Excerpts from Grace Lee Whitney - The Longest Trek
Star Trek was my world, my Higher Power. I gave up my marriage for Star Trek. I had grown up not knowing who I was, who my birth parents were, or where I came from. But when I stepped aboard the Starship Enterprise, I truly felt I was home.
Over the years, I had played a hundred roles in different films and TV series. I was a working actress. I would play my part for a few days' filming on "The Untouchables" or "Bewitched" or "The Outer Limits," working with some of the biggest stars and best directors in Hollywood — but when those few days were over, it was on to the next part, the next show, the next studio.
Finally, in the summer of 1966, on Stage 9 at Desilu Studios, I was home. I belonged. In Yeoman Janice Rand, I had a character of my own to explore and develop, week after week. I was part of something wonderful and exciting, something called Star Trek.
I had no idea how soon it would all be ripped away from me.
***
Friday, August 26, 1966.
We were just a little over halfway through shooting the episode entitled "Miri." To this day — in spite of what happened to me that Friday night — this episode remains one of my favorite Treks. It's a sentimental favorite for me because my sons appear among the children in the episode, as well as Bill Shatner's daughters Lizabeth and Melanie.
In the story, Captain Kirk (William Shatner), Mr. Spock (Leonard Nimoy), Dr. McCoy (DeForest Kelly), and my character, Yeoman Janice Rand, are transported down to an Earthlike planet where the entire adult population has been destroyed by a man-made virus. Only children are left alive — but the virus has slowed the aging process in the children. These children are, in fact, hundreds of years old—but once they reach puberty, they suddenly develop horrible symptoms of the virus: skin splotches, rapid aging, homicidal madness and death. Once we are beamed down to the planet, Kirk, Spock, McCoy and I became infected too. We can't return to the ship without infecting everyone aboard. Trapped on the planet, racing against time, we have to find a cure before we, too, go mad and die.
One of the weekly traditions during the filming of the original Star Trek series was the Friday night wrap Party. Actually, these parties were more like "TGIF" parties than wrap parties, because they were held on the set in Stage 9 at the end of shooting every Friday, whether we had wrapped an episode or not. The cast, crew, studio execs and occasionally a network exec or two would gather to have a few drinks, laugh, tell stories and generally shed the pressures of the week.
At around 7 p.m., the production came to a halt and the big hanger doors were opened, flooding the sound stage with the fading summer sunlight. Any cast members still in costume headed for the dressing rooms to change. A wet bar was wheeled out near the dressing rooms, laden with bottles of liquor, a big bowl of ice cubes, salted nuts, chips, veggies, dip and shrimp on ice, all catered by the studio commissary.
The party was in full swing when I stepped out and made my way to the ladies room. A few minutes later, as I was walking back toward the party, I heard a male voice call, "Grace Lee! Wait up!"
I turned. It was The Executive. He was smiling and his face was a little flushed.
He'd had a few drinks, just as I had.
I returned his smile. "You want to walk me back to the party?" I asked.
He waved his hand dismissively. "The party's breaking up. I wanted to talk to you. I have some ideas for changes we could make in the show — changes that would affect you. I'd like to get your thoughts on those ideas before the next production meeting."
"Oh?" I was intrigued. "What kind of changes?"
"I think Yeoman Janice Rand has been under-utilized. The character has been developing some interesting possibilities in the past few episodes. I have some ideas - Why don't we find a place to sit down and talk about it?"
"Well..." I hesitated for the briefest moment, a thrill of excitement at the thought that The Executive wanted to talk to me about my character. I was always looking for ways to advance my career, to enlarge my part and get more lines. He had reached the very thing that made me tick: my ambition. "Where would you like to talk?" I asked.
"How about the E building? We can find an empty office over there."
I'd had a few drinks. My inhibitions were down and my judgment was impaired. "Fine," I said. "Let's go."
The sun was down, but it was still light outside as we walked out of the hangerlike sound stage. We crossed the driveway from the Gower Avenue entrance of Desilu Studios, and entered the office building. I don't remember exactly what we said as we walked — small talk, I think, about the show. We had nearly finished shooting the first dozen episodes of Star Trek, and the premiere broadcast was less than two weeks away. The excitement among the cast, creators and crew of the show was growing as our first airdate neared. We believed we had a hit on our hands, and the suspense of waiting for the audience response was exciting — and a little nerve-wracking.
The building was unlocked and we walked right in. The Executive put his arm on mine as we made our way down the darkened corridor. There were lights on in some of the offices, but the building was quiet, empty and mostly dark. There was no one in the building but The Executive, me, and possibly a janitor somewhere. The Executive opened a door, flipped on a light, and ushered me in. He indicated a chair for me. I was alone with him, but I didn't care. We were one big happy family on Star Trek, and I trusted him.
There was a stereo in the room. I settled into the chair he offered me, and he put an some soft music. The office had a private wet bar. He went and poured a couple of drinks, not bothering to ask if I wanted one. He knew I did. He handed me a glass, then sat down behind the desk.
We talked. And we laughed. And we drank.
