive. It is inventive and pertinent. It has substance as well as style. It is finding new theater languages to interpreting classic theatrical forms. It is thoughtful and provocative. And it is fun.
What's next on my busy theater calendar? I'm looking forward to East West Players' production of Stephen Sondheim's "Follies" at the David Henry Hwang Theater in downtown Los Angeles. This musical, directed by Tim Dang, runs from May 17 to June 11. If you're in the L.A. area, why not catch the show?
June, 2000, LOS ANGELES - It was a proud moment for all of us at the Japanese American National Museumwhen we received word that we had been selected as a recipient of a $1.5 million challenge grant from the Ford Foundation. This was not only solid recognition from a distinguished philanthropic foundation for the achievements of a relatively young museum in telling the uniquely American story of the Japanese American experience. This was significant financial support for our still developing endowment. We were delighted.
As a challenge grant, however, we knew that we would have work to do. We had to match the gift two to one. Our challenge was to raise $3 million in three years. I had no idea, though, of a capricious and nerve-racking challenge that I would be facing as well.
As chairman of the national museum, I was to fly to New York, where the Ford Foundation was to present the gift at a dinner. I was to be a speaker on the program together with famed opera star, Beverly Sills, who also happens to be the chairman of Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts. I had always admired Ms. Sills' artistry as well as her private commitment to the arts. To meet her and share the stage with her would be a wonderful personal occasion for me as well.
On the day of the dinner, I caught an early morning American Airlines flight at LAX that was to connect through Chicago. It would get me into Manhattan with time enough to check into the hotel, get dressed and be at the Ford Foundation Building in time for the dinner. The flight was uneventful -- which was good. I have had more than my share of "eventful" flights in my life. We landed at O'Hare Airport in Chicago on schedule, but, as I stepped out of the jetway, an airline representative was there to meet me. He apologetically told me that my connecting flight to New York had been cancelled due to a bad storm between Chicago and New York. But, he assured me, he had booked me on the next flight to New York only an hour later.
I realized that I would have to adjust to the changed circumstances. To make up for the lost time, I thought I had better be dressed for the dinner. So, I got to the Admiral's Club, unpacked as best I could within the confines of a cubicle and struggled out of my casual clothes and into my suit and tie. Dressed and ready for the dinner, I stepped out of the men's room.
As I walked by the flight schedule monitor screen, I gave a quick glance to check on my new connecting flight. CANCELLED, it read. My new connection, too, had been aborted. Trying to suppress my alarm, I got in line at the service desk together with a horde of panic-stricken passengers. The harried reservation clerks announced that the storm had forced the cancellation of all flights going east but that they were working on getting us back in the air as soon as possible. The sky in Chicago looked fine, but I wasn't so sure I wanted to get back up into that sky.
I took up residence in the Admiral's Club for the next six hours waiting anxiously for a break in the storm. Periodically, the airline reps announced that they would, at last, be able to book us on a flight. And just as quickly, they reversed themselves. When they finally told me that they could get me into New York by 2 p.m. the following day, I realized that I had failed this part of the challenge grant. It was pointless for me to go on. Our museum's executive director, Irene Hirano, had flown the day before and she could accept the gift from the Ford Foundation. I took the next flight going west through calm skies and returned home to Los Angeles.
That was two weeks ago. Last weekend, I flew again, this time to a Star Trek convention in Tampa, Florida, the annual Vulcon show organized by Joe Motes and Fernando Martinez. Thankfully, the flight was uneventful. This month, I have trips to San Francisco, then Tokyo, Japan, and Toronto, Canada. The challenges continue to be scheduled.