We're Losing All of Our Friends

I never met Sir Patrick Stewart. I'd seen him on TV many times, playing Captain Jean-Luc Picard on "Star Trek: The Next Generation," but I never had the opportunity to talk with him in person. That wasn't unusual. My career in radio brought me into contact with lots of musicians, record company executives, and band managers from the late 1960s through the mid-1990s; but as for the folks who were on TV or in movies, our paths seldom crossed. Every now and then, I might meet a local TV reporter or someone who starred on a popular local show. But I'd be lying if I said I knew the big-name stars on the major networks. Yes, I often met the members of well-known rock bands; but when I turned on my TV at home, I was just another fan, watching my favorite shows and wondering what some of the performers were really like.

In most cases, I never found out. And because I understood what publicists do (having briefly worked as one), I knew that what was in the fan magazines seldom told the entire story. So, all I could do was imagine what I might say if I ever did run into someone whose show I liked to watch. But I knew that I probably would never get the chance. And that may have been for the best-- I didn't come from that world, and I undoubtedly wouldn't have had much in common with the typical TV or movie star. At least, with musicians, I had years of working as a deejay-- interviewing up-and-coming bands, going backstage at shows, spending time at recording studios. Yes, I had been on TV as a guest on a few occasions, but it wasn't the same as working in that industry. In other words, if I had ever met Patrick Stewart, the conversation might have been awkward.

But even though I never met him, I felt as if I knew him; or rather, I felt as if I knew the character he played. Stewart was British, and a former Shakespearean actor; he was so admired in England that in 2010, he was knighted by the Queen, who praised his contributions to the field of drama. He had a long career in movies and on the stage, but I don't think he ever expected to become a big success on American TV. And yet, he took his work on Star Trek: The Next Generation very seriously, and he brought Captain Picard to life in a way that only a great actor could. And those of us who loved The Next Generation bonded with the captain because of Stewart's skill as an actor. 

I was not particularly a fan of science-fiction. The original Star Trek, the one that starred William Shatner in the late 1960s, never appealed to me. But there was something about TNG (as the show was often abbreviated) that I could relate to. The first thing I noticed was the writing: the opening of the original said the starship was seeking out strange new worlds, and the goal was to "boldly go where no man has gone before." On TNG, they modified the introduction: "to boldly go where no-one has gone before." It wasn't political correctness: women were more active participants in TNG, and they played more prominent roles than they did in the original (a hat-tip to the late Nichelle Nichols, for her role as Lt. Uhura in the original). And the plots on TNG were much more complex and well-written; these were characters who became like familiar friends as you watched them every week.

The series had so many talented actors and actresses. I especially loved Brent Spiner, who played Data, the android who wanted to be human; Jonathan Frakes made First Officer Will Riker very believable; and Gates McFadden was dynamic as Dr. Beverly Crusher... But everything revolved around the character of Captain Picard. He was a steady presence in a crisis. He was a mentor, a motivator, a source of ethics. He was the captain, but he wasn't an autocrat-- in fact, he respected the crew, and he encouraged them to think for themselves. And if he made a mistake, he owned up to it-- the mark of any good leader. I loved how eloquently he spoke. And no matter how many times he had to face a crisis, he somehow managed to come through it courageously.

What brought all of this to mind is that Patrick Stewart died several days ago, at age 86. News of his death came as a shock. Few of us knew he had been ill. In fact, he had voiced a character in a wonderful movie, "The Sheep Detectives," earlier this year. It seems we've lost far too many good people in 2026, many of them in their 70s and 80s. (I'll be honest: I'm 79, and seeing so many folks that age pass away makes me a little nervous.) Anyway, although I never met Patrick Stewart, he was such a key part of my life in the late 1980s/early 1990s. There's a certain comfort that comes from watching a favorite series, and I never missed an episode of TNG. To this day, I can picture Captain Picard sitting in his ready room, drinking his hot Earl Grey tea. His commands to his officers became catch-phrases in the popular culture. I can still hear him saying them-- "Engage." "Make it so." 