He told me about upcoming scripts, and suggested story angles that could bring out a stronger relationship between Yeoman Rand and Captain Kirk. He put himself in Kirk's place, saying, "Now I'm the Captain and you're the Yeoman. What would Rand say to Kirk in this situation? Put yourself into the role. Pour your heart out to me." And we did some very sexy role-playing — purely across the desk, about 10 feet apart. In my mind, we were simply improvising with the characters to explore the Kirk-Rand relationship for story possibilities. In his mind, I later realized, it was all part of a carefully laid strategy.
"You know," he said after we'd been talking a while, "the thing that is so fascinating about Janice Rand is her repressed desire — her hunger for sex."
"Not sex," I said. "Love. She loves the Captain."
"Same thing," said The Executive. "She wants the Captain so badly, but she represses it. She doesn't admit it — not even to herself. We all know what she really wants — but she herself doesn't know. She denies it. Janice Rand can't face her own desires, her own sexuality."
'Absolutely," I agreed. "That's the key to the character."
'And you're just like Janice Rand."
"I'm — What? What did you say?" I was vaguely aware that our discussion had just turned a sharp corner. But the buzz in my brain prevented me from grasping where The Executive was steering the conversation.
"You're hungry inside," he said, "just like Janice Rand. Hungry, needy, full of desire. But you repress it. You bottle it up. That's not healthy, Grace."
There were no alarms going off, no warning bells. I just laughed, settled back, and smugly replied, "I'm not bottling up anything. If there is anyone who is completely uninhibited, it's me."
"Oh?" he said lightly. "Well, good, then. Let's see how uninhibited you are. Undress for me."
"What?!" I burst out laughing. "You're kidding!"
The Executive rose and came around the desk, towering over me. "I'm not kidding, Grace. We both know what we want — if we're willing to be honest with each other. I'm being honest with you right now I want you. I want to see you as you are, underneath...all of that." With a gesture, he indicated my clothes, from my neck to my feet. "I want you to undress for me," he repeated.
Then he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his shirt. Suddenly, I knew he was completely serious. This man had a lot of power over my future, and he expected me to come across. If I didn't — At that moment, I had a sinking feeling of horror, a sense of impending doom. I needed to get out of this situation somehow — but how? My head was too muzzy to think clearly. I glanced over my shoulder, toward the door, then started to get out of the chair. "I can't undress for you," I said. "Don't ask me to do that."
"Why can't you?" He took a few steps closer, positioning himself between me and the office door. His voice was smooth, he was smiling, his manner was still charming — but there was an unmistakable air of threat in the way he blocked my path to the door. "It's not as if you're married anymore," he said.
"I'm not divorced yet, only separated. I can't—"
"What's the big deal? You just said you're 'completely uninhibited.' So prove it."
"I won't do that," I said. "I'm with someone else now, and I'm true to him. I
wouldn't cheat on him."
When I said this, he suddenly became enraged. It was a Jekyll-to-Hyde transformation — and it scared me to death. "You'd sleep with someone else," he bellowed, "but not with me? Is that what you're telling me? Do you have any idea what you're saying to me?"
Frightened, I desperately groped for some word to bring him down from his rage. I mentioned the name of the woman he was involved with. "You love her, don't you?" I asked. 'And she loves you. We can't do this behind her back!"
"She doesn't care," he shrugged defensively, guiltily, unconvincingly. "She knows I'm with other women. She understands." He was still moving toward me as I tried to back away from him. I only succeeded in backing myself into an adjoining room — a meeting room with a sofa, a few chairs, and a table. The only way out of it was the doorway I had just come through — and The Executive blocked my path. He followed me into the meeting room, closed the door, and locked it with a key.
He continued undressing himself. "Now," he said, "you're not going anywhere.
So take off your clothes."
I shook my head. "No," I insisted. "I won't do that."
We argued about it for what seemed a long time — maybe 20 minutes or more. The whole time, he stood there in front of me, exposed, saying he wanted to examine me as if he was a doctor. He made it clear that I wasn't going anywhere until he got what he wanted. He had the power to destroy my career and we both knew it.
I had been chased around the office by producers, directors and executives before. I had been chased by some of the biggest names in Hollywood — but no one ever caught me if I didn't want to be caught. I wanted parts, I wanted to work, and I figured if I could turn these guys on, I could advance my career. It was always a delicate balancing act — being a turn-on and a tease without getting cornered and having to put out.
This was different. This time I was trapped in a locked room, alone with this man in a building where I could yell all I wanted — and no one would hear me. I don't remember if he undressed me or if I undressed myself. Either way,I had no choice in the matter.
I had known this man for a couple years, and had never known him to be violent. A womanizer, yes, but not a monster. This night was different. This night, he was drunk. We both were. Not so drunk that we didn't know what was happening, not so drunk that we wouldn't remember it all later. But he was clearly drunk enough that his personality was altered from that of The Executive I had known all these months. He was angry with me — and, I think, angry with himself. His carefully plotted "seduction" wasn't going the way he had planned, and he was growing impatient and frustrated.
He made me get up on the table in the meeting room and dance for him. He told me to tease him and flirt with him. He yelled at me and threw things at me. He sat down on the sofa, watching me — but he didn't seem to be enjoying it. He just got angrier and angrier — and that made me all the more scared. I didn't know what he might do to me. I never would have imagined he was capable of such a thing, even drunk. How could I know what else he might be capable of?
