bio

February, 2001, LOS ANGELES - I continue to be captivated by the popularity and the longevity of the Star Trek phenomenon. It remains a pervasive factor in my life, whether professionally, personally or in my public service activities. And this gift has serendipitously expanded my horizon and enriched my life.

A direct professional tie-in can be viewed on February 18th when an episode of "V.I.P." starring Pamela Anderson is aired on the Fox network. I play the voice of an omniscient super computer that was programmed by a brilliant techno-genius who is a fervent Captain Sulu fan. Hence, my casting as the voice of the computer.

The Star Trek conventions, of course, keep on trekking. My first convention of this year was in the charming city of Portland, Oregon. It was a lively gathering on a cold, damp weekend. Long-time fans mingled with a growing number of young, first-time conventioneers. And, as well, the con gave me the chance to indulge my preservationist interest and again explore the imaginatively restored turn-of-the-century historic district of Portland.

I did voice work last week on a feature film project, cryptically titled, "Noon Blue Apple." I play a mysterious voice that haunts the mind of the lead character. No direct Star Trek connection here other than the fact that the director knew of my work from the original series.

But Star Trek has also afforded me the opportunity to contribute more effectively in a myriad of other areas not related to my professional career. This month, I was honored to serve as the star of a fund-raising dinner to help build a planetarium on the campus of Long Beach City College. With this facility, young students will be able to expand their study of the heavens and let their imaginations soar to the stars. Clearly, without the Star Trek association, I would not have been able to support this important cause as effectively as I was able.

On another occasion this month, I addressed a group of young interns at the Japanese American National Museum on volunteerism. Here again, I was able to connect with them more successfully as Captain Sulu of Star Trek than as the Chairman of the Board of the Museum.

We have a mayoral election coming up this spring in the city of Los Angeles, my hometown. I am supporting the former Speaker of the California Assembly, Antonio Villaraigosa. I know that I was asked to speak at his press conference largely because of the draw of my Star Trek linkage. As well, when I spoke at the Japanese seniors' intermediate care facility, Keiro Services, Star Trek combined with my association with the Japanese American National Museum, were the factors that attracted the large audience of seniors. I chatted with one lady who was 104 years old. She was born in 1896 - having lived in three centuries! In so many unexpected ways, my association with Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry's visionary creation has opened doors that have expanded my life horizon.

But when any hint of self-importance might begin to creep into me and I start believing that my Star Trek association is free entrée to anything, a humbling reminder always seems to bring me back to reality.

This month, my niece, Akemi Takei, sportscaster for KING-TV in Seattle, got married to David Louchheim, a radio sportscaster, on a beautiful beach in Maui, Hawaii. It was a singularly romantic affair, the bride and groom barefoot, with waves crashing in on lava rock outcroppings behind them. The reception was held at a hilltop restaurant overlooking the Wailea Country Club and the turquoise blue Pacific beyond. As we sipped cocktails, nibbled hors d'oeuvres and waited for the sun to set, I slowly became aware of a generational divide. The parents of my niece and David's friends were thrilled to meet me. They were eager to have their pictures taken with me. They told me they were long-time Star Trek fans from back in their college days. The young people, however -- Akemi and David's friends -- were gracious and friendly but rather blasé. In fact, some weren't really that familiar with Star Trek. They, I realized, were the post-Star Trek generation. The passage of time brings with it the larger context of life.

As I huffed and puffed my way back up to the volcano's rim - 10,000-feet above sea level -- I thought of the ardent excitement of the middle-aged Star Trek fans of the evening before, and, in contrast, the nonchalant affability of their children. Intense fire and cool, youthful calm. There didn't seem to be that much difference between the human generations and geologic time.

December, 2003, LOS ANGELES -- It was sixty years ago that my family and I came to Arkansas. My father had told me that we were going on a "long vacation" to a far away place called Camp Rohwer. Together with some eight thousand other Japanese Americans, we arrived at a barbed wire enclosed campground of black tarpaper barracks. Soldiers with guns watched over us from high guard towers. Outside the barbed wire fence, thick, wooded swampland surrounded us. All we had was the luggage we carried. President Roosevelt had signed an executive order imprisoning Japanese Americans in 10 camps like this one simply because we happened to look like the enemy.

