STAR TREK GENERATIONS (1994)

This year marks the twentieth anniversary of the release of 1994's STAR TREK GENERATIONS, an event that is more momentous for me than it might be for others.  It was also twenty years ago that my father passed away suddenly.  Oddly enough, these two events are connected.  Not only did they occur within weeks of each other, but my dad should have been there in the theater alongside me, watching the new STAR TREK film when it premiered.   Instead, the movie emerged as a bittersweet touchstone, now always reminder of this major turning point in my life and one that is special to me more so than for other fans.

When STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION premiered in 1987, it quickly became a program that my family all watched together each Saturday.  My parents had been casual fans of the original 1960's series and the movies that began a decade later.  I say casual, in that for mom and dad it existed primarily as viewed entertainment which they thoroughly enjoyed, but this never expanded out into the big world of TREK conventions, books, action figures or collectibles of any kind, though this would all eventually populate my world.  In fact, my dad wasn't normally a sci-fi kind of guy when it came to entertainment, as he was mainly interested in the genres of war, spies and sports.  Nevertheless, if the story and characters appealed to him, then he was all in, starships or not.

In Summer 1988 we moved from Durham to Rocky Mount.  When the new TV season ramped up in the Fall, THE NEXT GENERATION was nowhere to be found on any of our local networks.  It was a syndicated series and thus local stations had the option of whether or not to add it to their schedules.  My father actually penned letters to the editor of the Rocky Mount newspaper stating what a quality program this new TREK series was, how we as a family watched it together and that it deserved to be broadcast.  I remember reading his letter in the paper, surprised that he went to such lengths, as I didn't realize it had meant that much to him.  Maybe it was simply the fact that the show had become a weekly ritual for us.  Maybe he just hoped to see more of the exotic, raven-haired cast member Marina Sirtis every Saturday.  I'll never know if this had any effect on the TV station or if the wheels already were in motion, but fairly soon THE NEXT GENERATION was broadcast in Rocky Mount.

The series wrapped up in June 1994.  I was home from college for the Summer, having completed my junior year at UNC-Chapel Hill.  The 2-hour final episode was a much-anticipated event in the household.  For me, it felt like the end of an era as the show's seven-year run had accompanied me through high school and all but my last year of college.  Those years of major life changes were always brightened by the presence of this series.  It helped me personally and I loved that it had been a constant companion for my family too, providing us memorable shared memories.  When the finale ended, in beautiful fashion I might add, the one consolation was the fact that the cast's transition to the big screen would occur in November, only several months away.  Funny enough, I recall my dad noting to me that THE NEXT GENERATION had actually eclipsed the original in his opinion, becoming his favorite.  I think he might have found a kindred spirit in the learned, thoughtful character of Captain Picard (played by Patrick Stewart) and I can't say I blame him.   

I remember November 5th being a crisp Saturday.  Finally, I had decided to attend one of UNC's football games, seeing as how I'd yet to use my student pass.   For some reason, I left the game at halftime and not long after arriving back at my dorm, my mom called. Something terrible had happened to my father.  She said it was like a stroke.  Paramedics were with him now and headed to the hospital.  With no further details, I jumped into my car and began the ninety minute drive towards home.  In my own thoughts during the drive, I never once considered the possibility that he wouldn't recover.  It just seemed too far-fetched, really. 

Finally at the hospital, I met up with my mom, who guided me into the emergency room.  There were several  nurses attending to my father as he lay prone on the table, seemingly unconscious.  It was explained to me that he had suffered a brain aneurysm that morning while at home.  Mom had been out shopping while my sister Meri had been upstairs, out of earshot and initially unaware that anything had occurred.   As she cradled my father's head in her hands, my mom announced that I was in the room and urged him to focus on me.  He was still so unresponsive, dazed yet almost trying to speak.  I will never forget seeing that his pupils were now completely, strangely black.   It's an image that still haunts me.  He soon slipped into a coma and we all took up residence at the hospital, nervously awaiting any improvements in his condition.