I tried to do what he wanted me to, so I could get it over with. I knew, deep down inside, that I was finished on Star Trek. At that moment, however, I didn't care about that. Nothing else mattered — not my tarnished virtue, not my career, not my role on Star Trek. The only thing that mattered was getting out of that room alive.
But he wouldn't let me get down off the table. He wasn't getting aroused — and that made him even more menacing. "Come on!" he demanded. "You're supposed to be the sexpot! Make me want you! Come on!" I didn't know why he couldn't get aroused — I tried. I really tried. Was it that he'd had too much to drink? Or that I had argued too long with him, and he was just too angry to get aroused? Or that he'd had too many women and he just couldn't get it up anymore? Or-
Or was it me? Was there something wrong with me? After getting up on that table and dancing for him, was I just ...disappointing to him?
"Please," I begged. "Let me down. Let me out of here. Please."
He groaned in disgust. 'All right!" he said fiercely. "Get down!"
I got down off the table.
"But," he added, leaning back on the sofa, "we're not done yet. When we're done, you can go. Now...come here."
He wanted me to go down on him. I pleaded. I protested. But in the end, I did what he told me to do.
***
It was very dark as I got into my car. It was probably a couple hours or so since I had left Stage 9 with The Executive and walked with him to the office. The whole time I spent with him had seemed like an eternity. Once it was over, I must have been in shock, because I have very little recollection of how I got my clothes and shoes back on, or how I made my way out of the office building.
I started my car and drove off the Desilu lot — but I didn't go home. I was too upset, and I needed to talk to someone.
Among the cast of Star Trek, my best friend was Leonard Nimoy. Unlike the cold, logical Vulcan he played on the show, Leonard is a very warm and empathetic listener and a good friend. I had talked to him from time to time about problems I was going through during the summer of 1966, such as the breakup of my marriage and the struggle to be a good single mother to my two boys. He had also been my acting coach during the first weeks of shooting Star Trek, helping me to get in touch with Janice Rand, so that I could play her more believably. Shaken and scared, the first person I thought to confide in was Leonard.
When he answered his door, Leonard found a disheveled, terrified, incoherent mess on the doorstep. It was at least ten o'clock at night, maybe later, and I'm sure I was the last thing he expected to see on his porch at that time of night. "Grace!" he said, looking stunned. "What happened? I mean, come in, come in! What's wrong?"
I went in and sat down in his living room and poured out the whole story to him. Poor Leonard! I'm sure that large parts of my story made no sense to him at all — but he sat there and listened while I dumped all my pain and fear in a big, jumbled pile on the floor. I don't remember crying — I think I was still too much in shock to cry. I just sat there, feeling numb inside, while the story spilled out of me. Leonard was very kind, a wonderful listener — but he was also completely dumbfounded by what I told him. He didn't know what to say. How could anyone know what to say in such a situation?
"Grace, if I'd only known," he said helplessly. "I had no idea that you were — I mean, I didn't see you leave, and when I noticed you were gone, I just thought you had left the party early."
"How could you have known?" I responded. "I didn't know myself what was happening until it was too late. I just want to put this behind me somehow Lock it away and forget about it. The thing is, Leonard, I don't even know exactly what happened to me. I know I was violated — but was I raped? I don't think you can call it rape. In fact, it would have been easier on me if he had raped me. Because then it would have been over within a few minutes. Instead, he was furious with me. And it never seemed to end, and it just got scarier and scarier — I thought he was going to kill me!"
Nowadays, of course, it's commonly understood that when a man forces a woman into an act of oral sex, it's a crime, a sexual assault. Back then, however, I really didn't know what to call this traumatic violation I had just been through. I blamed The Executive for what he did to me — but I also blamed myself. I felt stupid for allowing myself to get lured into such a situation: "Come over to my office, sweet-heart, and let's talk about your career — I've got big plans for you, little lady!" My gosh, it was the oldest trick in the book, and I fell for it.
I'm not sure how long I stayed and talked to Leonard — probably a couple hours. But by the time he had listened to my whole story, it was after midnight and I had calmed down a lot. He was very worried about me and offered to drive me home or follow me in his car, but I told him I'd be all right.
So I went home to Sherman Oaks. The house was dark and quiet when I arrived. The housekeeper and my two little boys were in bed. I checked on the boys, then went to the kitchen and poured myself a drink, maybe two. Then I went to bed.
I had a lot more to drink that weekend.
***
Monday morning, August 29, 1966.
I went back to the studio. We had two more days of "Miri" to shoot, and I was sick to my stomach with fear and worry as I drove onto the Desilu lot and parked my car in my accustomed space. What would I do when he came in? What would I say to him? How would I react?
And what would he say to me?
My nausea increased as I entered Stage 9 and went to the makeup room. There were two reclining barber chairs in the room. Leonard Nimoy was in one of them as makeup supervisor Fred Phillips worked on him. His pointed Vulcan ears had already been fitted and his high Vulcan eyebrows applied. Fred was touching up Leonard's yellow pallor. I sat down in the chair next to Leonard, so that hairdresser Virginia Darcy could attach Yeoman Janice Rand's trademark beehive wig to my head.
