Top Stories
August, 2000, SEATTLE - Have you ever seen music? I mean seen with your eyes the lunging energy of rock? Or the wail of blues? Or the joyful syncopation of ragtime? Have you ever seen music actually take on visual shape and architectural form? I have. I saw music transformed into wild, swoopy, fantastical shapes and spaces at the Experience Music Project, the new rock music museum in Seattle, Washington. The building is music as architecture and an architecture that becomes singularly musical.
Because the trustees of the Japanese American National Museum come from across the nation, we move our board meetings around the country. This quarter, the meeting moved to Seattle. So, while we were in town, we had the opportunity to visit, alas, only too briefly, the museum that is the sensation of Seattle and of the museum world.
Situated right next to the landmark Space Needle and a children's play land, with an elevated people mover system gliding right through it, the Experience Music Project is a structure that seems to have swelled up organically around its fanciful setting. It is an architectural crescendo of bright colors, wild forms and pulsating rhythms. Frank Gehry, the architect of the much-lauded Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain, is the master-builder whose imagination produced this fantastical composition in ripples, swoons and hard rock riffs.
The inner workings of this singular structure are as futuristic as its architecture, dare I say, as high tech as the starship Enterprise. Everything runs on fiber optic sensitivity. On entering, I was fitted with what can only be called a Star Fleet tricorder, a set of earphones and handed a device like a TV remote control. You point the remote to a number on an exhibit and you hear either music or narrative. For me, all this advanced technology became simply a nostalgic transporter that took me back in time to my teen-age days of Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly, and, later, the Beatles and Ramsey Lewis. Cutting edge technology was my vehicle for a sentimental journey back to music that defined a time, a mood and sentiments that no longer exist today.
Another part of the museum, however, is hands on immediacy. I became the drummer in a virtual rock band performing in a huge virtual concert hall.
Members of my band were made up of -- would you believe -- the trustees of the Japanese American National Museum! Our lead singer was Dr. Margaret Oda, a professor of education and an elegant lady. The virtual curtain parted to the deafening roar of a raucously expectant rock crowd. The music started and it was as deafening as the cheering from the virtual audience. I began drumming away wildly. Dr. Oda wailed out "wild thing�" like a rock legend. In the frenzy of my drumming, I lost my grip and my drumstick went flying off into the darkness. Dr. Oda continued wailing "wild thing." The music came down to a crashing crescendo. The sound of the wildly cheering crowd turned riotous. And the virtual curtain came down. Our concert was over. As we stepped out of the chamber, we were each handed a copy of the poster of our rock band taken as we were performing. It was rockin' good fun. The Board of Trustees meeting that followed seemed more energized than usual.
After our two-day board meeting, on my way back to Los Angeles, I stopped off in Portland, Oregon, for another wonderful event. It touched on three concerns that are important to me -- historic preservation, medical research and, inevitably, Star Trek.
The Friends of the Parkinson's Center of Oregon is an organization dedicated to research in finding a preventative and cure for Parkinson's disease. The organization's mission is to find creative ways to raise funds to support this important research. They knew the combination of baits to attract me. They combined their efforts with another dedicated group known as the Oregon Film and Video Foundation. This group of passionate people is committed to the revitalization of an historic movie palace. Built in 1925, the Hollywood Theater has a richly Byzantine exterior with an ornate rococo tower. In 1983, it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. With so many of these unique palaces of entertainment having been lost throughout the nation, the Oregon Film and Video Foundation's effort to restore and bring new life to this beautiful movie house was something not only to be applauded but actively supported.
For the combined fund-raiser, the two organizations had decided to screen my favorite Star Trek movie, "Star Trek VI, The Undiscovered Country." It was an irresistible package. And the evening turned out to be an enchanting success. Yes, it was a kind of Star Trek convention. The Klingon nation, as well as the Federation, was well represented. There were the expected photo ops. There was the usual and unending autograph line. I signed until past 11:30 p.m. But this was a different kind of Star Trek convention. The proceeds went to support the revitalization of a beautiful historic legacy and the fueling of research to cure a dreaded disease. May the good spirit of philanthropy live long and prosper in Portland, Oregon.