I had never gone back to Rohwer since we left. This was my first trip back to a place about which I actually have fond boyhood memories mingled with my understanding of the break down of American democracy under the stress of war. I remember the fun of catching pollywogs in the ditch and watching them turn into frogs. I also understand now the tears I saw well up so often in my mother's eyes at the sight of the barbed wire fence that symbolized her loss and confinement. I remember the joy of that wondrous winter morning when we woke up to find everything covered in white - my discovery of the magic of snow that first winter in Arkansas. And I cherish now so much more deeply my father's resilience, energy, and dignity under conditions of groundless injustice. I returned to Rohwer resolved that America must not forget the lessons of its history. I was coming back as the Chairman of the Japanese American National Museum working with the University of Arkansas at Little Rock to plan a series of exhibits next year on the internment camp history of Arkansas. I was returning to the place of my childhood memories to build a better future for our democracy.

The Rohwer that I came back to, however, was not that of my memory. It was utterly changed. The swamp that I remembered had been drained completely. The trees of the dense forest that surrounded us had all been chopped down. Rohwer today was mile after mile of open farmland. The only reminder that there had once been an internment camp was the cemetery - the rows of markers of those who had died in imprisonment. The most prominent of the markers was a tall, crumbling concrete monument to the Japanese American young men who left the internment camp to fight for this country and had perished in the war. The irony was excruciating. Standing before that soldiers' monument in an American internment camp, sharp, painful tears welled up in my eyes. These incredible young men had fought and died to make my America today possible. I vowed then that the ideals of this nation, the civil liberty for which they so bravely fought, shall not be tarnished - not in my time, when the tensions of war are again challenging those ideals.

Funded by the Winthrop Rockefeller Foundation, the University of Arkansas at Little Rock and the Japanese American National Museum are planning a series of major events in Little Rock to coincide with the opening of our exhibits there in September 2004. One of them will be a bus trip back to Camp Rohwer. I will be there again. I hope many of you that live in the South - or, for that matter, anyone interested - might join us for that journey.

The much-vaunted southern hospitality certainly more than lived up to the legend while I was in Little Rock. I still savor the warmth and graciousness extended to me by so many people of Little Rock while I was there. A special treat was a hardhat tour of the construction of the President William Jefferson Clinton Library conducted by its President and CEO, Skip Rutherford. I was flattered to learn from him that a copy of "To The Stars," my autobiography that I'd sent to the White House because of our mutual Arkansas boyhoods, was to be a part of the preview exhibit of the Clinton Library. I will certainly look forward to the opening of the President Bill Clinton Library in November 2004.

Two days after returning from Arkansas, I was before the camera playing a Japanese priest in two installments of the CBS soap opera, "The Young and The Restless." Neil and Drucilla of the series run off to Japan to get married. The character I play, Rev. Tanaka, officiates at their wedding. It reminded me of Gene Roddenberry and Majel Barrett's marriage in Japan. Gene and Majel were married in a full Shinto ceremony elegantly dressed in formal wedding kimono. In "The Young and The Restless," however, I was the only one in formal Japanese attire. When the dresser came into my dressing room to dress me properly, I understood why the other actors were not similarly dressed. There were layer upon layers of under kimono. Each layer of kimono had to be worn in a specific way and tied with a certain kind of knot. Not only was it complicated, the process of putting on the kimono was extremely time consuming. But, for me, it was great fun wearing the costume. As I walked about, the layers of silk rustled softly with each movement. I felt elegant and transported in time and culture. It was hard to believe that only a few days before, I had been laughing and joking, enjoying southern fried chicken with Arkansans. The two episodes of "The Young and The Restless" in which I appear will air on December 22 and 23. I hope you'll be able to catch me on the show.

