October, 2000, LOS ANGELES - I was en route to Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C., on my way home from my commission meeting when it happened. But I didn't learn of it until I landed back at LAX, in Los Angeles. Brad Altman, my business manager, informed me that my mother, Fumiko Emily Takei, had been rushed to the hospital and undergone emergency surgery.
I raced directly to the hospital. I was told that she had just come out of the operating room and was now in the intensive care ward. They said I was allowed to see her. I went in expecting the worst but I was still shaken when I saw Mama. My mother had tubes coming out of every part of her body - from her nose, through her mouth, from her stomach and so many from her thin, shriveled arms. Her half lidded eyes were dim and unseeing. It was devastating to see Mama like that.
The doctor told me that she had a perforation in her stomach through which gastric acid and blood were pouring into her abdomen causing her excruciating pain. If she hadn't been brought to the hospital in time, he said, it could have been fatal. I asked for her prognosis but he would not venture anything -- only that they would monitor the situation and go in 24-hour increments. That weekend at the hospital was to be the most harrowing of my life. Finally, on Monday, they told me that she had survived the surgery and that there was guarded expectation of a slow recovery.
We had such happy plans for her. The following week, on September 29, she was to have turned 88 years old and we had a gala birthday party scheduled for her at the Japanese American National Museum. Forty of her friends and relatives were to have gathered from near and as far away as Toronto, Canada, to help her celebrate this special birthday. All that now had to be postponed. Mama turned 88 in a hospital room with masses of life-sustaining tubes connected to her small body. But she did have a bevy of flowers and lots of get well cards surrounding her.
Mama has been living with me for the past two years. I moved her from the house in which she had been living for almost fifty years, the house she had shared with my father for thirty years until his death in 1979, the house in which I grew up. It was a house so filled with life memories. But she had to be moved from there into my house because she was in the early stages of Alzheimer's disease. She was forgetting to take her medication, the cause of her first hospitalization. At my house, her care would be better monitored. I have a caregiver and my trusted business manager and friend, Brad, to help me out. At first, Mama thrived in my home.
But I began to sense some strange behaviors from Mama. She complained constantly of dust in the house. I was puzzled. My housekeeper keeps my home immaculate. I'd run my finger over the furniture to show her that there was no dust. Still, she complained. She habitually placed paper napkins over exposed food in the house, saying it's to protect them from the dust. Some mornings, she said that she'd wake up with a coat of dust on her face. So, I went into her room the next morning and woke her up by running my hand over her face. "See Mama," I pointed out to her. "There's no dust on your face." Yet, she would not stop. Her dust complaints were ceaseless and it was getting irritating. Then it dawned on me. When we were in the internment camp at Tule Lake during the war, I remembered dust everywhere. The cold wind blew the hard, gritty dust in through the spaces in the floorboard and through the knotholes into our flimsy barrack rooms. The mess hall where we took our meals always covered exposed food to protect them from the dust. Dust was a constant, relentless problem in camp. Mama, I realized, was reverting back to our days of incarceration in that World War II internment camp. It was heartbreaking.
But there were also times of joy and sharing. I used to take my mother on daily walks around the neighborhood. I'd point out the new flowers that had bloomed or the billowy white clouds up in the sky. And she would point out a great, old pine tree and tell me that it was a giant "bonsai." Once she told me of the time when I was a toddler and she used to take me out for walks. My favorite ways of teasing her, she said, was my running away from her and, when she tried to chase after me, I would run farther away giggling with great glee. These experiences from only a month ago before her hospitalization now seem like stories out of some distant past.
Mama came back from the hospital last Wednesday. Her scar from the surgery is healing steadily. But the trauma of the operation had dramatically altered her mental condition. It seems as though there is a new person inhabiting my Mama every twelve hours. At times, she adamantly refuses to talk - only a nod or a shake of the head, only a demanding point to things she wants. Then there are times when she is as charming as a coquettish little girl followed by other times when she is as feisty and combative as a bad drunk.
