Hold on to your hats, I'm going to gush like a silly school girl. OK, so I am a silly school girl. Here's the account of my trip to LA to see Walter Koenig in A Christmas Carol, as well as the entire history leading up to it. Most of this was written in a notebook the very next morning, when I was still quite bubbly... sorry.

Friday, December 17, 1999. Around 9:55 pm. Euphoria. [I sound like Joe Friday. Sorry about that.]

To start at the beginning, we need to back up to early October 1998. I had been watching Star Trek on the SciFi channel for the first time in my life. I enjoyed it so well that I rented The Motion Picture (despite the warning of my parents that it was a virtual anasthetic). The film may not have been terribly interesting, but one of the high points was the hilarious little navigator. Having seen only the first season, I didn't know who he was, and I asked my dad "Was the little Russian guy in the TV show?"

A few days later, October 14, my question was answered when I turned on "Amok Time" a bit late. The first words I saw were "Davy Jones, Meet Mr. Chekov" (or maybe vice versa). At first, I simply found the relations amusing, having been rather partial to the Monkees for some time. As the show progressed, I found myself enjoying the interviews with Mr. Koenig more than any others. Perhpas it was his wit, or his beautiful voice, or simply that he was the most handsome, but I attribute my fascination to the thought put into each of his comments. I was never a fan of Chekov; it was the man behind him who captured my heart from the beginning.

Some time later, I searched the internet for more information on this entrancing man. I happened upon an audio excerpt from Warped Factors, his autobiography. Like the interviews, I found it at once hilarious and reflective. Of course, I rushed to secure a copy of the entire book toute de suite. Not only was the content fascinating, I found it refreshingly well-written.

Just two weeks later, on October 29, an episode of Diagnosis: Murder aired, guest-starring Walter Koenig. I hadn't yet seen Babylon5, so the eery quality of Koenig's character took me by surprise. On October 31, SciFi.Com hosted at chat with Mr. Koenig, and for once two of my comments made it past the moderater. That evening, I enjoyed the radio-style drama Orson The Alien, broadcast via the internet, in which Koenig played a reptilian alien captain. And on November 2 watching the Babylon 5 episode Race Through Dark Places, I finally discovered Alfred Bester, of whom I had heard so much. I was not disappointed; in fact, I was thrilled beyond my wildest dreams. Chekov may have been cute and funny, but Bester was cute and funny, dastardly and lovable, complex and fascinating all at once. My eternal "fandom" was assured.

Over a year later, on November 22, 1999, a mysterious email appeared in my inbox. Subject: Walter. The sender? Anonymous. The message? Walter Koenig would be starring as Scrooge in a production of A Christmas Carol in LA, December 3-19. My heart skipped a beat. Or two. I knew it was impossible to go, and yet... I gave the information to my mother, hoping against hope. She said no, of course, that we couldn't go, that it was insane. But Mom, I said, we live in Arizona now, LA is practically a hop skip and jump away! Unthinkable, she said, so I went back to my room and sadly updated the site with the information.

The next day after school, when Dad came home, Mom asked him "Did you get them?" Being very mysterious about it, they finally showed me a receipt for two tickets to A Christmas Carol! I was flabbergasted, speechless, and then absolutely manic! I jumped around the house all night. (It's just what I do when excited, I hop...) I went straight to the computer and rattled off a note to the wonderful stranger who had alerted me to the production, thanking him and basically asking who on earth he was. Just a few hours later, I read the words "My name is Rich Rhodes and I am a producer for The Santa Susana Repertory Company..." and nearly fell out of my chair. Then I read "I will make sure that you meet Walter, OK?" and came as close to fainting as I ever have -- my heart raced, my moth was dry, my head was spinning...

Anyway, the day finally came. We packed up our bags, all five of us (I have two little brothers, 4 and 7) and set out for our flight from PHX to LAX. The flight was uneventful, but things began to go wrong when the plane was forced to sit on the runway for 50 minutes after landing. That's OK, we still have time. Then the bus to the rental car lot was late. That's OK, we can make it. We bought some overpriced pizza from our hotel and had to wait thirty minutes to eat. That's OK, we have plenty of time. We were caught in one of the famous LA traffic jams. That's OK, we left early. Then we missed the 101 exit and lost forty-five minutes trying to find it again. Um... we're going to be a little late.

As it turned out, we were only about ten minutes late. We were directed to the higher level seats, so's not to disturb the performance. I nearly bowled over the ushers, who had gone in before us, in my haste -- I could here is lovely voice before I could see him. Jacob Marley was just leaving and there -- he -- was! I nearly squeezed my dad's hand off in my excitement. At the intermission we went to find the wonderful Mr. Rhodes. He was very nice and assured me again that I would be able to meet Walter Koenig.

We went back to the auditorium and sat in our own seats (6th row, just off center!). We could see the actors (one in particular!) so well! It was a great production, and when it was over I was so excited I could hardly stand it.

I went out and stood where Mr. Rhodes had instructed, and he said "Walter will be drifting along soon," and then finally he did, and I froze. He smiled so nicely at me, and I just stood there, smiling back like an idiot. Anyway, he started to walk past me, and I panicked, being too nervous to accost him. Then he saw his book clutched in my white fingers. "Oh," he said, "you must be the young lady from Arizona," only of course he said it in that gorgeous voice of his, which sounds even more beautiful in real life. After that I don't remember much -- it's all a whirl. Dad says I shook his hand; I'll take his word for it. Mr. Koenig seemed impressed that I had "flown all the way from Arizona" to be there. He asked if I'd like him to autograph the book, and I said "If you don't mind." He took the book and my pen, and signed it (left-handed). He asked how long we were staying, and then he gave the book back. I think we chatted a bit more, and then he took his leave. Just as everyone had told me, he was incredibly nice, a wonderful man.

So, there you have it. The history of my devotion to the greatest actor in the world, Walter Koenig. Some people think I'm crazy for not liking someone "normal" (including my grandmother, who thinks that I should get into Ricky Martin, who is "so cute"... she's sixty-seven years old, I think that's creepy!) Anyway, to the incredulous, I have only this to say: In thirty years, maybe just three or four, who's going to care what RIcky Martin is doing? People are going to be awed by Koenig's Bester well into the next millennium.