As Virginia worked on my hair, Fred Phillips looked over at me and seemed to groan a silent "Oh, no!" He saw he had quite a reconstruction job to do on me as soon as he was through with Leonard. My face was swollen and distorted from a weekend of too much crying and too much drinking. I know I looked sick, not only from anxiety but from being hung over.
Virginia had just finished my hair and Fred had not yet started on my face when the door to the makeup room opened. I looked out of the corner of my eye — and my heart jumped in my throat and stuck there. It was him — The Executive. If Fred or Virginia noticed the burning flush rise to my cheeks, they didn't say anything.
The Executive came over to me, took something from the pocket of his coat, and held it out to me, cradling it in both hands. "This is something I made for you," he said, "and I'd like you to have it." I looked at it. It was a polished gray stone, like you might find in a river bed, but smooth and shiny as glass. It was not large — you could place it in your palm and close your fingers around it.
I put my hand out and he placed the stone in it. I looked up at him and eyed him very closely, checking him out. He seemed harmless — but something felt very wrong. The most awful feeling swept over me, a replay of a feeling I had experienced in the office that night: a sense of impending doom. A little hoarsely, I whispered, "Thank you," but there was no gratitude in my voice.
The Executive smiled a nervous little smile — then walked out of the room.
I turned and looked at Leonard's profile. He was still lying flat in the makeup chair, looking straight at the ceiling, keeping his face still as Fred finished applying his makeup. I waited until Fred was done, then I said to Leonard, "You heard?"
"I heard," he said. "What did he give you?"
I got up and held out the stone for Leonard to see.
He laughed — an ironic, humorless laugh. "The son of a bitch!" he said. "It should have been a diamond."
I went through the rest of that day with a sinking feeling that I had shot myself in the foot — no, in both feet. Getting ahead in Hollyweird is often a matter of knowing who holds the power, then finding a way to get dose to that power, and even in bed with that power. I had refused to get in bed with the power. It might have been a morally defensible choice — but it was tactically stupid, in terms of my career. Inwardly, I kicked myself for not playing along, because in the end I was just as violated and exploited by this man as if I had — yet I had no career advancement to show for it. Bad move, Whitney, I thought. You've done it to yourself again.
The Executive's gift didn't make me feel better. It felt like the thud of the first shoe dropping. Deep inside, I knew there had to be another shoe coming.
On one level, perhaps, the stone was an apology, an attempt to make amends for the violation — but it was never accompanied by the words, "I'm sorry, please forgive me." In fact, the incident was never mentioned between The Executive and me again.
The shock waves of that incident, however, were far from over. I didn't realize it then, but those shock waves would continue reverberating in my life for a long time to come.
In fact, the worst shock of all was just a few days away.
The next day, Tuesday the 30th of August, we wrapped the final day of shooting on "Miri." Then began a two-week hiatus for Labor Day before we were to begin shooting the next episode, "The Conscience of the King."
Just a couple days into that hiatus — I think it may have been Thursday, September 1 — I was in the kitchen of my Sherman Oaks home. I was alone, fixing lunch for my two boys (they were playing outside or in some other part of the house). The phone rang. It was Alex Brewis, my agent. "Grace," he said, "are you sitting down?"
"No. Why?"
He said, "You'd better sit down."
So I did.
"Grace," he continued, "you've been written out of the show."
I heard him plainly, but the words refused to make sense to me. I couldn't think of anything to say in response.
"Grace, do you understand what I just said?"
"I don't know," I said. "What does that mean — 'written out'?"
"It means," Alex explained slowly and deliberately, almost as if he was talking to a child, "that they've taken the character of Janice Rand out of the show They're not going to replace you. Your character will no longer appear in the show You've been written out."
"But why?"
"Well," Alex explained, "I'm told it's a creative decision. The producers feel the romantic relationship between Kirk and Rand is becoming too obvious, and it limits the story possibilities. Apparently, they think Captain Kirk needs to be free to have affairs with other women on all these different planets. If the relationship between Kirk and Rand is too intense, it looks like he's two-timing Janice Rand. The viewers will get mad at Kirk and tune out. At least, that's what they tell me."
The explanation tasted bitter in my mouth. I couldn't help noticing that the reasoning behind it was completely the opposite of what The Executive had said to me the previous Friday night — about how the Kirk-Rand relationship could be strengthened, and about all the wonderful story possibilities that would result from expanding my role.
Feeling physically sick inside, I asked, "Does this mean I'm through?"
"You have a contract for thirteen episodes. You have one more episode to shoot.
You can finish out your contract, and then you'll be through."
And then you'll be through. It sounded so final. Like the ultimate rejection. Or like death.
That night, I went to a concert at UCLA. I can't remember who was performing or even what kind of music it was — I just remember that a lot of cast members from the show had tickets for this concert, and we all were going together. I was still in shock from the news my agent had given me, and I hadn't told anyone about it. I remember walking up to the imposing double doors of the theater and seeing Jimmy Doohan—Engineering Officer Montgomery Scott of the Starship Enterprise — standing outside. He saw me and smiled. "Grace," he said, "how are you?"