I savor the small joys when and where I can find them -- like this morning at breakfast. She was looking sleepy so I put my brightly smiling face right in front of her. She promptly mimicked my beaming face. Then I put on an expression of surprise and she immediately put on an exaggerated look of astonishment. When I frowned, she frowned. We spent breakfast time mugging and laughing. She is truly the mother of an actor.
I'm hoping that her return from the hospital to known surroundings and familiar patterns will help slow down the inevitable and relentless process of her disease. But I also know that I'm saying many good-byes every day to the Mama that I had.
September, 2004, LOS ANGELES - In this age of jet travel, time is shortened, work is intensified, and we cover many bases. We dash from one place to another on varying missions in a very full month. And as usual, September had me on quick trips to New York for a meeting and to Emeryville, California, for a voice-over job. But travel can also transport in time as well as to a place. Last month, I went back to my boyhood.
I traveled to a place called Rohwer in southeast Arkansas where I spent a part of my childhood years. It is a place of memories for me - memories that glow with a golden haze. I remember the lush bayous filled with strange sounds and creepy, crawly creatures. I remember catching pollywogs in a ditch and watching them miraculously sprout legs and eventually turn into frogs. I remember waking up one magical winter morning and discovering everything covered in white - cold, soft snow. I also remember the barbed wire fence that kept me confined in that camp. I traveled back to a time of innocence, a time when I was quite unaware of the devastation that had befallen my parents and 120,000 other Japanese Americans. It was World War II and our crime was that we just happened to "look like the enemy."
A child is incredibly adaptable to the most abnormal of conditions. To me, the tall guard towers and the barbed wire fence that incarcerated my family and me became part of my normal landscape. What would be abnormal in normal times became my normality. It became normal for me to line up three times a day to eat in a noisy mess hall. It became normal for me to go with Daddy to a communal shower and bathe with many men. It became normal for me to go to school in a black, tarpaper-covered barrack. I learned to recite the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag within sight of armed sentries watching over us. I was too young to appreciate the irony as I recited the words, "with liberty and justice for all."
The return to Arkansas was undeniably filled with many emotions - but this time with deeper understanding and an overpowering sense of uplift. The pilgrimage to Rohwer was on the final day of a richly enlightening week in Little Rock, Arkansas. A week-long series of programs called "Life Interrupted: The Japanese American Experience in World War II Arkansas" was being capped with a long bus caravan that rolled past mile after mile of ripening cotton fields to Camp Rohwer as well as to a second internment camp in Arkansas called Camp Jerome.
The week was awe-inspiring. Over 1,300 people, many of them former internees with their children and grandchildren, had gathered in Little Rock from all over the nation. There were lawyers, educators, historians, politicians, and others from all walks of life. The Japanese American National Museum, working in partnership with the University of Arkansas at Little Rock opened eight exhibits in four different venues located throughout the city. The principal exhibits; "America's Concentration Camp" and "Against Their Will: The Japanese American Experience in WWII Arkansas" are in the Statehouse Convention Center. The stirring story of young Japanese Americans who went from unjust incarceration behind barbed wire fences to fight heroically for the United States are told by three deeply moving exhibits in the Douglas MacArthur Museum of Military History. A handsome and affecting art exhibit of the paintings of Henry Sugimoto, who was incarcerated in both of the two Arkansas camps, can be viewed at the Cox Arts Center and two exhibits on the arts and crafts in the internment camps are at the Fine Arts Building of the University of Arkansas at Little Rock.
Saturday was a one-day symposium composed of twenty-seven sessions with discussions that ranged from democracy to civil rights to military service to historic preservation. For me, the most daunting part of the day's program was the luncheon. President Bill Clinton, the former governor of Arkansas, was on the printed program as our luncheon keynote speaker. As we all knew by that time, his emergency heart surgery in New York had sidelined him from all public activities. I was asked to substitute for him - substitute for the silver tongued former President of the United States! The challenge was as awesome as the honor. I had to rise to the honor.
