Leonard (15 page)

As his son, Adam, explained it, “He was so involved with his career that he was not connected to family issues. At the beginning, we loved Spock. When I watched him on stage before they even aired the show, looking at photographs he brought home of himself in his wardrobe, the whole family was into it. At the beginning, we loved the whole ride. But then things changed. It was difficult to get his attention. There was a lot of conflict. Eventually, I started to think, you know, enough of Spock. I mean, we've seen enough of Spock. Everybody loves Spock, but I wish Spock was more of a family guy.”

Leonard's wife, Sandi, was a force of her own. She was a participant in life, an activist in the cultural shifts of the 1960s. She apparently decorated their home in the big and bright images of the counterculture movement, wore the groovy clothes, and loved rock and roll. She and Leonard both participated in the movements of the time; they were involved in the antiwar demonstrations, strongly supported peace candidates like Eugene McCarthy and George McGovern and even participated in “love-ins,” where young people expressed—sometimes
really
expressed—their sexual freedom. About that, he once recalled, “It wasn't quite group sex—but there was a lot of embracing.”

Leonard's commitment to work inevitably forced Sandi to become more and more independent. Like so many working actors, he missed a lot of his children's childhoods; Sandi became their role model, providing the unconditional parental love that they could not get from their father. I suspect that tore Leonard apart; he was finally able to provide some security for his family, but the cost was that he could not be with them.

How much this contributed to his drinking I have no idea. But I am certain it didn't help. The surprising thing to me is that at the time, I had no idea that this nice man, who put on the ears and went to work prepared every day, was fighting these monsters. We had not yet become close friends. I don't remember ever going to his house. And he was able to control his drinking enough that it never interfered with his work. Spock didn't drink, ever. Leonard was proud of that. Even on his worst days, Leonard took pride in his professionalism.

Of course later, when it impacted my own life and he was there to help me, I began to understand the extraordinary lengths alcoholics go to in an effort to disguise their behavior.

When the show ended, the entire cast made all the usual promises of long-lasting friendship, but with a few exceptions, we saw little of each other. This was during the time that our seventy-nine regular episodes went into syndication and over several years found a much larger audience. The syndication market was just beginning to become an important revenue source for television producers, and to recoup its investment, Paramount happily sold
Star Trek
inexpensively to any local station that would buy it. The local stations ran it and reran it then ran it again, often during the day and early evening when young people were home. The ratings for what had been perceived to be a mildly successful show at best were surprisingly strong, causing other local stations to buy the show. It was the most popular hour-long show in syndication for many, many years. The audience continued to grow. I had little hints of this, as more people recognized me after the show had gone off the network than while it was running.
That's odd,
I thought at the time. But a new and incredibly loyal audience had found the
Enterprise
. Then in March 1969, a large group of
Star Trek
fans gathered in the public library in Newark, New Jersey, to show slides, listen to lectures, participate in panel discussions, and sing songs inspired by the show. This first, unofficial convention of Trekkies led to others. Trekkies? What an odd term. There were no Gunsmokers, Bonanzites, or Flintstoners—what in this world was a Trekkie? The first official convention was held in January 1972 at the Statler-Hilton in New York. These conventions brought members of the cast together regularly and marked the real beginning of my friendship with Leonard Nimoy.

After the show ended, our careers had gone in different directions. I continued making guest appearances on many of the popular series and made several TV movies, while Leonard simply moved to the next soundstage and joined the
Mission: Impossible
cast as the character Paris, a master of disguise, while touring the country starring in the one-man show he had written,
Vincent
. But throughout it all, Leonard had continued drinking—and hiding it successfully. As he admitted during an interview, “When I was performing in a play my first drink would be when the curtain came down. But that drink had to be there. When I walked into my dressing room I wanted an ice-cold gin on the rocks waiting for me. When I directed the movie
Star Trek III
my secretary knew that as soon as I said, ‘Cut. That's a wrap,' I wanted a drink. And then I would drink constantly. Once I had that first drink I would not stop drinking until I passed out or fell asleep.”

The fact that Leonard was continually able to function at an extremely high professional level, as well as bring his creative visions to fruition, is remarkable. I can only wonder how much more he might have accomplished if he had been sober through those years. Perhaps because there was no Internet, he also was able to keep it completely out of the media. Most of our fans would have been shocked to know that the restrained, occasionally acerbic, often wry beloved creator of Spock could be an unhappy, angry man. As he admitted, “When I was in need of a drink and it wasn't there I could get very upset. I did a lot of college lectures, many of them in small towns. When I checked into the hotel in the afternoon one of the first things I asked was how late their bar was open. That way I knew what time I had to finish and get back there. Every once in a while I'd come back to the hotel and the bar would be locked. I wanted my drink. I'd go to the front desk and say, ‘You told me the bar would be open until ten o'clock. Open the
fucking
bar!' When going out I would choose restaurants that I knew had a full bar. I loved going to the theater in London because they allowed you to drink before the show and during intermission.”

Leonard continued drinking as the phenomenon of
Star Trek
evolved into other television series and feature films, and Spock and Kirk became iconic American characters. “It went on for many years,” Leonard admitted. “And the entire time I believed I was in control. But eventually I started waking up in the morning thinking, why do I want to live today? And that's when I first became concerned.”

He and Sandi finally divorced in 1986. It was neither easy nor amicable. Her anger and perhaps her bitterness were evident when she told a reporter, “He left me after thirty-three years of marriage. I didn't marry a star. I married a struggling young actor right out of college. I spent the first fifteen years being the only one who believed in him and struggling with him. I believe I had a lot to do with where he is now.” Even at those worst moments in his personal life, his career intruded; during one hearing, the judge actually brought a photograph of himself with Leonard into the courtroom and asked for an autograph.

