Bonn Convention 1998

by your roving reporter Mieke Witsel 

added comments by Denise Notermans

My senses are still reeling from having spent two-and-a-half days in relatively close proximity to Robert Beltran, as well as Tim Russ and Kate Mulgrew and Nichelle Nichols (Uhura, TOS) and Max Grodenchik (Rom, DS9)--but it was mostly Robert who made my senses reel. Now, I knew that Robert Beltran is a good looker--I’ve seen him in films other than the Voyager series--and I had thought that, maybe, seeing him "in the flesh" as it were (if only! If only!), would cure me of my crush. Forget it!!! To have seen him live, close by, to talk to him…by all that’s holy, the man is deeply, wildly attractive (and in all probability, deeply and wildly unavailable… ::sigh::). And it’s not as if I don’t have enough tall, dark, handsome men in my life. So how does he generate such magnetism?

I had better start at the beginning.

I had never in my wildest dreams thought that I would actually ever get to a Star Trek convention. To me, conventions were for those who lived in America, near ritzy places like Los Angeles, for those who had the time and money, and not for the likes of me, a lecturer /musician / mum in Amsterdam. Yet when I heard of an upcoming convention to be held in Germany, I started wondering… Through the Internet, I had met Denise, a humorous, intelligent CEO of a large printing company. She had signed the guestbook at the ORB site, and I liked what she wrote, so I emailed her--and that's how it came about that on Friday 17 April we were whizzing down the highway southwards, towards Germany.

[Denise sez: A little wary at first, but soon enough very enthusiastic, I signed your guestbook… To my surprise I received an email back from another Dutch woman who read my entry. She was pleased to find other "Dutchies" interested in RB. For a couple of months now, we've been writing each other, not just about RB but about a lot of other stuff as well. We found out we only live a couple of blocks away from each other--so how crazy can it get?]

The convention took place in Bonn, at the Maritim Hotel. The hotel had been booked solid by avid fans since theearly cretaceous era, so we settled for a guest room at an old folk’s home in Maastricht (a city in the south of Holland – a mere 1.5 hours drive from Bonn. The things one   will do to see RB close up….). 

Getting to the convention by car would have tried the patience of Mother Theresa (may she rest in peace), because the road system in Bonn has apparently been designed by a schizoid betazoid with a distinct penchant for spaghetti. It took us three hours of cruising before we caught sight of the hotel and even then the road led us maddeningly past the hotel and away into the countryside. We could see the hotel dwindling into the distance and we were getting frantic, I can tell you. Still, in time we arrived, and in the hotel lobby the first things (people?)

we saw were about ten Klingons and a couple of Cardassians. Never having been to a con before, I hadn’t realised how good (not to mention downright startling) some of these "home-made" costumes were!

 

Our initial impression of the con wasn’t that good--after having wandered around, visited the Ferengi marketplace and viewed the art show and such like, we were wondering what on earth we were going to do with our three days there. One can only gaze so long at Chakotay and Janeway dolls! But the opening ceremony and the evening’s speakers more than restored our faith in the whole thing and brought smiles to our faces and laughter to our eyes.

The ceremony was hosted by Marc Lee, who turned out to be a very personable and exuberant MC. He introduced the guests one by one: Richard Arnold, Lolita Fatjo, Nichelle Nichols (the audience went wild with enthusiasm), Max Grodenchik, Tim Russ, our Robert (the audience again went                                         

The main speaker that evening was Tim, and I must say I was very impressed with him; he is a radiant and exuberant man. A good speaker, he can also sing wonderfully and he is very very funny. Highlight of his performance was his rendition of the song "Feelings" as it would have been done by Tuvok (entirely spoken, and utterly devoid of feeling…). He also described at length the practical jokes they play on each other on the set, hilarious anecdotes too numerous to recount. But the next time you see Neelix only in a top-half shot, though, just ask yourself whether he’s wearing any trousers--and when you see all the bridge officers spilling out of the turbolift as the doors open, what they were actually doing in there…

What the opening ceremony and Tim taught me was that one doesn’t go to conventions for the material things, the decor or the location, but for the people--and that I had briefly lost sight of amongst the costumes and consumerism. Once I’d sussed that out I really started to have a good time.