Immediately upon finished the soap opera, I was on a plane again to appear at a Star Trek convention in El Paso, Texas. I was once again back in the south - but the rhythm of the accent this trip had a different sound. That's what I love about regionalisms. They come in such wonderfully varied flavors - drawls, brogues, burrs, and that unmistakable Texan twang. Accents make language so savory.

This convention brought the four of us from the show, Nichelle Nichols, Walter Koenig, Jimmy Doohan, and me, together again. I hadn't seen Jimmy in ages and it was wonderful to be with him once again. He had lost a lot of weight since his illness and had slowed down considerably but that bullheaded spirit of his was unchanged. The El Paso convention is one that we will all fondly remember seeing lovably irascible Jimmy back in action. It's hard to believe but Christmas decorations are starting to appear everywhere. December is already upon us. So, as we all start making lists and preparing holiday greeting cards, I extend to all of you, my heartiest holiday cheers. May the New Year bring us all health, wealth, and peace.

November, 2003, LOS ANGELES - The firestorm of the century raged through southern California last month. Its fury seared across more than 280,000 acres. At least 20 people were killed. More than 1,000 homes were destroyed. Property damage is estimated in the billions. The hell-fires were in the rural and suburban regions of Los Angeles, San Bernardino, and San Diego counties, but even those of us in the urban areas were not spared the anguish. The air we breathed was foul and acrid with smoke. Gray soot settled everywhere. At night, the distant skies glowed ominously orange. Then the rains came. Up in the mountains, it even snowed. The fires were out. Gloriously sunny blue skies returned to southern California. But, the tragedy of the people who lost everything - homes, loved ones and memories - is heart wrenching. In the spirit of neighbors helping one another, we have all vowed to help rebuild the homes and communities of our fire-ravaged fellow Californians more vibrantly than before.

A magnificent symbol of that spirit of regeneration emerged from the aftermath of the firestorm. It was the opening of a stunning landmark, Walt Disney Concert Hall, the new home of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, designed by architect Frank Gehry. The building's stainless steel exterior gleams brilliantly in sunlight, soft and luminously in moon light; its sides swoop and swerve like the petals of some exotic alien flower. The concert hall is a silver blossom that bloomed on the cultural hilltop of downtown Los Angeles alongside the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, the Mark Taper Forum, the Ahmanson Theater, and the Museum of Contemporary Art.

I went to the first concert of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, Mahler's Symphony No. 2 in C minor, "Resurrection," anxious to know if the acoustics of this new Disney Concert Hall is as fine as the critics had reported. The selection of Mahler's "Resurrection" was inspired. The theme of regeneration was so appropriate for a Los Angeles that had just suffered the devastation of a firestorm. And the acoustics of the new concert hall would be fully tested by this Mahler piece. The first sting of the violin attack cut through the air like an audible knife. The cello section responded sonorously. In a myriad ways - from the solo voice of the mezzo soprano to the full throated one hundred twenty voice chorale, from the delicate filigree of the flute to the thunderous, kettle drum pounding final movement, the concert hall played like the finest of instruments. I would venture to say that Disney Hall is among the best, if not the premiere, concert hall of the world.

October began for me jet lagged in England. The first few days were in Milton Keynes to participate in a massive autograph event called Collectormania. It was the perfect antidote for jet lag - signing my name over and over and over again for about seven hours every day. It was exhausting but, at the same time, a great opportunity to say "hello" to familiar faces from past conventions.

