Dear Ms. Curtis and Ms. Sirtis,
I very much doubt if either of you remembers, but 30 years ago the two of you were guests at two different Star Trek conventions in Greensboro, NC. These were the first conventions I attended, and you were the first celebrities I’d ever met. At least, the first that actually mattered to me; my dad was a big wrestling fan so I’d met a couple of prominent professional wrestlers, including Ric Flair, through his influence.
But you were Deanna Troi and Saavik, respectively, and to my 8-year old self, you were among the brightest stars in the universe. And honestly, you still are.
Maybe it comes with age, but in the last year or so I’ve done a lot of reflecting on formative experiences in my youth, and being a Jupiter-sized Trekkie I keep gravitating to various events which in some way involve Star Trek. Those conventions where I met the two of you are memories I’ve always cherished and have recounted to more people than I care to remember. But being a kid and living in the moment of 1991, I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked the two of you for that experience.
So, I thought I’d do that here, and recount those stories one more time.
It was December of 1991, the weekend Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country hit theatres, and a convention was being held in nearby Greensboro (I’m from Winston-Salem, NC originally). I all but begged my mom to take me, and she finally relented the day before the convention. It was such a huge deal for me, because not only was Denise Crosby going to be there, but Robin Curtis would as well, and I thought I’d never get to meet anyone who’d been in a Trek film, let alone one I held in high regard like The Search for Spock.
As much as I loved the character of Tasha Yar, and as excited as I was to possibly meet Ms. Crosby, I was over the moon at the chance to meet the actor who played Saavik. I adored your performance in The Search for Spock, and to me, then and now, yours was the definitive portrayal of that character.
Ms. Curtis, you were friendly, gracious, kind, funny, and respectful of every single person in that convention hall. I remember that you’d insisted on knowing the names of everyone who asked you a question, you made meaningful eye contact with each person, and you answered their questions as fully as you could. You told entertaining and fascinating stories of your experiences making The Search for Spock and The Voyage Home, and all with the biggest smile. It seemed like you really enjoyed your time there, and as a result, we all had a blast as well.
I don’t remember what question I asked you or the specific ways you answered, but I’ll never forget how polite and welcoming you were when this chubby 8-year old boy nervously asked. I was right in the front row and you beamed at me and everyone else there. Whenever I hear or read the name Robin Curtis, my first thought is always of that bright smile and your friendly demeanour.
About six months earlier, I went to my first-ever Star Trek convention, also in Greensboro (but at a different venue, I think), and the only guest was Marina Sirtis. I have to confess that, although you weren’t my first celebrity crush (that was Lynda Carter), you were definitely my biggest. I admired the character of Deanna Troi and loved your every performance.
In many ways, you, and the rest of the cast of The Next Generation, helped raise me, as my parents both worked long hours to make ends meet and unfortunately didn’t get to spend as much time with me as they undoubtedly wanted. A great deal of the values and morality I have as an adult came from the examples set by your characters.
The convention hall was crowded. I think this may have been the first visit to the Piedmont Triad area of a member of the cast of The Next Generation, a show which was immensely popular back home, although I was the only one of my friends who watched. I even had a TNG lunch box and Thermos, in a time when the other kids had G.I. Joe, Transformers, Barbie, and Super Mario on theirs! Into this packed house came Marina Sirtis, and immediately any negative thoughts about being in such close quarters evaporated.
Right off the bat, Ms. Sirtis, you had us all in stitches. My mom, decidedly NOT a Trekkie, laughed so hard at times she cried. The specific stories you told escape me now, but I’ll never forget the feeling of elation I felt in that room as you told them. I don’t think anyone left the room the entire time you were on stage, likely in fear of missing an anecdote told in your jovial voice.
Then you started taking questions from the audience. And one of them came from a nervous 8-year old boy named Chris.
My favourite episode of TNG, and probably in all of Star Trek, was and is “Yesterday’s Enterprise.” The only thing I could think to ask you was why Counselor Troi wasn’t in the episode. There were sneers and snickers from many of the older Trekkies in the crowd as my question was asked, but either you didn’t hear them or you didn’t care.
You answered my question the same way you did all the others, with respect, kindness, and honesty. You very politely explained that, in that episode’s alternate universe, the Enterprise was a warship, and therefore it didn’t need a ship’s counsellor. This answer made perfect sense to me, and I smiled and thanked you.
My mom hugged me and said, “She answered your question, how cool was that?” But I was speechless, all I could do was smile.
Those were my first conventions. I’ve been to a few since, but nothing has ever compared to those experiences, not even the time I made my mom nearly wet herself laughing when I walked full force into a concrete pillar while taking pictures of Klingons in full armour and makeup. Any time I consider going to another, I wonder if the new experience will compare to those first ones, and nothing has. Not even meeting Flash Gordon himself, Sam J. Jones, a few years ago, although that was pretty awesome.
Ms. Curtis and Ms. Sirtis, I’ve written this to express my everlasting gratitude to the two of you for making a kid who didn’t really think he mattered much outside his home feel like he was a person worthy of attention and respect from the world at large. I don’t believe these words can fully convey the depth of emotion and admiration I have for you, but hopefully, I’ve gotten my point across.
So, thank you both from the bottom of my heart…
Live long and prosper,