Robert was scheduled to appear at 9.00 a.m. on the Saturday morning. This meant that we had to get up at sparrow’s cheep (5.45 a.m.) in order to get to the hotel on time! It didn’t feel like a chore, though--I think we were both so excited about the prospect of one-and-a-half hours of unadulterated Robert that we would’ve climbed Kilimanjaro first if necessary. (Well, I dunno about Denise, but I definitely would have!). We found ourselves reasonable seats up on the balcony, but still we were about 2.5 million light years away from the stage (well, with con numbers of 2165 and 2166 respectively, it was the best we could do…spot the sub-atomic particle which is Robert…). Luckily for us Denise had mega-powerful binoculars, which we wrenched from each other’s hands in a thoroughly unladylike fashion at regular intervals.

Robert came bounding on stage, only to recoil in "horror" at the sea of faces and the great roar that went up from the audience, whereupon he hid behind the shuttle. If it had been me, I don’t think I ever would have ventured out again – imagine facing well over 3,000 people before breakfast! But Robert being who he is, he came bouncing out again and proceeded to read an excerpt from a local newspaper in truly atrocious German. He then asked for coffee, downed three strong black ones in quick succession, and asked for questions from the audience. There was a bit of a stunned response to this, as I think the audience had perhaps been expecting more of a "show," or perhaps they weren’t awake enough yet for their language modules to start functioning. It was very much Robert being there, saying "this is me, as I am," not putting on a stage performance, but asking for the audience to participate. Slowly at first, the questions came and the whole atmosphere warmed up. At first he gave rather short, sometimes even curt answers to the questions (I guess he’s not a real "morning person"), but within ten minutes or so he had loosened up and there was much laughter at his often irreverent and witty answers to the questions.

[Denise sez: I remember thinking only, jeez, he's taller than I thought--wow, that's great! I'm 6 feet, so am always pleased to see men taller than that. Also, he looked much thinner in real life--gorgeous, with a nice black outfit and teeth that shine so brightly you can comb your hair in them!]

There were some powerful spotlights in the hall, and two of the microphones were right next to those lights (the ones on the balcony, where we were… ::sigh::), so Robert didn’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of seeing whom he was talking to. Many of those asking questions, however, didn’t realise this, so whenever Robert asked "where are you?", instead of answering "near the right-hand spotlight on the balcony," for example, they would shout "Here! I am herrrre!" in often as not heavy German accents and increasingly louder and more desperate tones, which incited Robert, who couldn’t see a thing for glare, to start calling the louder and more demanding ones "Helmut Kohl." It became a bit of a standing joke as the days passed. Mind you, when I told him that I was "up on the balcony, at about two o’clock from where you’re standing…" he remarked "Where’s that? I’m still on American time and jet-lagged!"

[Denise sez: Mieke confided in me that she was shaking like a leaf and pissed off by that, since she performs with a band for large audiences and lectures large groups of people…]

I cannot remember all the specific questions that were asked, or give a verbatim report of Robert’s answers, but here is a fairly rough transcription of some of them:

How many shuttles has Chakotay crashed? Seven or so.

How many cars has Robert crashed? About three.

Do you like SF and if not, why not? Robert’s answer to this one was extensive, and perhaps did not please some of the more fanatical SF buffs in the audience too well. He explained that he liked fiction with a real plot to it, and he didn’t like SF too much because there were too many easy ways out, plot-wise, if the going got rough for the characters.

How many shuttles does Voyager have? A case in point here re the "easy way out": apparently, there is a limitless number of them.

    

People kept coming up to the stage and bringing Robert presents, which he would thank them for before showing the presents to the audience. This was invariably accompanied by some comment or other: "sauerkraut…yum…" The presents were all piled on top of the shuttle, which soon came to resemble the aftermath of a family Christmas.