I still wasn't convinced that he wouldn't wake up.  I was pensive but not distraught.  I remember not joining in with family and friends when they prayed together, but then I've always found praying difficult and uncomfortable.  Looking back, I'm annoyed at my younger self for not participating for the sake of his father's recovery.  Nevertheless, by Monday nothing more could be done to help.  Each of us spent time alone with him, to say goodbye.  The last actual conversation between he and I was by phone, around two weeks prior.  In an ironic twist, this simple phone call now carries such emotional weight for me, an unexpectedly pivotal, treasured memory.  It's as momentous as if I'd been chatting with the Dali Lama.  I'm so glad I told my dad that I loved him before we each hung up that day. 

A few weeks later, STAR TREK GENERATIONS arrived in cinemas.  On opening night, I walked to the theater closest to my dorm, knowing only as much about the movie's plot as the trailers had revealed.  I found myself held rapt by this first big screen adventure of my favorite TREK crew, though it was an adjustment watching with strangers in 35mm Dolby Digital following years on a 24-inch TV screen.  I was inadvertently struck by the movie's overarching theme, that of dealing with the inescapable fact of losing our loved ones.  During the course of the story, Captain Picard learns of the tragic deaths of both his brother and nephew, while the villain, Soran (played by Malcolm McDowell) had years earlier lost his wife and child.  The main conflict arises due to Soran endangering innocent lives as a consequence to his plan to return to his family.  Admittedly, this could be considered a downbeat topic for a STAR TREK film, however in my world, it came along at the absolute perfect time.

At the close of the film, Picard espouses his view on loss, what he's discovered through his life, in that we should relish all moments and understand that what we have now won't ever return.  I choked up at hearing this.  I don't know if the lesson would have struck me as much if I hadn't experienced such a loss of my own, plus I felt it double since it originated from a NEXT GENERATION movie.  My dad's sudden passing was still too surreal to process.  I likened it to waking abruptly from a long dream in which I had a father, but this was actually reality, a life without him.  It was painful to realize I could never again connect to the time when he existed.  Finality of that sort is tough to reconcile with, but in absorbing the message in GENERATIONS I strive to enjoy my memories of him, making them part of my present and not focus on his absence.  It continues to be a struggle.

I saw the movie three times that month in theaters, the last viewing with my mom.  I didn't relay any plot details to her beforehand and it turned out to be a very emotional experience for her too.  While the end credits rolled, we stayed in our seats and talked... about the film, my dad and wondering how we could all continue without him.  He was so greatly missed in ways both small and large, even just wishing he could have joined us at the movies that day.  His passing reshaped our family in a manner that required great adjustment.  Growing older and further away from the days when he lived saddens me, since recollections dim.  I realize my time with him becomes less than the time without him.

GENERATIONS might not be the most popular among the entries in the TREK film series, but it remains special to me, beyond what the filmmakers could have intended.  Each day there are uncounted reminders of my father, including many movies, but this one in particular has become a time capsule for me, linked forever with everything I felt at his passing.  At the funeral, I spoke of one consoling thought of mine - the hope that by being his son it meant some part of him might still be present in my every day life.  I wanted to keep sharing with him what I saw, heard, read and felt.  The parts of me which reflect him as a father I'd like to believe are the best parts of myself.  And I hope he would be proud.

THE CASSANDRA CROSSING (1976)

Let it never be said that a soundtrack can't lead a person to love and family.  It might be a circuitous route and one not anticipated in the least, but my search for a specific album resulted in such life-changing events for a close friend.  As an added bonus, this friend and I also have the unique "honor" of stating that we met through a classified ad... in a soundtrack magazine... in the 90's. 