I began by sharing the heartwarming joy I felt on meeting people I had not seen in decades and of people who remembered me as a little boy but that I - try as I might - could not. I talked of my fond memories of a boyhood in Rohwer. I talked of the stinging irony I felt on seeing the crumbling old monument in the cemetery at Rohwer - a memorial to Japanese American soldiers who went from internment camps to perish in a war fighting for democracy and are now buried at the site of their incarceration. I talked of an invitation I received in the year 2000 from President Clinton to the White House to witness the granting of nineteen medals of honor, the highest military recognition of the nation, to nineteen Japanese American veterans of World War II. Fifty-five years before, at the end of the war, these men had been recognized with the Distinguished Service Cross, the second-highest military honor, for their heroic deeds. However, after a review mandated by order of Congress in 1996, it was found that their acts of valor eminently merited the highest honor. Only wartime prejudice had reduced their tribute. Among these extraordinary members of the Greatest Generation receiving the Medal of Honor was the senior U.S. Senator from Hawaii, Senator Daniel Inouye, who lost his right arm on a bloody battlefield in Italy. These men and all the Japanese American veterans of World War II had transformed this nation. They made my America today a reality.
I talked of the challenges of our democratic ideals. It takes courageous, principled people to struggle to fulfill those ideals. Throughout the history of our nation, injustices were battled by the disenfranchised. African Americans struggled against slavery, then Jim Crow laws, and other discrimination to transform this nation. Women, who were denied any role in leadership, struggled to gain equality and justice and helped to transform this nation. In the history of the American southwest, Latinos had endured a host of injustices but still they struggled to fulfill the ideals of our nation. I talked that day in Little Rock about our democracy as a dynamic work-in-progress. All of us, the great diversity of this land, working in concert as Americans carry out the promise of our American ideals. When I finished, the audience rose up in a standing ovation. That week in Little Rock, Arkansas will forever be an unforgettable benchmark in my life.
The "Life Interrupted" programs that examine a dark chapter of American history were themselves history making. We have profoundly important lessons for our times today to be learned from the exhibits, the symposium, and the pilgrimage. My heartfelt gratitude goes to the Winthrop Rockefeller Foundation whose generous support made it possible for us to bring history so relevantly alive.
A great bonus of the trip to Little Rock was a preview peek at the dazzling new William Jefferson Clinton Library and Presidential Center set to open on November 18th. The hard-hat tour of the Clinton library, museum, and school of public service was wonderfully tantalizing. The modern steel and glass building is a sleek symbol of the "bridge to the 21st century" that President Clinton so often spoke about. The sensitively restored old Choctaw Railway Station in a landscaped park, which will house the Clinton School of Public Service, is the very symbol of history brought back into the current of contemporary life. I toured the work-in-progress with a few students working hard on the Grand Opening and Dedication of this newest of Presidential Centers, Mike Eady and Sara Beth Crow. I promised Mike and Sara Beth that I would return to Little Rock for that history-making day in November. I told them I have my own roots in Arkansas.
July, 2004, LOS ANGELES - My travel schedule in July had me covering about a quarter of this planet from Tokyo, Japan, to the east coast cities of Washington DC, New York, and Boston and finishing up the month at a Star Trek convention in a blazingly hot Las Vegas, Nevada.
The most personally affecting journey, however, was my first trip of the month during the Fourth of July weekend. On that holiday weekend when we Americans celebrate our liberty and freedom, I joined a pilgrimage to a former U.S. internment camp where my family and I, together with 18,000 other Japanese Americans, were imprisoned during World War II.
The camp is in northern California, almost at the Oregon border. It has an almost mockingly poetic name, Camp Tule Lake. It was there in a barbed wire camp built on a wind-swept dry lake bed that I spent two and a half years of my boyhood after a year and a half in another internment camp in Arkansas.
The pilgrimage was made up of bus caravans that came from Sacramento, San Francisco, San Jose, Oakland and Berkeley, California. We, from Los Angeles, joined the one from Sacramento. On the buses were survivors of the internment, most of them elderly now, young Japanese Americans intent on understanding the experience of their grandparents and parents, scholars of the internment, both white and Asian, a few filmmakers and one or two African Americans. It was a good spectrum of the nation on a journey back to a dark chapter of American history. This was my second pilgrimage to Tule Lake. Eight years ago, in 1996, I made my first journey back since our family was released from that camp exactly fifty years before. That pilgrimage was also on a Fourth of July weekend. The symbolism was irresistible.
