Mr. Spock to the rescue

How the star of Star Trek earned the admiration of a young fan

By Matt Carroll

My one, near-brush with Leonard Nimoy came in the summer of 1967. I was 12 or 13 and I cared intensely about exactly two things—the Boston Red Sox, with that season’s improbable run towards the World Series, and science fiction.

I might have been a bit dense about what exactly the “summer of love” was all about, but I totally understood Star Trek. I was serious about my science fiction, devouring the pulp monthlies and every sci-fi paperback I could get my hands on. Star Trek was the best thing on TV, with nothing a close second.

And Mr. Spock, the legend himself, was coming to town, hawking his first album. We had seen the notices at the local department store in my small hometown of Dedham, MA, just outside of Boston. I was over the moon (in a manner of speaking). I was determined to meet him and get his autograph. Not only was he a star, but he was local—he was from Brookline, MA, one town away from me. That was way cool.

Myself and a few friends drove our stingray bikes to Lechmere Sales, a local department store, on the night of his appearance. It was a mob scene in the record department. Star Trek never had many TV viewers, but even then it was clear that those who loved the show were fanatics, and they had shown up en masse to idolize Spock.

Then, disaster: The posted signs made it clear Spock would only sign purchased copies of his album, which was called “Mr. Spock’s Music from Outer Space.” No other autographs allowed. I was still developing a taste for music, but knew there was no way on earth (sorry) I would buy that piece of… whatever. Not my kind of music, I sniffed.

Crestfallen, we left by the store’s backdoor, grabbing our bikes. And there, parked in the shadows, was an empty, enormous black limousine.

I stopped my stingray. Was this Spock’s car? Well … maybe. By then we were totally crushed. We had failed miserably in out goal of getting Spock’s autograph. But what the heck, we thought. It wouldn’t do any harm to leave our names and addresses on the car, could it? We stuck the notes under the windshield wipers and left, still with no clear idea if it was his car.

Weeks passed. I more or less forgot about the notes, now deep into Red Sox season, listening to late night games on the transistor radio stuck under my pillow.

Then the envelope arrived. A shiny, black-and-white autographed picture of Spock. We all got one. I was as thrilled as only a 12-year-old kid can be. This was one local hero who came up big. Ever since, I’ve had a warm spot for Mr. Spock. He was a busy guy and our little notes could easily have been tossed away. But he (OK, most likely an assistant) took the time to make sure we got our autographs. That was a lot better than a signed album, I gloated.

So here’s to you, Mr. Spock. You lived long and prospered. RIP.

Matt Carroll runs the Future of News initiative at the MIT Media Lab. His Medium blog, about media, life, and hackathons, is here. He can be followed @MattatMIT.