It was Fall 1993 to be exact and I had recently switched colleges.  I wrapped up my sophomore year at Guilford and inaugurated my junior year at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.  I packed up my dad's 1983 green Ford LTD, on loan for the semester, and moved myself into a complete arena of "newness" - town, school, people and dorm.  Of course, my burgeoning CD collection accompanied me and the music of one composer, Jerry Goldsmith, was quickly taking the lead in sheer number of albums.  

Much of his work I knew only by reputation, as it was either impossible to find on disc or simply never released on its own at all.   THE CASSANDRA CROSSING was just such an example of a highly-regarded score by Goldsmith, heralded by fans with more vast collections and deeper pockets than me.  The movie was a 1976 European production, in the mold of other "disaster" genre flicks of the decade, focusing on a deadly outbreak on a runaway passenger train and starring Richard Harris and Sophia Loren (plus Martin Sheen and O.J. Simpson!).  Apparently it featured a gripping, dynamic score by Goldsmith, available only on a hard-to-find CD.  Imagine my excitement when I found it listed in the classifieds section of the magazine Film Score Monthly.   The power of Goldsmith compelled me to respond, though I'd never actually answered a classified ad before.  It felt like a blind date.

I dialed up the number in the ad, which was a New Jersey area code, and a friendly, chatty guy named Todd picked up.  I asked about his copy of THE CASSANDRA CROSSING, if it was still for sale.  Unfortunately, Todd informed me that the CD had already been claimed.  Once I stifled my disappointment, I took the opportunity to simply start talking film music with another ardent fan, seeing as how it was a rare occurrence.  We also were both big STAR TREK fans as well, just in case the conversation wasn't nerdy enough.  Back in the day this type of connection might only happen through fan-operated publications and newsletters.  With the internet today, fan interactions occur without picking up a phone or even stepping outside. 

Todd and I began a habit of talking about once a month, trading cassette compilations and then planned a meetup in his territory some months later.  Yeah, I  know, it sounds like the start of some smoldering long-distance romance.  It can't be helped, but don't get your hopes up, only a really great friendship was the result.  My eventual trip to his town became my first experience flying alone and my first visit to New Jersey, where Todd was a history teacher and also ran the drama department.  He seemed the kind of teacher that students could call their favorite, or at least I would've said so had I been one of his students.  He was the dynamic, engaging type of teacher who, in true DEAD POET'S SOCIETY fashion, might even inspire a student to "Carpe Diem" and stand on their desk to boldly state "Oh, Captain, My Captain!".

For me, it was a significant friendship since it didn't begin in or revolve around school.  All my friendships up until then originated with peers in class or school theater productions, including college.  This involved someone not only a few years older who was a working adult, but also required effort to maintain through phone calls and travel.  School friendships, while no less important, can be maintained simply by showing up for class or knocking on neighbor's doors in your dorm, but my friendship with Todd was more akin to those between normal grown-ups.  It was the best glimpse of life beyond syllabi and blackboards, exams and assigned readings and days framed by seasonal semesters.  The friendship pointed towards what I most looked forward to - a sweet bachelor pad and a CD collection that eclipsed mine.  

Subsequent trips to New Jersey included venturing into New York City for soundtrack shopping at the famed and now lamented Footlight Records, a film composer panel where Todd and I wound up cracking jokes only movie music fans would find funny and even a fantastic concert with Jerry Goldsmith himself conducting selections from his scores.  Of course for that latter event, we waited eagerly outside the stage door, hoping to catch Goldsmith maybe smoking a cigarette, but the old genuis was wily and elusive that day.

Once I graduated college, Todd started making trips down south to my neighborhood in Chapel Hill.  It was during one of these excursions that he was introduced to my roommate at the time, a girl named Devon.  She and I met through our mutual friend Mark while we were all enrolled at UNC. A few years following graduation Devon and I wound up rooming together in a 3-bedroom duplex.  On one particular weekend, Todd flew down to hang out with me, Devon, Mark and his wife Presley as we happily floated between movies, restaurants and hiking.  It turned out, though, that Todd was having an even better time than we thought as he found himself crushing on Devon pretty hard.  They stayed up late talking as the rest of us headed off to bed.