The tar paper barracks that we lived in are all gone now - long removed or destroyed by time. With the guidance of an authority, I retraced a dirt road to an area where our barrack once must have been. I recognized the view of Abalone Mountain and Castle Rock from that barren site. This must have been where my home was, so long ago. The mountains were the only landmark I was able to remember. One of the few remaining structures from the camp was the concrete stockade, a jail within an internment camp. These pilgrimages back to a little remembered time in our history help enlarge my appreciation of the preciousness of our American liberty and my awareness of its fragility. They also deepen my understanding of the painful human price paid by such failures of our democracy.
The most poignant part of the pilgrimage was the memorial service held at the old cemetery site for those who died during their incarceration. Tribute was paid to those who passed in all 10 internment camps with candles lit by representatives from each of the camps. I was honored to represent Camp Rohwer in Arkansas, where my family and I were held before being brought to Camp Tule Lake. As we paid our respects to those who passed in these camps during World War II, my thoughts were also with those Arab Americans today who are being detained without the due process to which we are all entitled. I resolved as an American to work to ensure that the fundamental ideals of this nation shall prevail over today's challenges of terrorism.
The most joyous part of the pilgrimage was a cultural program held in the newly restored Art Deco movie theater in the nearby town of Klamath Falls, Oregon. The performers were former internees and their descendants. The audience was made up of those on the pilgrimage and the people of the town of Klamath Falls. I served as the master of ceremony as well as a reader of a poem written by a former internee/poet. There were musical acts, dramatic readings, and dance performances. About a thousand people - former internees and those on the pilgrimage shared a happy evening of cultural performances with the town folks of a rural southern Oregon community. The applause after each act was loud and appreciative. It was, to me, the sweet sound of a healed nation and the true spirit of America.
The trip to Tokyo was to promote the fall release in Japan of the DVD version of the original Star Trek television series. The promotional campaign involved back-to-back series of print, television, and radio interviews culminating in a massive public event in a chamber hall of the central Tokyo Railway Station. Fans from throughout Japan gathered, many in Starfleet uniforms, others in USS Excelsior T-shirts, to celebrate a unique Star Trek event. The master of ceremonies was a hyper-animated Japanese comedian in Starfleet uniform accompanied by a bevy of lovely young girls dressed as Starfleet yeomen. The applause when I was introduced was thunderous. It was an extraordinary sensation to be talking in Japanese about a television series on which I had worked almost forty years ago in Hollywood to young fans in Japan, many of whom had not yet been born at the time.
The enthusiasm, the devotion, and the love I felt from them were as real and as palpable as that from fans in North America, South America or Europe. What made this so special was the fact that this event was in the country from which my grandparents came to America about one hundred years ago. Never in their wildest imagination could they have dreamed that their grandson would be so affectionately received as an actor in this, my ancestral land. What an amazing world we live in! And what an astonishing global phenomenon Star Trek has become.
The trips to the East Coast cities were a combination of business and pleasure. Washington DC was for a meeting of a task force on which I have been asked to serve. New York is always my destination for great theater and excitement as well as the nerve center of work and business. After the business part of my mission was completed, it was theater every evening. The most impressive drama I caught was Arthur Miller's "After The Fall" starring Peter Krause from the television series, "Six Feet Under." Krause was fine but the most striking performance in the play was that of Carla Gugino in the role inspired by Marilyn Monroe. Her characterization of an insecure woman, initially charming and poignantly eager to please, who, with power, grows into a terrifying monster, was commanding.
The most stirring musical was award winning playwright, Tony Kushner's "Caroline, or Change." I'm amazed by this artist who blew me away with "Angels in America" and now transported me musically to his native Louisiana in the 50's with a heartrending story of the relationship of a black housekeeper and a young Jewish boy, the son of her employer. Tonya Pinkins' performance as Caroline was soulfully moving. Other shows I caught were "Wonderful Town," "Sly Fox" with Richard Dreyfus and gifted Rene' Auberjonois in a hilariously delightful characterization, and "Frogs," starring Nathan Lane. I always leave New York feeling so enriched.