And if I had met him, I would have thanked him for providing me with so much good entertainment. But since I can't do that, I'm dedicating this blog post to his memory. His character once asked that we never forget the starship Enterprise. I won't forget the man who played Captain Jean-Luc Picard and transported us to a universe where we too could "explore strange new worlds... To seek out new life and new civilizations... To boldly go where no one has gone before." Rest in peace, Patrick Stewart.        

Some Things Never Change (but maybe they should)

I can remember it as if it were yesterday. I was living in New York and working in broadcasting. I was between jobs, and I attended a party where I was told there would be some good opportunities to network. It was the mid-1970s, a time when there was a lot of drug use and a lot of drinking, and I recall some very crazy parties. I recall them because I don't do any drugs and I never have. I don't drink either. So, yeah, I do remember the parties. What I also remember is feeling like an outsider. It wasn't an era when those of us who were different were welcomed-- in fact, some of the folks I worked with disliked me because I wouldn't get high with them. They thought of me as rude or standoffish or antisocial. Perhaps I was all of these. Or perhaps I was just in the wrong place and the wrong time. 

Anyway, I was at this party and there was the usual craziness. But there was also one guy I needed to talk to because I'd heard his company was hiring. As I said, I was between jobs. So, I engaged him in conversation, or at least I tried to. He had been drinking, but then, most of the folks there had been drinking. I did my best to be cordial and he seemed to want to chat. In fact, we had what I thought was a friendly conversation about the state of the music industry. The party was noisy, and it was difficult for us to hear each other; he suggested we go into the other room, and I followed him. At some point, however, something shifted. He suddenly tried to kiss me, and when I didn't seem interested, he got annoyed. He grabbed me and put his hand down my blouse. I was able to pull away, but he grabbed me and tried a second time. By now, I was shaking and all I wanted to do was get out of that room. He called me some kind of vulgar name but he did let me leave. I buttoned my blouse, I got a taxi, and I went home.

What I also remember is what happened when I told some people about it (several folks wondered why I had left the party early). I explained what happened, but nobody seemed surprised. The general attitude was that I shouldn't have gone anywhere with him. That evidently gave him the impression I was interested in him. (I wasn't sure how going into another room to continue a conversation was a sign of anything other than wanting to continue the conversation; but I guess I was naive.) Just about nobody I told was upset with him. They assumed I had somehow done something to bring this on; and while his behavior might have been a little crude, well, he had been drinking and besides, boys will be boys. 

Of course, what had me thinking about all of this was the recent case at Cornell where a young woman went to a party at a frat house and was allegedly sexually assaulted. Agreed, our stories are not similar: she had been drinking heavily, and at first she consented (although whether someone who is drunk can consent is a matter for lawyers to debate). But at some point, the situation became non-consensual, and even when she wanted it to stop, it didn't. The first time she reported it, the administration didn't seem to take her very seriously; this second time got her more attention, but probably not the kind she wanted. Her story quickly deteriorated into online commenters calling her vulgar names and claiming she was a liar; and talk show hosts saying she deserved what had happened. I felt like I was back in the 1970s. Did I "deserve" what happened to me? I wasn't drinking, I wasn't acting provocatively, and yet, a guy I barely knew tried to assault me... and he suffered no consequences at all for doing so. And I was told to just go on with my life, since somehow, what had happened must have been my fault.

You'd think that in 2026, we'd handle these situations with more compassion. You'd think that in 2026, we wouldn't have such a double standard, and we'd finally place some blame on the guys at the frat house (these guys texted each other, saying she was available, and inviting other guys to join in). But no, it's still only the woman who behaved inappropriately. And if a woman reports being sexually assaulted, some folks still assume she's either lying or exaggerating-- the online commenters were especially vitriolic about that. There are places women shouldn't go and things women shouldn't do; and if it all goes wrong, well, what did she expect? And I still remember that night in New York as if it were yesterday, and I still remember how alone I felt. (If the internet had existed back then, I dread to think the names I would have been called.) It's so disappointing to think that five decades later, some people still react the same today as they did in the mid-70s. I wonder why that is...