After that weekend, the frequency of Todd's travels to Chapel Hill increased.  In fact, while I soon moved away to Chicago in '98, the two of them continued their long-distance relationship and he eventually relocated to Chapel Hill.  Expressed in TV terms, when I departed my role got recast.  Todd then became the new soundtrack/Sci-Fi geek in that circle of friends.  As a "Bewitched" analogy, he was the Dick Sargent to my Dick York.

 
I did finally hunt down my own copy of THE CASSANDRA CROSSING album, probably a decade or so later.  Later, another edition was released including all the music from the movie, so I grabbed that as well.  It absolutely met my expectations and soon emerged as a favorite among all the Goldsmith scores in my collection, never failing to be a great listen.  The movie itself I caught late one night on the TCM channel and it proved to be loopy, over-the-top and fun all together, with a downbeat ending I didn't predict.  But hey, it was the 70's, why should I have been surprised?  The director, George Pan Cosmatos, would eventually direct the Sylvester Stallone classics RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART II (1985) and COBRA (1986), so at least his career wasn't limited to unknown Euro disaster thrillers. 

At a certain point, this becomes less my story and more Todd's, but it would be remiss of me not to mention that he and Devon married and started a family, once they moved back north.  Two bright kids were produced, a boy named Jackson and a girl, Caroline.  I never asked, but I wonder if Todd and Devon ever considered "Cassandra" when naming their daughter. Sounds poetic, right?  On second thought, who wants their daughter to go through life explaining that their name originated with an obscure 70's movie and a classified ad for the soundtrack album.  Still, sometimes the best friendships begin under the oddest circumstances, when we're crossing paths without roadmaps.

THE MAN IN THE MOON (1991)

No starships, no lightsabers, no gun fights and no creatures.  This pretty much describes the unique status this soundtrack album held in my collection back in 1991, as the film THE MAN IN THE MOON is a straight-up family drama, with no elements of the "fantastic" present.   It certainly opened me up to exploring music from this genre, whether of the current or classic variety, as there are many excellent scores to be enjoyed.  What actually brought me to this specific title, however, was the 1990 movie FLATLINERS, as both feature music composed by James Newton Howard. 

FLATLINERS was one of those movies recorded from cable that wound up in heavy rotation on the weekends for my sister Meri and I.  Not sure whether it was the outlandish plot, grad school setting or the electric, why-didn't-they-ever-make-a-movie-together-again pairing of Keifer Sutherland and Kevin Bacon, but we soon had that film pretty well memorized, chorus and verse.  Add in Julia Roberts, William Baldwin and Oliver Platt and it was like a tormented, nihilistic Brat Pack with handy defibrillator kits.  I was fascinated by the depictions of the afterlife, seeing as I spent a great deal of time then ruminating about it, and the eclectic score by Howard really gripped by eardrums.  The music ran the gamut from gothic chorales, to groove-based hooks, moody synths and a sonorous, orchestral closer.  I loved every minute.  The only disappointment was that no soundtrack album ever found its way to disc. 

Back in the days of fewer soundtrack releases, being a fan of any composer meant your choices of their music on album was often limited.  Now fans thrive in an era of small, niche labels that are able to release movie music in limited runs, but before this it all relied on big labels and whether or not the studio signed off.  In the case of James Newton Howard, albums of his scores were rare in the early 90's, especially as so many of his projects yielded song-only soundtracks.  I thumbed through the record store catalogs and shelves, finding nothing, still holding out hope one day I would stumble across FLATLINERS, perhaps misfiled under the wrong letter by a careless employee.  However, I did wind up spying his name on the cassette cover for THE MAN IN THE MOON, thankfully filed correctly in the M's. 