"Well, Jimmy," I said, "I don't know I think I'm still in shock."
His brow furrowed. "In shock? About what?" he asked.
"I got a call this afternoon from my agent," I replied. "He said I've been written out of the show"
His mouth fell open. "Written out! You?! Are they crazy? How can they write you out?"
Jimmy's shock was understandable. I was one of the first actors signed to do Star Trek, and I had signed as a lead, not a featured player. The pre-production publicity shots for Star Trek showed three characters — Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Yeoman Janice Rand. In the closing credits, my name was on the same card with DeForest Kelly (Dr. McCoy). Creator Gene Roddenberry's original vision of the show's chemistry was built around a nucleus of four characters — Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and Rand - much as "Gunsmoke" was built around the nucleus of Marshal Dillon, Doc, Chester, and Miss Kitty. That's exactly how Gene explained it to me from the very beginning. So for me to be dropped from the show was a major shake-up—a sudden disruption of the chemical balance of the show.
Jimmy Doohan had a very sympathetic ear for my plight. After appearing in the second pilot,* "Where No Man Has Gone Before," Jimmy found out in early 1966 that the show had been picked up by NBC. Great! he thought. Steady employment at last! Three or four days later, his hopes were dashed when he received a note from Gene Roddenberry, informing him, "We don't think we need an engineer in the series." Jimmy instantly called his agent, who went flying into Gene's office at warp factor ten, and got Jimmy Doohan back on board.
*(Star Trek is probably the only TV show in history to have produced two pilot episodes; NBC found the first pilot, "The Cage," to be promising, but was not convinced to buy the show until after viewing the second pilot. Perhaps when I told Jimmy what had happened to me that afternoon, he wondered if I was just the first casualty in a growing struggle to rein in the costs of this budget-embattled show Having already been told once before that he was expendable, Jimmy may well have wondered if Mr. Scott was next in line to be phasered into oblivion. In fact,he said to me, "My gosh, if it can happen to you, it can happen to anybody!")
***
Star Trek made its network debut the following week, on Thursday, September 8, 1966. I watched the show in the living room of my good friend Virginia Darcy, the hairdresser on the show. The episode NBC chose for the unveiling was "The Man Trap," the fourth regular-season episode we had filmed (the episodes were not aired in the same order in which they were shot).
In the show's maiden voyage, a landing party from the Enterprise contacts a space archaeologist and his wife at the ancient ruins they are excavating on a supposedly lifeless planet. When members of the landing party are found dead with red, ring-shaped splotches on their bodies, Kirk demands answers from the couple - Professor Robert Crater (Alfred Ryder) and his wife Nancy (Jeanne Bal). Years before, Dr. McCoy had nearly married Nancy, and he still carries a torch for her. In the end, it turns out that the real Nancy Crater is long dead. What appears to be Nancy Crater is actually a hideous alien creature which can assume the guise of human beings — and which survives by suctioning the salt out of its victims, leaving the red, ring-shaped marks. Ultimately, Dr. McCoy must ignore what his senses tell him and kill the creature which has taken the form of the woman he once loved.
In the course of the story, I'm stalked by the "salt vampire" in the form of an Enterprise crewman, and I have a fun, comedic interlude with Sulu (George Takei) and an alien, woman-grabbing plant named Beauregard. When we filmed the episode, I absolutely loved it.
But when I sat on Virginia Darcy's living room sofa, watching the finished episode, I hated it. I was just sick throughout the entire broadcast — not because the show was bad, but because it was good. I knew Star Trek would be something special. I was convinced it would be a hit. And now that I was no longer part of it, I wanted Star Trek to fall flat on its face. Not a very admirable attitude, I admit — but that's the kind of pain I was in.
As part of NBC's publicity blitz for its new space series, I had given lots of interviews and posed for lots of photos. The media loved me. I was scheduled to do a number of talk shows, including "The Tonight Show" with Johnny Carson. Suddenly it was all canceled. No more interviews, no more photos, no more talk shows. It was as if I had suddenly become poison — no one wanted to talk to me anymore. The sense of rejection was shattering.
One of the most painful aspects of that entire nightmare was having to come back to the studio for one last appearance on the show. The episode was "The Conscience of the King," about a space-traveling troupe of Shakespearean actors led by a man running from his past as the notorious mass murderer, Kodos the Executioner. In the course of the episode, Captain Kirk becomes romantically involved with Lenore, the daughter of Kodos.
Sometime during the week of Monday, September 12, I came in for my final early morning call. When I drove onto the Desilu lot and parked my car, I was shocked to see that they had already painted over my name on the parking space. I walked into Stage 9 and reported to makeup, where Fred Phillips applied my hair and makeup one last time. Then I went out to the set of the Enterprise bridge and waited to be called.
In that episode, I appear in one scene. It begins with a flirty exchange between the Captain and Lenore (Barbara Anderson). Then Lenore steps to the turboshaft (or elevator), the doors whoosh open and I step out. I look Lenore up and down as she enters the lift. She is alluringly outfitted in what appears to be a short mink coat and nothing else. I give her a jealous appraisal, as if thinking, Hmph! Is this the woman the Captain loves now? Is this the woman who's replacing me? Then I step over to one of the bridge consoles and turn my back to the camera. My entire appearance in the episode lasts about six seconds — no lines.