November, 2005 Pat Morita gave me a pain in my sides. His jokes were non-stop and relentless. I would be laughing, helpless and in pain. But he was merciless. His gags kept coming like machine-gun bullets. He would "slay" me with his jokes. Wherever we were, at dinner in a Las Vegas restaurant, at a party in Los Angeles, a fund-raiser for a non-profit institution, Pat kept me in pained laughter.
Now there is a different pain. It is the ache of parting. Pat is gone. He passed in Las Vegas of natural causes. Yet, it seems unnatural for Pat not to be bringing us joy and laughter. He was always so vibrant, so funny, and so alive. Noriyuki Pat Morita was a beloved friend and an extraordinary man.
He was extraordinary in that Pat was of a generation of Asian Americans that rarely ventured into show business. It was an insecure and inhospitable arena for Asian performers. Yet, with his passion and his gift of humor, he boldly ventured forth into that unpromising world.
He was extraordinary in his determination. Building a career was a constant struggle. The roles offered him were largely stock stereotypes that he turned into comic gems. His stand-up gigs in nightclubs were where he really flourished, opening for star like Ella Fitzgerald, Della Reese, and Smokey Robinson. He shared the bill with Redd Foxx at the Apollo Theater in Harlem. He was brilliant - he "slayed them," as he would say, with his comedic genius.
Yet, his iconic creation was a dramatic role. That of the karate master, Mr. Miyagi, in "The Karate Kid." It takes an actor with enormous humanity to fill a character so richly with such charm, spirit, and moral fiber. His Mr. Miyagi had the gentle humor that comes with wisdom combined with humility. He had the firm discipline of martial artists. He had the resilience of someone who survived unjust incarceration in an U.S. internment camp in the blistering sun of an Arizona desert. He embodied the amazing patriotism of an American who went from behind those barbed wire fences to fight heroically for his country. Pat Morita, with his extraordinary talent, made Mr. Miyagi the Japanese American Everyman. Pat infused that role with his joy, his sorrow, and his life struggles. Mr. Miyagi is a singularly American character personified uniquely by Pat Morita. I was blessed and proud to have had him as a dear friend.
I last saw him in San Francisco two months ago when we were both inducted into the Japanese American Hall of Fame. He was shockingly frail. I had to help him into cars and down stairs. But, his indomitable jokes were as relentless as ever. My laughter almost made me drop him on occasions. They were precious days we had together in San Francisco and I cherish them.
Since then, we talked on the phone. Now he is gone and I feel an unfamiliar pain. It is not the kind of pain I associate with Pat. But, this too is now a part of Pat.
We all feel this pain Pat, we who loved you, because you gave us so much. You gave us laughter and joy and the appreciation of life. Thank you, Pat, for your gloriously painful gift.
2005, A beloved friend has passed. James Doohan was admired by so many. Star Trek fans throughout the world loved Engineer Montgomery Scott and came to know Jimmy, the actor who portrayed him, from the countless conventions all over the world that became a part of his life. He loved meeting fans. He was an exuberant people person. Jimmy reveled in laughing, talking, and, especially, drinking with people. He embraced the joy of living with the gusto of a Falstaff.
Jimmy was big and generous with everything - he shared his pleasures, his dislikes, his passions, and, most generously, his luminous gift as an actor. He was fascinating to watch on screen, on the boards in a theater, or on a convention stage. He brought his life in all his robustness to his work. Jimmy was Scotty. He famously said, "Scotty is 99 percent me and 1 percent accent." To me, Scotty was 100 percent Jimmy's talent for conferring his entire being to his work. Jimmy's life radiated from every role he played. Whether as a Scottish Starfleet engineer on screen, as an English barrister on stage, or making an appearance at a convention, Jimmy's life was fully and beamingly there. He was always compelling.