Changing to my political hat, I flew to Boston for the Democratic National Convention. I was not a delegate this year, but I served as the master of ceremony for one of the after parties. I thought it was a terrific convention. The speeches were stirring, former President Bill Clinton was masterful, and Senator John Kerry gave the best speech I had heard him make. We need a strong leader who can truly lead in a complex and diverse world; one who can address the historic deficit that this nation has been plunged into and create genuine jobs for working Americans. As you might guess, I am a Democrat and I have great feelings in my bones that we will elect a new president in November - President John Kerry.
The final trip of the month was to Las Vegas and a Star Trek convention. How comfortable these conventions have become! After all the hurly burly of the many trips, even with a slight jet-lag fog, I can still function easily surrounded by understanding and loving fans. I can get the names of familiar faces mixed up and still get a forgiving hug. I can growl out that old coal miners' song, "Sixteen Tons" and still get standing ovations. What terrific people fans are! I love the fans and I love these conventions that are like massive family reunions. July was a full, hectic and enriching month and how wonderful it is to recover and relax with fans at a Star Trek convention.
June, 2004, SEATTLE - Imagination is that wondrous medium that propels us into the future of human society - into marvels of science, technology, and human affairs. Within the laws of science, imagination has produced wonders undreamed of. Within the disciplines of technology, imagination has transformed the world. Within all the complexities of human nature, imagination has created a civil society.
Yet, there is the imagination that still pushes at limitations. That is the imagination that drives beyond boundaries into the realm of science fiction. Freed from constraints, this imagination then truly enters the sphere of exploration. It investigates relevant issues with greater clarity. It gains deeper insights, a larger awareness. It expresses our greatest hopes as well as our darkest fears. This is the imagination that takes us into the land of science fiction. I found this land, alive and vibrant, in Seattle, Washington.
The landmark symbol of Seattle is the still futuristic-looking floating disk in the sky called the Space Needle. Seattle is the home of Microsoft and Boeing. Science and imagination are at the foundation of this city's economy. So it is eminently fitting that Seattle celebrates science fiction. And it was celebrated in exuberant style with the opening of the fabulous, new Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame on June 16, 2004.
Nichelle Nichols and I were invited as guests to the gala opening night party of the spectacular museum. Located at the foot of the Space Needle, the building was designed by the award-winning architect, Frank Gehry. We were driven right up to the entrance - and I was taken aback! The building looked like a pile of shiny, multi-colored shards and bent pieces of a space ship crash. I felt like we were entering a stunningly glamorous disaster area. I know that imagination involves daring, the taking of risks - and this looked like a risk that failed. Risks and failures are a part of science fiction. I love the architecture of Frank Gehry's new Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. It is a dazzling monument to imagination. I don't think the Science Fiction Museum in Seattle is one of his successes.
But the content of the museum was stunning in the most extraordinary way. It brims with sci-fi wonders. The galleries are filled with the history of science fiction: first edition books by legends, rare tomes such as Ray Bradbury's "The Martian Chronicles" and "Fahrenheit 451," and H.G. Wells' "The Time Machine." There are film and television artifacts - models, costumes, props and posters - from "Blade Runner," "Planet of the Apes," "The Day the Earth Stood Still," "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," "ET," and many others. There are imaginative original artworks illustrating visions of the future, art that dates back to the late 1800s. And, of course, there are one-of-a-kind memorabilia from our "Star Trek." There is Captain Kirk's Command Chair, which has its own interesting history in which I played a small part. The set of the television U.S.S. Enterprise had been donated to my alma mater, the UCLA film department. It was used for a few student film projects and then, neglectfully allowed to dry and age in the hot southern Californian sun. A staff carpenter, a secret Trek fan, decided to "rescue" it by taking it home and storing it in his garage. Sadly, he died shortly after. Years later, just by happenstance, I shared a table with his widow at a charity fund raising dinner. She told me of "this old Star Trek chair" her husband left her in the garage that she didn't know what to do with. I informed her of a Beverly Hills auction house that was preparing a Sci-Fi collectors' sale. She checked into it and had the chair's authenticity verified. It was the genuine article. So the Captain's Chair was auctioned off and sold - at a handsome price - to Paul Allen, one of the billionaire founders of Microsoft and the Founder of the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame. It is now on display as a part of the museum's permanent collection. Nichelle and I had the honor of validating the "Star Trek" exhibit by autographing a model of the Starship Enterprise. I felt further honored by being featured in two of the museum's video commentaries that run continuously as a part of the exhibit.