It looked to contain no songs, only Howard's music, but I also discerned that the subject matter was as far removed from my usual soundtrack sustenance as possible.   Nevertheless, and with no info on the movie, I bought the cassette, glad to finally own at least one score from this new composer.  The first track, "Dani Brings Court Water", features a small orchestra of strings and woodwinds, augmented by guitar, mandolin and dulcimer, and upon hearing it I was mesmerized.  It played right on that edge between sweet and sad and the solo parts for violin and guitar were gorgeous.  I realize that an 18-year old male isn't normally affected by such tender music, but you know what, I'd already wept while listening to FIELD OF DREAMS so let's just all agree I was a sensitive kid.  The bittersweet quality of that opening found balance in other joyous, jangly cues for guitar, banjo and mandolin, rounding out the score nicely.

Granted, this score didn't at all resemble the rock orchestral style of FLATLINERS, but it worked for me.  So much so that I insisted on renting the movie itself the next time Meri and I visited our local video shop, a process which now seems as antiquated a notion as switching out 8-track tapes.  The movie stars a young Reese Witherspoon in her first onscreen role, along with Sam Waterston as her father.  It's a coming of age story, directed by the same man, Robert Mulligan, who helmed the 1962 classic TO KILL A MOKINGBIRD with Gregory Peck.  Set during the late 1950's in rural North Carolina, the film expertly handles the characters, the period and the changes affecting them all during one summer, especially as crushes, love and heartbreak are tackled.  My sister and I were unprepared for the excellence of this film, seeing as how no one else seemed to know it existed, and we quickly ranked it among our favorites.  It soon found its place among the same frequent screenings as FLATLINERS, GHOSTBUSTERS, REAL GENIUS, THE ABYSS and others.

In my 18th year, I was clumsily navigating that slowly dawning world of dating, when everyone else around seemed to have a better grasp of its intricacies yet the truth was that all of us at that age proceeded in blind, deaf and dumb fashion.  The "firsts" featured here - kisses, dances, loves - all resonated with me.  I wanted those same enveloping encounters, the meaningfulness and importance they conveyed to life, although to teen-age eyes all things appear meaningful and important.  Maybe it was an eagerness to step outside the family.  Experiencing those firsts of the heart felt like borders crossed into adulthood, where acceptance and love from a girl carried more weight than receiving this same thing from parents and siblings.   I never could have known how often in the ensuing years my heart was put through its paces, made to run this course again and again, but not really sure what kind of reward I actually wanted. 

I imagine it's been at least fifteen years since I last watched THE MAN IN THE MOON.  I'm confident enough that the movie still retains its strength to recommend it, though no doubt I will always see it through nostalgia-tinted glasses.  But hey, it's from the same director as TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, that's gotta be worth some credit, right?  Afterwards, I continued to follow James Newton Howard's composing career, adding him to my roster of personal favorites alongside Goldsmith, Williams, Horner and Silvestri.  THE FUGITIVE, THE SIXTH SENSE, SIGNS, I AM LEGEND and many more highlights emerged for Howard, thankfully all with album releases.  And while there's been sentimentality to wade through in my words, I find THE MAN IN THE MOON and its music remain another great time capsule for me and my own coming of age story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FocBUHniSV0

NIGHTBREED (1990)

Danny Elfman's score for 1990's NIGHTBREED wasn't my first exposure to the rocker-turned-composer's music, yet it has remained my favorite of his throughout the years.  It was only the second CD I'd ever purchased and near the start of new and continuing trend for me as a soundtrack fan, that of collecting albums to movies I hadn't even seen.  Admittedly, it's one of those aspects of being a movie music fan that some people find unusual, but once you've hitched your wagon to certain composers then their music becomes priority more than the films they underscore.  Of course, the composers themselves would probably consider this habit somewhat ludicrous, since they acknowledge the music's first destiny is to accompany the picture.  Nevertheless, these guys had become my rock stars.  Others my age instinctively bought the latest R.E.M. or Peter Gabriel record; I looked for cover credits that read "Composed & Conducted by Jerry Goldsmith" or "Music by Danny Elfman".