Jimmy was one of a kind. He was a joy to work with. I loved doing scenes with him. Jimmy gave so much. His generosity as an actor was remarkable. He could also be a considerate adviser. When I was having trouble with a particular phrase in my dialogue, he'd give me suggestions from his bountiful bag of experience. During some of the inevitable boring waits between set-ups, he was fun to be with on the set. When he got grumpy, it was best to leave the set.
For a time, before he moved to Redmond, Washington, Jimmy was my special drinking buddy. We shared some blissful times together. He loved his Scotch. He was of Irish ancestry but he said he had imbibed enough of the libation of Scotland to qualify him as a Scotsman. When his doctor told him he had to quit drinking Scotch, he dutifully complied. He switched to vodka. He introduced me to the pleasures of a lovely wine - Chateauneuf du Pape. I introduced him to the delights of sushi. Jimmy, with his characteristic passion, took to the delectable flavors of raw fish from his first bite. His spirit of adventure was in his palate as well as his soul.
Jimmy Doohan was a hearty, down-to-earth guy. Now, he will be more than that. He has asked that his remains be shot out to space.
That is so you, Jimmy.
When all of us who loved you look up at the vastness of the twinkling night sky, we'll know that you are truly there among the stars, beaming down at us from the heavens with that wonderful, sparkling smile of yours.
May, 2005 May is Asian American Heritage month. It seems this month has become a time when I am called upon to share my thoughts on the contributions Asian Americans have made to this country with diverse groups. Two years ago, I toured U.S. military bases in Germany speaking of Asian American history. Last year, I was in Little Rock, Arkansas, for the opening of eight museum exhibits, a major symposium, and a speech on the subject. This month began with a return to Little Rock with a similar mission, this time at nearby Camp Pike to the U.S. Army, 90th Regional Readiness Command. These are the men and women of the U.S. military who have served or are ready to serve in the hot spots of today such as Iraq and Afghanistan. After my speech, I enjoyed a good southern fried catfish lunch with a group of the committee members. It was a privilege to share some time and thoughts with soldiers who are serving us so proudly.
Then it was on to Louisville, Kentucky, and a different but equally special audience. It was one hundred bright, young high school students from throughout the nation. They were being honored at a banquet with scholarships from Toyota Motor Sales U.S.A. I served as the keynote speaker at the dinner. These young people are the cream of the crop - smart, energized scholars, who had, as well, contributed to the betterment of their respective communities in various ways. It was an uplift just to be in the company of these spirited young leaders of tomorrow.
The big challenges were across the Pacific in Japan. The Japanese American National Museum, which I served as Chairman of the Board for two terms and still serve as a Trustee, had scheduled its first board meeting outside the U.S. in Tokyo.
We want to contribute to strengthening our bridge across the Pacific in U.S.- Japan relations. In conjunction with our board meeting, we held a major symposium on U.S.- Japan relations. I was a part of the U.S. panel together with Senator Daniel Inouye of Hawaii and General Eric Shinseki, former Army Chief of Staff. It was a rare opportunity to share the experience of Japanese Americans with the leadership of the people of Japan. All Americans, I strongly believe, can contribute, each in our own way, to the betterment of America as a member of this global society. Japanese Americans can serve in a unique way in our relations with Japan. The symposium, meetings, press interviews, and personal conversations were engaging exchanges and we were handsomely received. Foreign Minister of Japan, Nobutaka Machimura, hosted us to a lavish reception at Japan's diplomatic residence, Iikura House. U.S. Ambassador Thomas Schieffer similarly hosted us the following evening at the historic U.S. Ambassador's residence that General Douglas MacArthur had once called home.
After our many diplomatic events in Tokyo, we traveled to the World Expo at Aichi near Nagoya. This massive exposition sprawled over a vast green valley. It would have required days to visit just the highlights of this Expo. We had only five hours. However, we had with us a special entrée - in our party were two VIPs, a U.S. Senator and a U.S. General.