Then I'm history.
On Thursday of that week, the second episode of Star Trek aired, "Charlie X" — an episode in which Charlie, a orphaned human teenager raised from infancy by aliens, becomes infatuated with Yeoman Janice Rand. It was a beautiful episode - gentle and sensitive in its treatment of a troubled, confused adolescent with godlike powers. I didn't want to watch it, but I couldn't stay away. It was even better than "The Man Trap." It killed me inside because the show was so great, and I was not a part of it anymore.
So I drank even more. I ran away from everything. I hid from everything. The pain was so intense, I wanted to check out. I wanted to die, so I tried to drink myself to death.
One time, shortly after I was written out, a friend left a case of booze with me while he went on vacation. A week later he came back for his case of booze — and it was gone. I drank it all! I drank it because I had to kill the pain and once I started drinking, I couldn't stop. If I had to drink myself to death in order to kill the pain, fine, I would do it. I drank so much and felt so suicidal, I often wonder how I managed to survive. Maybe I was just too chicken to kill myself (I admit it I'm a wimp).
But I'd like to believe that I really stayed alive for my children. If it wasn't for them, I think I would have gone ahead and killed myself. My two boys were all I had to hang on to, and I couldn't bear the thought of them going through life without a mother.
My poor kids. What I did to them! I did the best I could in my own alcoholic way, but it didn't work. Nothing worked. I had sabotaged my marriage. I had thrown out the boys' father — because that's what alcoholics do. We throw people out of our lives. We become isolated. We throw this one out and go on to the next one. Every good alcoholic woman has to find the next one to "fix it," to make her feel whole.
I had thought that Star Trek was going to make me rich and famous, so I hadn't even bothered to ask for alimony in the divorce settlement. When I called my ex-husband and told him I had been written out of the show, he said, "Good. I'm glad you're out on your ass!"
The one person who really reached out to me after I was written out of Star Trek was Leonard Nimoy. He was the only one who really knew how much I was hurting. No one but Leonard knew what had happened to me that horrible Friday night, after the wrap party.
Leonard called me one Saturday and asked if I needed to talk. He was very worried that I might kill myself. So he picked me up in his car and we drove up to Santa Barbara. We spent a couple hours walking on the beach. That day, as he had always been, Leonard was a good listener. I certainly couldn't have been easy to listen to — I was so full of fury, resentment and suicidal feelings that I know I was miserable to be around. I literally didn't care if I lived or died. I told him I wanted to kill myself, but he reminded me that I had to live for my two boys. He said he knew I was going through incredible pain, but he promised I would get through it if I didn't give up.
I had the stone with me — the polished stone that The Executive had given me in the makeup room. As Leonard and I walked, I took the stone from my pocket and bounced it in my hand, thinking black thoughts about The Executive. "He never even said he was sorry, Leonard," I reflected bitterly, my eyes stinging. "He never even acknowledged what he did to me. He just gave me this lousy stone. That's how cheaply he bought me off! A worthless stone and a phone call to my agent — and I'm gone as if I never existed."
A dark rage came over me like a wave of emotional nausea. On a sudden impulse, I threw the stone as far as I could. It splashed into the rolling surf of the Pacific Ocean and disappeared.
We walked a little further down the beach. At one point, Leonard paused, bent down, and picked up something from the sand. He held it out to me, and I saw it was a stone, slightly larger than the one I had just thrown away. It was black, very smooth and shiny, and naturally polished by the ocean. It was beautiful. "Here," he said, handing it to me, "let me give you a new stone."
I kept that stone in my garden for many years, and often thought of Leonard's kindness to me that day.
(...)
Whitney, Grace Lee. The Longest Trek. Quill Driver Books/Word Dancer Press, Clovis, 1998, p. 1-16
About Filming the TOS Episode The Enemy Within
(…) The message of 'The Enemy Within" is that by managing our passions, character defects and emotions with reason and logic, we can be whole and well-balanced as human beings. That's why the good Kirk tells the evil Kirk, "Hold on! You won't be afraid if you use your mind! Think! Think!" In other words, we shouldn't try to destroy the evil in us, but to embrace it, master it and harness its raw power with our intellect and reasoning ability. But as Mr. Spock would say, "That is not logical."
After all, what was this evil thing that was unleashed in Kirk by the transporter malfunction? A beast — a thing of pure appetite, lust, cruelty, and self-will-run-riot. And the good Kirk? He was the one who was kind, caring, compassionate — in short, he was human as opposed to bestial. He was the best of what is human in all of us. The script placed the ability to command and make decisions in the evil Kirk — and I believe that's wrong. All of Kirk's higher functions — his ability to reason, to logically think his way to a decision — belong to the human side of Kirk, not the animal side. His ability to lead and command should have been within his good side, not his dark side.
I do not believe we need our evil side. lt is the source of our weakness and cowardice, our selfishness and lust, our hate and intolerance, our self-will-run-riot. Kirk ended up embracing his dark half and receiving it back into himself. In reality, we must continually purge that darkness by filling ourselves with light and truth.
