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.
December 18, 2008 I was deeply saddened to learn of Majel's passing this morning at her home. She was a friend, a colleague, and a dedicated pillar of the Star Trek legacy after the passing of its creator and her husband, Gene Roddenberry. She was a gifted actress, but, more than that, she was a dear friend.
I will always remember Majel as a warm, generous ally in many of my efforts outside the acting arena. She and Gene were my first supporters when I decided to run for public office in Los Angeles and keynoters at the first fundraising dinner of my campaign. Majel was a vivacious hostess and I will cherish the memories of the sparkling parties at her lovely home. She truly was the "First Lady of Star Trek."
Majel's passing now leaves a huge vacancy in the Star Trek heritage and in the hearts of so many friends and fans across this planet. Brad and I send our love and heartfelt condolences to her son, Rod.
May 16, 2008 Our California dream is reality. Brad Altman and I can now marry. We are overjoyed! At long last, the barrier to full marriage rights for same-sex couples has been torn down. We are equal with all citizens of our state!
The California Supreme Court has ruled that all Californians have a fundamental right to marry the person he or she loves. Brad and I have shared our lives together for over 21 years. We've worked in partnership; he manages the business side of my career and I do the performing. We've traveled the world together from Europe to Asia to Australia. We've shared the good times as well as struggled through the bad. He helped me care for my ailing mother who lived with us for the last years of her life. He is my love and I can't imagine life without him. Now, we can have the dignity, as well as all the responsibilities, of marriage. We embrace it all heartily.
The California Supreme Court further ruled that our Constitution provides for equal protection for all and that it cannot have marriage for one group and another form - domestic partnership - for another group. No more "separate but equal." No more second-class citizenship. Brad and I are going to be married as full citizens of our state.
As a Japanese American, I am keenly mindful of the subtle and not so subtle discrimination that the law can impose. During World War II, I grew up imprisoned behind the barbed wire fences of U.S. internment camps. Pearl Harbor had been bombed and Japanese Americans were rounded up and incarcerated simply because we happened to look like the people who bombed Pearl Harbor. Fear and war hysteria swept the nation. A Presidential Executive Order directed the internment of Japanese Americans as a matter of national security. Now, with the passage of time, we look back and see it as a shameful chapter of American history. President Gerald Ford rescinded the Executive Order that imprisoned us. President Ronald Reagan formally apologized for the unjust imprisonment. President George H.W. Bush signed the redress payment checks to the survivors. It was a tragic and dark taint on American history.
With time, I know the opposition to same-sex marriage, too, will be seen as an antique and discreditable part of our history. As U.S. Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy remarked on same-sex marriage, "Times can blind us to certain truths and later generations can see that laws once thought necessary and proper, in fact, serve only to oppress."
For now, Brad and I are enjoying the delicious dilemma of deciding where, when, and how we will be married. Marriage equality took a long time, but, like fine wine, its bouquet is simply exquisite.