 

After Robert left the stage, it was Kate Mulgrew’s turn. Now, I’m not what I would have termed a fan of Kate, but I must admit that the lady is enchanting and has plenty of spunk! She came on and proceeded to delight the audience with her friendliness, humour and classiness. Basically I think she really is a bit like the Captain in Voyager, only more playful. Her talk was more prepared than Robert’s had been--more of a performance, really; Robert’s was less polished, but more personal. She talked about her children, about the practical jokes she and Tim played on each other, about what a week’s work is like on the set (did you know that all bridge shots are done on the Monday, which means that they start at 5.00 a.m. or so and don’t go home ’till all the shots are done--which may be 2 a.m. on the Tuesday), about combining love and acting ("You have to go for love--it’s more important than being a star."). Having had more presence of mind during her talk than during Robert’s, I managed to jot down three of the priceless comments:

"The one chance Janeway has of having kids, and what does she have? Little lizards!"

(Describing what happened after having been the recipient--yet again--of one of Tim’s practical jokes) "Have you enjoyed your life, Tim? Yes? Good, ‘cos now it’s over."

(Quoting Bill Shatner) "By God, those elephants were copulating!"

And she does think aliens exist, somewhere out there!

Denise nipped out towards the end of Kate’s talk as she was desperate for a pee and she met Robert in the foyer! (The green is only now starting to fade from my skin. I looked a rare sight earlier this week, I can tell you!) Robert had come down to the front desk to ask something and was sort of hiding behind a pillar (in an attempt to escape detection? Fat chance, with his charisma and 3,000 people hoping for an illicit taste of it. It must drive him nuts, sometimes. Though I freely admit, people in glass houses…). At first Denise thought "I’ll leave him be," but then thought "I’ll never get another chance!" She strode up to him and he stood his ground (brave man!!) , and she gave him a T-shirt she had brought with her from Amsterdam. Robert was very gracious and thanked her sweetly for it. Oh, I suppose it was a good thing it wasn’t me, I’d probably have died of palpitations anyway. ::sigh::

[Denise sez: I went up to the counter to change some money and out of the corner of my eye I suddenly saw a black clad figure. Brain went to mush, speech center shut down, legs started to shake… Robert was there standing next to me and all I could do was--absolutely nothing, for a couple of seconds! Then I got some of my brain function backs, dashed into my bag and took out a T-shirt from Amsterday that I brought as a present for him, left my bags unattended and cruised right up to him. You can imagine the somewhat bewildered look on his face when this big woman came charging at him. I handed him the T-shirt with some lame line like "here's a souvenir from Amsterdam, hope you like it…" It was all over in seconds and then it hit me--why didn't I ask for a picture, autograph, handshake, hug, kiss, whatever?]

The rest of the day was taken by Nichelle Nichols, and by the first of the two autograph sessions. Rumour was rife that not everybody would get an autograph, as apparently happened two years ago when they only got through 1500 of the 3000 guests (well, "only" is a relative term, I think). I asked Richard Arnold how he felt about signing autographs, and he said that it wasn’t the signing that was the problem, although it was hard on the hands, but more the constant and active contact that you have with countless faces--in the end, he said, his brain was mush and he had to ask how to spell names like "Bob." Due to our high con numbers we were worried that we wouldn’t get to see Robert. Not that I necessarily wanted an autograph, but I just wanted to be able to look the man in the eye and exchange a word with him… Well, to be honest I’d have loved to have given him a huge hug, but having seen the efficiency of German con staff, bouncers & bodyguards I didn’t think I’d stand a chance. We talked with a very kind young man called Volker, a true con veteran, who assured us that we would get to see him, and told us not to worry.

Sunday morning dawned while we were on our way back for more Robert. This time Tim was first, and again he was hugely enjoyable as a speaker. Someone asked whether he thought Seven of Nine and Tuvok would get together. Tim replied that, as Seven considered everything "irrelevant" and Tuvok thought everything "illogical," they would probably bore each other completely to death.

And then Robert came hurtling on stage and tackled Tim round the middle and gave him a huge hug (would that it were me! would that it were me!) and several hearty slaps on the back (though this probably would’ve knocked me halfway into next week). Then Tim left and it was just Robert and us (us being the audience of 3,126, but who’s counting?) and he seemed much more awake and warmer than the day before.