(…)
At the end of "The Enemy Within," there is a badly botched attempt at humor. In a poorly motivated and out of character moment, Mr. Spock needles me about my feelings toward the evil Kirk (who came to be called "the Imposter," even though he was supposedly every bit as much a part of the "real" James T. Kirk as the good Kirk). There is almost a nasty leer on Spock's face as he says to me, "The Imposter had some very interesting qualities, wouldn't you say, yeoman?" My response was to ignore the jibe.
I can't imagine any more cruel and insensitive comment a man (or Vulcan) could make to a woman who has just been through a sexual assault! But then, some men really do think that women want to be raped. So the writer of the script (ostensibly Richard Matheson — although the line could have been added by Gene Roddenberry or an assistant scribe) gives us a leering Mr. Spock who suggests that Yeoman Rand enjoyed being raped and found the evil Kirk attractive!
This scene is doubly ironic in view of how wonderfully caring and compassionate the real Leonard Nimoy was a few weeks later after the real Grace Lee Whitney was sexually assaulted and violated by The Executive.
Whitney, Grace Lee. The Longest Trek. Quill Driver Books/Word Dancer Press, Clovis, 1998, p. 95.
Star Trek: The Search for Spock
Working on the Star Trek movies after getting sober and saved was a wonderful experience. It was especially exciting, getting to work with my old friend Leonard Nimoy again. We shot Star Trek III: The Search for Spock in late summer and early fall of 1983. Leonard's beloved Vulcan character, Mr. Spock, had died near the end of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. In Star Trek III, Spock makes his comeback! It is fitting, in a way, that Leonard, a Jewish actor, should play a character who is resurrected from the dead. You know, you can't keep a good Jewish boy down!
Star Trek III marked the first time I had ever worked with Leonard as director. I had a cameo role in the movie — not Janice Rand, but the red-haired Woman at the Window who registers shock and dismay when the Enterprise pulls into spacedock, blasted and pitted from the battle in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. My job was to represent the reaction of everyone in the spacedock, as well as everyone in the audience, at the sight of our beloved Starship Enterprise limping into port.
Leonard got me the part. I had pretty well burned my reputation as an actress by the end of my drinking. But Leonard saw the change in me after I got sober, and he wanted to get me back into the Star Trek world. He went to Ralph Winter, one of the producers, and said he'd like to use me in the movie. Winter said he'd like to meet me before saying yes.
There was a big party for people involved with the new Star Trek movie at a restaurant on Wilshire Blvd. All the stars and creative people were there. Leonard wanted me to make a good impression, so he told me to pull out all the stops. I had red-rinsed hair at the time, and I wore a turquoise-and-hot-pink Mandarin dress with very high heels. If I do say so myself, I was a knockout! I walked into the restaurant and Leonard and Ralph Winter were standing together. Winter looked at me and his eyes lit up, then he looked at Leonard and smiled. Leonard winked at me — and I knew I had the job.
Though most of the film was shot at Paramount in Hollywood, this particular scene, which involved a lot of special effects processing, was shot at the George Lucas studio, Industrial Light and Magic (ILM), in Marin County. Because there were no lines, it was important that I do a lot of inner work and bring the feelings out in my eyes. The camera was right in my face during most of the shooting. I had a hard time doing the scene because I was not used to seeing Leonard up on the boom, directing. He was sitting there in his slacks, sports shirt and glasses, giving orders like any director would. But to me, it just seemed ludicrous, as if Mr. Spock had bobbed his ears, gone Hollywood, and was trying to pass himself off as a movie director! He'd say, 'Action!" and I was supposed to emote on cue. Instead, I broke up laughing!
(…)
Whitney, Grace Lee. The Longest Trek. Quill Driver Books/Word Dancer Press, Clovis, 1998, p. 162-163.
Star Trek IV: the Voyage Home
Leonard Nimoy brought me back into the Trek universe for Star Trek IV The Voyage Home, which we filmed in early 1986. This was the "save the whales" movie — one of the best of the Trek films. The story: Earth is visited by a huge alien probe that seeks to communicate with the whales in Earth's oceans. Problem: By the 23rd century, all whales have been hunted to extinction. James Kirk and his crew must journey back in time to 1986 and retrieve a pair of live whales (named George and Gracie) to take back to the future and save the world. Along the way, they enlist the help of a marine biologist, Dr. Gillian Taylor (Catherine Hicks), to help them capture the whales and save the future.
While the story sounds dire and intense, Star Trek IV actually captures the light-hearted mood of the original series. It's a fun movie, filled with startling surprises and high adventure. Though the "save the whales" theme is the core of the story, the real fun comes from the movie's alien's-eye-view of American society in the mid-1980s, as the Enterprise crewmembers grope their way through our bewildering culture and counterculture. Along the way, Mr. Spock learns to swear like a sailor; Scottie tries to communicate with an Apple Macintosh computer by talking into the mouse; and Uhuru [sic.] and Chekov wander the streets of San Francisco, asking strangers where they can find the "nuclear wessels." The bantering interplay among the characters of this movie is by far the best among all the Trek films. Star Trek IV is also notable for the many cameo appearances by characters from the original series — Ambassador Sarek and his wife Amanda (Spock's parents, played by Mark Lenard and Jane Wyatt), Dr. Christine Chapel (Majel Barrett Roddenberry), and of course, Chief Petty Officer Janice Rand.