I was immediately a fervent fan of Elfman's music, thanks to his rich and energetic contribution to Tim Burton's BATMAN, the previous Summer.  Then 1990 proved to be a banner year as he wrote four wonderful scores - NIGHTBREED, DICK TRACY, DARKMAN, EDWARD SCISSORHANDS - each a perfect compliment to their respective movies and to boot all great listens on disc.  With NIGHTBREED, a special attribute singled it out from the others.  Its expressiveness combined with the film's story really captured me, at least a version of me that I didn't share with many.  

The film was written and directed by novelist Clive Barker, based on one of his own books, titled "Cabal".  Since unexpectedly catching his previous picture, HELLRAISER, on cable in late '89, I surprised myself by becoming intrigued with Barker's writing.  I soon shopped for his novels and short stories, delving further into his unique brand of horror/fantasy.  The plots were dark, supernatural and byzantine, the settings often fantastic other dimensions, the characters alienated on the fringes of society and all frequently involved sequences heavy up on gore or sexuality.  I never was much a reader of the horror genre, yet the worlds and people inhabiting Barker's stories I found compelling.  And I began to feel a kinship with those elements.

The main focus of both the novel "Cabal" and its film adaptation concerns a secret society of monsters living sequestered away in their own underground community.  The protagonist, Boone, learns he belongs with them, after being falsely accused of murder and then gunned down by police.  Boone essentially dies and is reborn into this bizarre, appalling yet welcoming tribe of misfits.  Eventually he rescues them all from the town of hateful locals, emerging as their new leader.  Elfman's score merges pathos and sympathy for the misunderstood monsters, while also highlighting their strange abilities, including members turning into smoke and a woman sheathed in poisonous quills.  Rage at the horrors of their persecution and the cruelty of those who hunt them is expressed.   There are furious and kinetic passages for brass and tribal percussion, along with choral sections alternating between wonder and terror.  

I didn't see the movie itself until a year later on video.  Until then, the images only existed in my mind, propelled by the powerful music on disc and the words on the page.  The more I read of Barker's stories, the more this soundtrack, along with Christopher Young's music for the HELLRAISER series, underscored and embellished that immersive experience. Escaping into this world differed from STAR TREK and STAR WARS, connecting with shadowed parts of myself I couldn't share.  This shadow side was brooding, confused, pensive over the big questions of life and identified with characters who didn't seem to belong in normal society, who couldn't find a comfortable place to fit or a group to join. 

Confusion crept in I think due to how my life changed since moving from Durham to Rocky Mount.  At schools in the former city, I was a bit of an outcast and then in the latter I found I was accepted and needed.  Those years of unpopularity in junior high, of sometimes being afraid to board that school bus and winding up a walking target, took a lasting toll on me and how I still saw myself, silently.   A fresh start at high school in a new town turned my world right side up as fellow students became true friends.  I somehow still felt split.  It was as if I wore a public face, seen as gregarious, open and smiling, but inside I felt undeserving and worried that these people would switch off from me at any point, turning me into a target again.

I didn't trusted enough to display all my thoughts and feelings, suspicious that these could be used against me later maliciously.  If I didn't always make sense to myself, how would I make sense to anyone else?  I saw myself as strange, contradictory, unattractive and despising the fact that I sorely needed acceptance and approval from those around me.  In Clive Barker's world, it appeared wiser to simply retreat from normalcy, to cease pretending one even wished to belong and just join the exiles on the fringes.  There would be pain in the separation and knowledge that no return to regular society was possible, but solace arrived in no longer hiding aspects of yourself.  Maybe judgement only existed in the civilized world, not outside.  The denizens of Barker's stories showcased similar attributes, how they viewed themselves and discovered homes far from what was familiar, though intimidating at first.