The opening night party was great fun - food, music, and dear, but rarely seen friends. It was great visiting with John and Bjo Trimble, the dedicated Star Trek fans who launched a crazy campaign to save a faltering television sci-fi show and ultimately succeeded. They called it the "Star Trek Lives" campaign. Forrest Ackerman, the legendary sci-fi collector was there, now reduced by age to a wheelchair. But age cannot wither, nor time diminish, this man's enthusiasm and delight in people and the fans of this imaginative genre. We talked of the time, years ago, when he opened up his astoundingly vast collection to me for a private showing. It was a grand night of nostalgic reminiscences about the future.
The Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame is a tribute, not only to science fiction, but to the imagination that sets the goals for the human future. This museum cherishes and preserves that history of imagination and its achievements and, at the same time, inspires the imagination of the young minds of the future. In the shiny wreckage of a venturesome architectural vision resides the new home of future-oriented imagination.
Seattle, at the same time, has opened a fantastically imaginative architectural success. Its new Seattle Central Library is a stunningly innovative structure that works as smoothly and as silently as a machine and looks as fun and colorful as a staggered stack of giant books. As visually arresting as the zigzag levels are, they also are organized in a most rational arrangement. The reading rooms jut out to capture the most natural light for better reading and energy conservation while the book storage levels are "stacked" centrally for easy access on a ramped grade. The children's book department is on the street level with the auditorium and meeting rooms in the windowless hill side. This achievement of Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas is a new world landmark that further anchors Seattle as the city of imagination and creativity. What a great place to be poised to launch into the future.
April, 2004, TOKYO - I have appeared at Star Trek conventions throughout the world - in Europe, Latin America, and, of course, all over North America - except for the one obvious place for me. I had never done a Star Trek convention in Japan. I speak Japanese. I visit Japan frequently. I even attended summer school in Tokyo in my youth. Most relevantly, I am an American proud of my Japanese ancestry. Yet, I have never been invited to appear at a Star Trek convention in Japan - until I got a call last year from an entrepreneur/Star Trek fan named Kyouichi Iwahori.
Iwahori-san flew into Los Angeles for a lunch meeting to share with me his plans to open a shop for collectors of sci-fi movie props in Tokyo and to produce the very first Star Trek convention ever held in Japan. He is a man of grand visions. And, I learned, he is a man who achieves his dreams. His business credentials were evident, and, as I spoke with him, I quickly sensed that he was a genuinely knowledgeable Star Trek fan as well. He knew each episode of the show, line for line, action for action. He even owned a yacht that he had named Star Trek.
I flew into Narita International Airport to be greeted by Iwahori-san and his team of crack professionals. On our way to the hotel, I was informed that there would be a delay in the opening of his Hollywood Prop Shop due to some construction problems but that there would instead be a gala pre-opening party across the street from the shop. That was fine with me.
The convention was to be held in the town of Toyama, where Iwahori-san controls the Civic Auditorium. We were to stay at a hot springs spa resort overnight in that town. That sounded fabulous. This would be a wonderful visit to Japan.
Toyama is on the Japan Sea side of Japan less than an hour flight northwest of Tokyo. It is fabled for its superb seafood as well as its natural mineral springs. That night we dined at an enchanting rustic inn sampling the many exotic delicacies unique to the area. Where else can one savor the subtle flavors of a "fire fly squid," a squid caught only at night by the glow that it sends out, or a fat, bug-eyed fish as delicious as it is ugly. The spa resort was reached after a winding night drive up to the top of a rugged mountain. I was exhausted after my travels. Changing into a "yukata," or cotton sleeping kimono, I went straight to bed.