(…)
Catherine Hicks brought just the right touch to the role of Gillian — sexy, competent, yet vulnerable. You could sense that air of vulnerability in Catherine both on and off the screen. Though a screen veteran (she started in the soap opera "Ryan's Hope," and went on to major roles in Garbo Talks, Peggy Sue Got Married, Sable and the title role in Marilyn: The Untold Story), Catherine had an honest, earnest ingenue quality. She was always looking for ways to improve her performance, and she would often ask other actors for ideas and insight about how to play a certain scene.
I saw the innocent, ingenuous side of Catherine Hicks when she came to me, script in hand, about a problem. "See these lines?" she said, pointing to a scene in the script that was to be shot later that day. "I can't say those words!" I Iooked at the lines she indicated, and sure enough, they did contain expletives that went far beyond the usual PG-rated profanity in the film. "I noticed that you and Leonard Nimoy are really close friends," she went on. "Do you think you could ask him for me —" She was really intimidated by dear, sweet Leonard!
"Let's go talk to him," I said. So we went over to Leonard and showed him the script. "Leonard," I said, "Catherine's not comfortable saying these lines."
He looked at the lines, took out his pen, crossed out the objectionable expletives, and wrote in some milder words. It was that easy. Catherine was very pleased.
(...)
Whitney, Grace Lee. The Longest Trek. Quill Driver Books/Word Dancer Press, Clovis, 1998, p. 165-166.
Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country
Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country is a powerful film, perhaps the best of all the Star Trek films. We shot the film in April and May of 1991. The story idea was Leonard Nimoy's. He explained it very simply as "the Wall coming down in outer space." The story of the fall of the Klingon empire closely parallels the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of the Iron Curtain.
(…)
When the Federation- Klingon peace talks are sabotaged and high Klingon officials are murdered, Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy get the blame — and end up being sentenced to life at hard labor in the dreaded dilithium mines on the Klingon prison planet, Rura Penthe.
The trial of Kirk and McCoy is broadcast live throughout the galaxy by subspace radio. At the moment they are sentenced, there are reaction shots of crewmembers aboard the Enterprise and the Excelsior. The director, Nicholas Meyer, wanted to get a close-up reaction shot of Janice Rand for that crucial, dramatic scene. As the crew was setting up the shot, Nick called me over by the video monitors which are used to give the director an overview of all the camera angles on the set.
"Grace," he said, "did you and Kirk have a thing together on the original series?"
I wasn't sure what he was getting at. "In the show or for real?" I asked.
He grinned. "Both."
I returned the grin, remembering the electricity I had always felt on the old Desilu set when I was around Bill Shatner. "Well. . .yes."
"Would Janice Rand be upset if anything happened to Captain Kirk?"
He had to ask? "Bigtime she would!" I replied.
Nick nodded toward the set. "Can you cry on camera?"
"I don't know," I said. "I used to be able to cry at the drop of a hat. But it's been awhile..."
"Well, Grace, if you can cry on camera, I'll give you a close-up."
My face lit up. "For a close-up honey, I'll do anything!"
Nick wanted an understated cry — no bawling or boo-hooing, nothing that would distort my face. There were not even to be any lines. I would just quietly break down in response to what was happening to Captain Kirk.
There was just one Problem: I didn't know what was happening to Captain Kirk. The studio had never sent me a complete script. They had only sent me what are called "sides," the pages with my lines and scenes, no surrounding material. So I didn't even know the storyline of the movie. I didn't know what happened before or after my lines — which of course means, I didn't always know what Rand's motivation was in a given scene or what she was reacting to.
So as Nick was explaining what he wanted me to do, I was looking at him kind of dumb. "I want you to think about what happens to Kirk," he said, "and just let the emotions come."
"What happens to Kirk?" I asked.
Nick frowned at me. "Didn't you read your script?"
"They never sent me one."
His eyebrows went up and his jaw dropped. "What!" he exploded. "They never sent you one? Those cheapskates! ... Script! Script!"
And a script boy came running over.
"Get Miss Whitney a script right now!"
The guy scurried off and got me a script.
Meanwhile, however, the shot was all set up so I didn't have time to sit and read the script. "Don't worry, Grace," Nick said. "You just get up there, and I'll talk you through the scene."
So I took my place on the set, and the camera rolled. Nicholas Meyer began talking to me about what was going on with Kirk. As he talked about Kirk and McCoy being sentenced to a life of cold misery and torture on the gulag planet, I slowly broke down. My eyes filled up, and the tears began to roll down my cheeks. We got the shot in one take.
The next day, Leonard saw the scene in the dailies, and he came over to me and said that he got a catch in his throat when he saw that scene. That meant so much to me. I was so thrilled that I could still pull it off.
Whitney, Grace Lee. The Longest Trek. Quill Driver Books/Word Dancer Press, Clovis, 1998, p. 166-168.