Whatever the reasons for the divorce, the guilt Leonard was carrying must have been enormous. It was extremely difficult for him to tell his elderly parents about it, as they came from a time and a place in which divorce was shameful. Good people did not get divorced. We were in preparation for a movie when he finally decided it was time to leave. One morning he packed some clothes, put them in his car, and drove away from that part of his life.

Leonard was getting up the courage to tell his parents when he was informed his photograph was going to be on the cover of
Newsweek
that week. He remembered thinking, “Maybe I can bring that magazine with me, so I can tell my parents that my marriage is over, but soften the blow by showing them the magazine. Look, isn't this nice, my picture's on the cover of this important magazine.” He started driving around the city, stopping at magazine stands and stores, trying to find a copy of
Newsweek
. He was told over and over that it would arrive later that afternoon. He decided he couldn't wait; if his divorce became public before he'd told his parents, they would have been mortified.

He arrived at their apartment empty-handed. He screwed up all his courage and announced, “I've left my home.”

His mother smiled. “Oh? You're selling the house?”

He shook his head. “I've left Sandi. I've taken some clothes and moved out.”

His father finally decided, somehow, “This is all my fault.”

His mother said sadly, “Oh. Oh.”

It was a terrible blow to them, an admission of great failure. There was nothing Leonard could do to lessen their pain. But he had no choice. I know that feeling so well. He accepted the reality that he couldn't live his life for them; he had to live it for himself. Of course, the alcohol probably made it easier.

Not long afterward, he met an extraordinary woman named Susan Bay, whose cousin Michael Bay was the director of huge films. Susan was also divorced; she had previously been married to the actor John Schuck. From the very beginning, they seemed perfect for each other and would come to refer to themselves as each other's “natural husband” and “natural wife.” Another cousin of Susan's, Rabbi John Rosove, once said, “She brought him out of darkness. They just opened each other's hearts and were really there for each other.”

They were married in 1989. Obviously, Susan was aware of Leonard's alcoholism. “I was still drinking,” Leonard admitted, “but I was deliriously happy with her. And one day I was talking to her about how different my life was with her and how happy I felt, and she asked me, ‘Then why do you drink so much?'

“And I thought,
You know, she's right. I don't have to do this anymore
. So she called a friend and within hours, on a Sunday night, someone was there from Alcoholics Anonymous. He said to me, ‘You can't drink a little.' We talked for two hours, and the next night I went to my first AA meeting, which was a thrill. I haven't had a drink since we had that conversation that night.”

 

SEVEN

None of us had been surprised when the original series ended. With our decreased budget, we had struggled through the third season feeling the quality of the show had diminished. I don't even remember our last day of filming. It certainly wasn't overly dramatic, and none of us expected to be back together as a cast ever again. The biggest concern for all of us was, this job is over, what do we do next?

When Leonard took off the ears for what he believed to be the final time, he had no real plans. He lay around his house for several months, catching up on the sleep he'd missed having to be in makeup by 6:30
A.M.
The show had given him recognition and star power; in each of our three seasons, he had been nominated for an Emmy as best supporting actor. But at that time, before great movies like
Star Wars, Close Encounters,
and even our
Wrath of Khan,
science fiction was considered an escapist subgenre. The accolades and awards went to contemporary social dramas that made people feel good about voting for them. Leonard was flattered to be nominated by his fellow actors; in fact, when he was notified about his first nomination, he sat down and cried. Literally. After all his hard work, the acting community had recognized him.

Money was a different thing, though; the show hadn't provided long-term financial security or a continuing revenue stream. He had agreed to star in a touring stock company production of the play
A Thousand Clowns
and was in discussions to direct several TV shows when he was offered the opportunity to replace Martin Landau in the hit show
Mission: Impossible
. There had been some stories in the media that Marty and Leonard were competing, but that was never true. Leonard would never have taken a job away from another actor; he just didn't work that way. Only after it was clear that Landau was leaving the show did Leonard accept that continuing role.

Our fears of being typecast initially turned out to be unfounded. I was offered lots of different roles and worked regularly. But while we were both working hard, fans of the show would not let go so easily. Obviously, none of us saw what was coming. In fact, Leonard tried to dissuade people from wasting their time, telling a reporter, “It's tough to live with the fact that the show is off the air, but we have to face it. The crew is disbanded now. Someone was quoted as to the possibility of us all making a
Star Trek
movie, but I think such talk is bad. All it does is rekindle emotional campaigns to get the show back on the air. Every time I hear or read about such things, I try to discourage the people involved. The show is not going back on.”

So Leonard was playing Paris, a master of disguise; I was appearing in TV movies like
The Andersonville Trial
or playing John Adams in John Wayne's tribute to America,
Swing Out, Sweet Land
or showing up in series like
The FBI
or
The Name of the Game—
and the Trekkies just wouldn't let go. There is no obvious explanation for the extraordinary and lasting appeal of
Star Trek
. A lot of people have suggested a lot of different reasons, and in different ways they probably are all correct. I always believed that at the core of it there was one common denominator: it was a lot of fun. But the concept and the execution created an American mythology—and a sizeable number of people couldn't get enough of it.

Star Trek
conventions, which grew to become a multimillion-dollar business, grew out the small science-fiction conventions dating back to the 1930s and had become popular again, maybe in response to the brutality and insanity of the Vietnam War in the late 1960s and early 1970s. These conventions were held almost entirely to celebrate the great science-fiction literature, and writers and the organizers looked down on
Star Trek
because it was a television show and not a book. They didn't even consider it real science fiction. Essentially, they pushed the Trekkies out of those conventions, forcing them to organize their own gatherings.