I could feel alone in a crowd of friends who had openly welcomed me, concerned that they would abandon me if any unappealing aspect of myself was presented.  The words of Clive Barker remained a safe haven and NIGHTBREED the best method for accessing this isolated side, letting it breathe only in solitude.  However, as consistent friendships deepened over time and acceptance of myself flourished, this "misfit monster" inside required less and less attention, less and less breathing room.  Remaining present and connected to the real world instead grew prominent.  I realized that I could belong to people, trust them with more of who I am, with no concern of being shamed.  The bonds developed between each of us can nourish who we are more than trying to maintain our strength alone.   Alone there is no replenishment, any one of us could atrophy emotionally, but close ties with people can truly be sustaining. 

NIGHTBREED as a movie is it's own unique animal, with elements of fantasy, horror and a dash of the slasher genre added for spice, bolstered by amazing make-up and creature design.  Elfman's music is a winning ingredient, providing its heart and rhythm.  It's a score I still find brilliant and engaging, just differently than before, now that it's no longer tethered to a damaged, hidden part of myself. 

STAR TREK VI: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY (1991)

For some, the soundtrack for STAR TREK VI: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY might remind them of the movie's story and characters or of discovering the music of composer Cliff Eidelman.  For me, it is forever linked with my first petty crime.  The notable day occurred during December 1991, when I attended my first Star Trek convention.  It was there that I committed my first (and last?) act of (unintentional) shoplifting.  I'm unsure if this is a standard hazard at Trek conventions (probably is), as I imagine most fans think they represent the stalwart, honest qualities displayed by our star-faring heroes.  Nevertheless, at least my face didn't end up on convention watch lists in later years.  

It was my freshman year at Guilford College, in Greensboro, N.C.  This was several hours drive from my parents, which provided space for learning to get my own bearings both socially and scholastically in that first year.  There were days of loneliness, sometimes a full weekend, alternated with sequences of total and sudden social immersion.  In hindsight, I surprisingly enjoyed all of it, mainly due to that newfound sense of independence, of steering my own ship so to speak, without having to alert the boss.  A lonely day was still a day whose direction I could determine, though really it was my inability to voluntarily reach out to people that created that loneliness.  I missed my family greatly, especially my younger sister Meri, but realized this important opportunity to define my own time, outside of class that is. It was a period when youth can feel paroled from parental guidance and discover that every hour could offer up something unique, something strange or something soul-shaking.  Any person encountered in class or on campus seemed to hold potential for such significance.   

Guilford is a small, liberal, Quaker-founded college and one might make the assumption that everyone on campus would be a STAR TREK nerd, but I wound up finding my new comrades among the theater folk and choir groups.  They were a far cry from the eight guys I roomed with in the dorm.  We shared a four room suite with one, two-stall bathroom and I needed to quickly grow accustomed to less privacy, more noise and a roommate who once drank so much that I woke to find him vomiting right next to my bed.  That specific incident was never verbally acknowledged between us, but the large note I left instructing him to clean it up was what he used for that very task.  I don't think he much liked notes telling him to clean up.  The upside to the living situation was that at least I was able to use his television on Saturday evenings to catch episodes of STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION.

In perusing the local paper, I saw the advertised STAR TREK convention scheduled right there in town, with special guests from the movies and THE NEXT GENERATION.  It became a moral imperative that I attend yet I had no car during that freshman year, something which probably ensured I wouldn't be taking any potential dates off-campus, unfortunately.  Although none of my new friends could join me, one graciously offered to drive me both there and back.  And in the days prior to world-wide cell phone saturation, one had to strictly abide by the appointed time of retrieval.  Of course, this was akin to a gawky teen being dropped off at the movies by a parent, promising to wait outside later for pick-up, but it mattered little to me.  I was about to dive into a civic center filled to the brim with STAR TREK.