Recovered and refreshed, I began a tour of two of the stately manors - actually an abbey and a castle - of old England. The first was Woburn Abbey, the ancestral home of the Duke of Bedford. The grand buildings were magnificently and sensitively maintained and herds of deer roamed the vast grounds of the estate. Next was Warwick Castle, the home of the Earl of Warwick. I had first visited this historic landmark about forty years ago and remember being saddened to see a brochure at the entrance advertising dinner in the baronial banqueting hall with the then-current Earl of Warwick. How the mighty have fallen, I thought. The Earl was reduced to entertaining tourists for a fee. On this visit, I discovered that the fall had been even more melancholy. In 1978, Warwick Castle was sold to the Tussaud Group, the operators of the Madam Tussaud Wax Museums. Actually, I found that the Castle had been greatly improved by the new owners. Over twenty million in pound sterling had been spent to repair, restore, and refurbish the castle since its acquisition by the Tussaud Group. The Castle's long and distinguished history was brought more vibrantly alive. Life-like wax figures of the people who had lived or visited there - people like Queen Victoria, her son, Prince Edward, who later became King on the death of his mother, a 23-year-old Winston Churchill who had visited there, and, from our recent time, a ravishingly elegant Princess Diana brought an engaging new dimension to the visit experience. If one were to visit only one castle in England, I would strongly recommend Warwick Castle.

With jet lag completely shaken off, I dove into the theater scene. Stratford-upon-Avon is the birthplace of William Shakespeare and the home of the best interpreters of his works, the Royal Shakespeare Company. A few nights with the Company included a wonderful production of "As You Like It" and the most original interpretation of "Taming of the Shrew" that I had ever seen. I also enjoyed visiting the cemetery of Old Trinity Church savoring memories of my student days at the Shakespeare Institute when I spent many an afternoon reading the works of the great playwright in that cemetery alongside the River Avon.

Then into London for the grand banquet table of theater, dining and just plain fooling around. I went to the National Theater for a revival of "Tales from the Vienna Woods," the Drury Lane Theater for a Cole Porter musical, "Anything Goes" and the Donmar Warehouse for John Osborne's rarely produced play, "The Hotel in Amsterdam." I dined at my favorite London restaurant, Rule's, a homey family run French place, Mon Plaisure, and a hip French bistro upstairs in Covent Garden. Selfridges has a fantastic conveyor belt sushi bar that snakes around all over the place. I fall in love with this cosmopolitan, ever-fascinating city every time I'm there.

I had to abbreviate my visit on my agent's summon to come back for a work assignment, a guest role in a Canadian television series titled "Alienated." My agent said it was a role only I could play - a character named "George Takei." I flew back to learn that I was to again fly, this time to Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, for the filming. I arrived in Victoria in a pelting rainstorm. My first scenes were outdoors, so, of course, they had to be changed to work in the downpour. I played those scenes holding a drenched newspaper over my sopping wet head. I was chilled to the bones and courted my death of a cold. The people I performed with, however, were as warm and great to work with, as the weather was wet. "Alienated" airs only in Canada, alas, but the producer assured me that they are working vigorously to sell the series to the U.S. and British TV markets.

I returned from Canada to travel again for a long scheduled board meeting. Thankfully, this time I didn't have to board a plane. This meeting was to be on a cruise ship to Ensenada, Mexico - one day for the board meeting onboard the ship and one day free in Ensenada. We put pleasure before work and had our day of whoopee first. One of the unique natural phenomenons of the world, we were told, is the blowhole of Ensenada called "la bufadora." The guide told us that there are only three such marvels - one in Australia, another in Hawaii and this one in Ensenada. So, we took one of dozens of tourist shuttle buses to this highly touted wonder of the world. When we arrived after an hour's journey, there already was a crowd of tourists marching to the fabled landmark. We joined them and arrived at a cliff looking out at the ocean and a magnificent set of rock outcroppings. It was a beautiful sight. The highly hyped natural wonder, however, was a disappointment. Apparently, we were there when the tide was off. All we saw was a light spray spit up from the blowhole. A small redeeming feature was a pale rainbow that I was able to detect in the thin mist that sprayed up with each incoming tide. That made the trek worthwhile.

The return journey from Ensenada was the workday, the day of strategic planning and budget oversight. We worked as hard as we had played the day before. When we arrived back in Long Beach Harbor the following morning, an eerie sight greeted us. The morning sun hung ominously in the smoky sky like some malignant red planet. The newspaper headline read, "Wildfires Destroy Homes." It was a homecoming fraught with foreboding. The firestorm was raging through southern California.