As long lines of people waited patiently at the pavilion entrances, we were quickly whisked past them and escorted in through a back way. We were able to visit a few of the major exhibits in the limited time that we had. At the Expo Theme Pavilion, we saw a rare discovery - the frozen remains of a prehistoric woolly mammoth; at the Toyota Pavilion we saw a spectacular Cirque de Soleil-like show featuring a single passenger futuristic concept vehicle and a musical band made up of anthropomorphic robots. At the Hitachi Pavilion, we saw exhibits that demonstrated nature and technology working together to protect the environment. On the way to another pavilion, we walked past a long "green wall" about two stories tall with a huge diversity of plants growing from it. We were told that "walls" like these would help counter global warming. Finally, after a fast and exhausting tour, we ended our visit to the Aichi Expo at the United States Pavilion. We were greeted by a giant holographic image of Benjamin Franklin speaking in Japanese - of all unexpected things - as well as in English. This year is his 300th birthday and the U.S. exhibit was on electricity and of Franklin's discovery of the proof of electricity with lightening.
From lightening to the futuristic Segway human transporter vehicle, it was a comprehensive exhibit on the powers of electricity. The visit ended with a relaxing reception in the Benjamin Franklin Room. An African American young woman serving as a guide impressed me. She spoke rather good Japanese. It was heartening to see young Americans learning foreign languages, going abroad, and serving as citizen ambassadors to the world.
The other mission of this trip to Japan was a promotional tour for my autobiography, "To the Stars," which had just been published in Japanese translation. Titled "Hoshi ni Mukatte," I wanted the fans of Japan to know of its publication. I did radio, television, and newspaper interviews, and, of course, the inevitable bookstore signings. I even did a college lecture on Japanese American history at Bukkyo University in Kyoto. A book signing also followed this event.
The word is now out in Japan about my autobiography, "Hoshi ni Mukatte."
My reward for all this exciting but also fatiguing tour was a fabulous treat - a classic geisha party in the storied geisha district of Gion hosted by the publisher of my book, Mr. Ito. Two elegantly charming geishas in lovely kimonos and elaborate headdresses greeted our party at the entrance and ushered us upstairs to a spacious traditional room The long black lacquer table had been set with glistening lacquer bento boxes. My geisha smiled and gestured me to my thick cushion on the soft tatami floor. From that point on, I was completely in her care. She lifted the top off my lacquer box to reveal a sumptuous meal. She suggested I raise my tiny sake cup up to her and she poured the hot liquor for me with a gracefulness only a geisha can perform. As I sampled the delectable morsels from my lacquer box, she continued to charm me with her wit and sparkling laughter.
She even took my chopsticks from me and fed me some delicious bits from my box. However, she did not eat with me. Her role was to simply serve me and keep me charmed. My manager, Brad Altman, sitting across from me, also had his own personal geisha serving and delighting him. After the meal, the two geishas disappeared and a woman, who plays the samisen, or a stringed, guitar-like instrument, seated herself off to the side of the sliding shoji door. Cued by her first "twang" on the samisen, the shoji doors silently slid open to reveal my geisha in a classic dance pose. The music began and her lyrical movements, like flower petals swaying in a soft spring breeze, transported all of us. The shoji closed, then, re-opened to delight us with the second geisha's dance. Hers was just as lovely, just as transporting. This must have been what it was like to be a shogun in old Japan. We were literally beamed back in time.
Then, the silliness began. I was invited up by my geisha to play the "paper, rock, scissors" game with her. The loser had to sip some sake. I lost often. Once she had me well loosened, I was invited to join them in a "baseball dance" geisha style. I clumsily tried to imitate her graceful movements. I made a laughing fool of myself - but according to tradition, one is supposed to act like a giddy ninny at a geisha party. So, I was being very traditional that night at a classic geisha house in the Gion. It was an enchanting evening I will long remember. I savored that memory the next morning as well. Is that what is called a "hangover?"
The translation, publication, and the fond memories of the promotional tour for my autobiography would not have been possible had it not been for the good efforts of Rev. Chiyu Sadakane and his charming daughter, Yumi-san. They did a fine job of translating "To the Stars" into "Hoshi ni Mukatte." My heartfelt gratitude goes out to them for having made a long held dream a reality beyond all expectations. Domo arigatoh gozaimasu.