The first great thing about the convention was standing in line.  Weird, perhaps, but what made it notable was the fact that I could turn and talk about Trek to either person in front or behind me, confident that I wouldn't be met with quizzical stares.  Questions about favorite episodes, movies, what happened on THE NEXT GENERATION last week were all fair game.  A fan could feel safe in that environment, which I am sure is one reason why the conventions have persisted to this day. Once inside the hall, it was overwhelming seeing the number of people, both in and out of costumes, and the number of dealers' tables to peruse.  All those years when it was only Meri and I and our imaginations, creating our own adventures, suddenly didn't seem so isolated.  It was as if we'd carried on just one conversation which actually belonged to a much larger party. 

I started making the rounds.  My nerves kept me from chatting anyone up initially, so I zeroed in on those dealers tables, which displayed rare books, magazines, CDs & tapes, pins, posters and even bootleg videos, many items I'd heard read about years prior.  I had to be judicious about what I might buy that day as cash in my wallet was limited and I was too practical to max out my one credit card.    I spied the cassette of STAR TREK VI: THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY and eagerly picked it up to examine the track list.  The composer for the movie, Cliff Eidelman, was unknown to me so I had no clue what the music might sound like. 

I fully intended to hand that dealer cash for the soundtrack.  I held onto the cassette as I slowly continued examining other items on the table, began checking out the neighboring table and then I found myself on the other side of the convention.  With the cassette still in hand and the cash still in my wallet.  Yep, I shoplifted it.  No one seemed to notice, surprisingly.  I was a pretty honest kid, always trying to stick close to the rules, not makes waves and not attract attention for the wrong reasons.  Yet I oddly labored over whether to return to pay and the more time passed, the less I felt inclined.  If only the ghostly visage of Captain Picard sternly shaking his head in disappointment had appeared, then I might have made the morally right choice.  Thankfully, this little incident didn't ignite some spark for further misdemeanors.

The day progressed, the special guests spoke and held signings.  The guests were Robin Curtis, who co-starred in the third and fourth STAR TREK films, and Denise Crosby, who had a prominent role as Tasha Yar during the first season of THE NEXT GENERATION.  Normally when fans wait in line for a star's signature, it's an 8x10 glossy costing $25 which they offer up for that person's "John Hancock".   In this scenario, with no such items in my possession, I wound up asking Ms. Curtis to sign the liner notes of my stolen STAR TREK VI cassette and Ms. Crosby to sign the Wil Wheaton postcard I bought for two dollars.   I still shake my head at how annoyingly lame this must have appeared to them both.  It would be like asking current James Bond actor Daniel Craig to the sign the poster for Roger Moore's OCTOPUSSY.  Talk about an insult to an actor, especially poor Denise Crosby, whose character had been mercilessly killed off the show in season one and was now putting ink to a picture of Wil Wheaton, who's "Wesley Crusher" was still alive and kicking on the Enterprise.  Nevertheless, I cheerfully chatted them up, even conveying to Ms. Curtis how I thought it was a shame her character wasn't included in the new movie.   I'm stubbornly hopeful that mine wasn't the most embarrassing incident from convention, but star-signed shoplifted soundtrack is weird enough.

So once the convention wrapped, my friends cruised by to get me and that evening all of us, plus our theater class professor, took in STAR TREK VI at the nearby cineplex.  Being joined at the movies by a professor didn't seem odd behavior at Guilford, the theater group there was a pretty close, and for me, having hung out often with my high school theater teachers, it felt like old times.  It wrapped up that day perfectly and was a marvelous movie-going experience to boot.  The audience laughed at all the jokes, cheered the highlights and our professor relished Christopher Plummer's scenery-chewing performance and Shakespeare-quoting.   Cliff Eidelman's music was an amazing, energizing component, from the turbulent main title, the ebullient, new theme for the Enterprise, to the kinetic, climactic battle sequence.  I was glad to already have a copy of that score to enjoy on its own, even if I became an unknowing artful dodger in the process. 

 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4Ja1Jgvmkc