There can be no more glorious way to greet the new day than a morning soak in a steaming outdoor mineral spring. Gazing out at rugged, ancient rock outcroppings and gnarled old pine trees with the town of Toyama off in the distance below was the most relaxing way to prepare for a full day of a Star Trek convention.
The elements that make up a Star Trek convention are the same the world over - the autographs, the talk, and the promotional visits to the local radio stations and newspaper offices. There are, however, cultural distinctions with each one. For this Star Trek convention in Japan, I dressed in my suit and tie. The talk was formally organized. Iwahori-san conducted an interview/conversation with me on stage which was projected on a giant video screen behind us to accommodate the audience in the vast auditorium. At the end of our conversation a cute young fan came onstage and presented me with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers bigger than he was. There was much bowing up and down. Backstage, he gave me a sketch of the Starship Enterprise that he had drawn himself. The autograph line was well planned and orderly and the fans were politely enthusiastic. This was distinctively a Japanese Star Trek convention - as punctual and efficient as their fabled bullet train operation. This is one convention that will remain in my memory. I will have to share my experience of this convention with my colleagues from the show. I know they will want to do one here too - but they'll have to start brushing up their Japanese.
We flew back to Tokyo that evening. As we drove into the great metropolis from the airport, I was dazzled by the soaring new office towers that had gone up in formerly low rise districts of the city. Shinagawa was now a shining new city of corporate headquarters. Roppongi, a lively entertainment district now had a new mega-complex of luxury hotels, apartments, international shopping, an art museum and a towering centerpiece high rise tower visible from anywhere in Tokyo. The economic vitality of this city never fails to impress me.
Iwahori-san's collector store, The Hollywood Prop Shop, was almost ready to open - but not quite. The display shelves and counters were not yet in. Some of the merchandise had not yet arrived. There was the hustle and bustle of staff in hectic preparation. After a quick inspection of the premises, I quickly got out of their way. The shop was well located - right in the busy Nishi Roppongi district. It should do well. If the gala pre-opening party was any indicator, the venture should be a smash success. Star Trek fans I had met on previous visits to Japan were there to greet me as an old friend. Stars of Japanese action movies were mingling with wealthy collectors. The buffet table was laden with delectable Chinese food. The speeches were generously congratulatory. The evening was a happy launching of an enterprise boldly going where Star Trek had not ever gone before - to the very heart of sci-fi collectors' Tokyo.
Iwahori-san topped off the trip with a final unforgettable experience. It was a visit to the futuristic National Museum of Emerging Science and Innovation. The museum showcases a vision of humankind's future of exploration, balanced with care for the environment; of experimental daring tempered by awareness of its consequences. Going through the exhibits was, at once, inspiring and challenging.
The Director and Chief Executive Officer of the institution was no less than a man who had himself been out in space, Japan's astronaut, Mamoru Mohri. I had met him on a visit to Okinawa in November 2000. My great luck on this call was that it happened to coincide with the visit of another space scientist, the woman astronaut from Japan, Chiaki Mukai. It would have been a rare treat just to visit an astronaut but to meet two astronauts - both from Japan - was an unexpected stroke of good fortune. Director Mohri amusingly observed that he considered me his "senior" because he saw me out in the galaxy years before he ever got out in space to the International Space Station. I demurred. I stated that Astronaut Mohri is a 20th century spaceman and I, as Sulu, played a 23rd century star trekker, so, in fact, he is three hundred years my "senior" - and my inspiration as well.
Life moves in fascinating ways. We were brought together in this museum of the future by the vision and genius of Gene Roddenberry who gave birth to "Star Trek." His creation merged time and space and still continues to have an effect. A student in Japan saw an actor portraying a spaceman of the future on television some years back. Today, he, as a genuine astronaut, and that actor share a convivial visit - 21st century fact and 20th century vision, meeting at a museum of the future in Tokyo, Japan. The power of human imagination makes wondrous things happen. Domo arigato Iwahori-san for your fantastic hospitality and my very best wishes for the success of your enterprise.