[Denise sez: We thought it would be them together, but, no, Tim was first and around 10:15 Robert came on. For those interested, he was wearing baggy corduroy pants with some sort of vest and shirt. Nice, but not so revealing…]

   

He opened immediately by asking for questions, and as the audience was again flummoxed, I asked him whether, being the seventh of many, his family got involved with his career. He said that his family had been maddeningly uninterested, really, and that they had sort of expected (or wanted) him to become a lawyer or something like that. He went on to describe how, when he asked his nephews what they thought about the latest episode of Voyager, all they could tell him was how the latest episode of The Simpsons had been! I did say that I thought that his mother must’ve been somebody special, the job she did raising all her kids the way she did, and he seemed pleased and thanked me and said he’d pass my comments on
to her.

Denise asked him whether Paramount made him come to conventions ("No!") and whether he "had anybody to handle his affairs." "I handle my own affairs!!" Robert shouted with assumed indignation and a huge smile. "Business affairs, I mean," Denise yelled back. "Your fan-mail and so on." "Um…no…" "So your fan-mail never gets answered?" "Are you offering?" retorted Robert, with another wide grin. "Not really!" Denise hastened to assure him. Very tongue-in-cheek, all of it…

[Denise sez: I asked 'Do you have anyone helping you with answering fan mail, like a secretary?' 'No' was the reply, with tongue in cheek--he does that a lot and it looks rather disarming and cute. Then he went on; 'Would you like to do it?' and, as stupid as I am, I replied 'No, thank you.' Why didn't I say 'Yes, when can I have my job interview?']

                            

The gist of many of the questions was much the same as the ones posed during previous cons, but it was Robert’s responses to the questions that was so enchanting. He frequently doubled over with laughter, goofed around, pulled the most astounding faces, lightly ridiculed the sillier questions--for example, a girl mentioned something that she’d read on the Internet--something daft, I forget what--and he interrupted her with "On the Internet? You read it on the Internet? I read something in the men’s bathroom--so what?"  One young man went to great lengths to explain how, when on any of the other ships (in TOS or TNG), the captain wishes to destroy the ship, he always needs the consent of the second-in-command; and he wished to ask why this was not the case on Voyager; why Janeway could make this decision alone. Robert went completely still for a moment, and then, with great seriousness and infinite patience, said "Because a woman is the captain."

It was over all too quickly and we emerged, dazed and smiling, into the thin spring sunshine. We didn’t go to listen to Nichelle Nichols, preferring to remain outside and pass the time with ribald remarks and silly songs (we were in that sort of mood--passing con-goers couldn’t get a word of sense out of us), while we waited for our turn to join the autograph lines. These Germans are so well-organised: they had this man prancing around in a yellow paper tutu with a sign on his head announcing which con numbers were allowed to line up for the autographs. (Honestly! And you think we were silly!)

Luckily tempus did quickly fugit and we found ourselves in the autograph line. It was so much like a factory assembly line: we had to have our photos for autographing just so, and our entry tickets just thus; and of course it has to be done in this way, or it’d be chaos, but still… Anyway, once I was in front of Robert (and whether I wanted to or not I had to give him a photo to sign-- jawohl, one has no choice in this setup) I did manage to stammer my thanks for having given me such pleasure, but I felt very shy. I was a bit more self-contained and confident with Tim, and managed to thaw enough to have a bit of a conversation with Marc Lee, whom I had liked very much. He asked where I was from, which is an inordinately difficult question for me to answer as my father is French, my mother Dutch-with-a-wee-whisper-of-Scots, I grew up in Australia, I live in Amsterdam and the majority of my family live in Belgium--so we settled that in future I ought to answer "from Earth." Thanks, Marc! Once we were out of the main deck I went to Volker and gave him a hug, and thanked him for having kept our spirits up.

The closing ceremony was absolutely wonderful--brilliantly uplifting music by amongst others Andrea Bocelli, an exquisite laser show, Max and Lolita sang a song, the con helpers (bless their organisational souls) even sang a hilarious song. Marc and some of the others came on in fancy dress and did "Let's do the Time Warp Again", and Tim sang in a heartbreakingly gorgeous voice "Rosalinda’s Eyes" and "Louisiana." Then Robert came on and, after saying that he couldn’t possibly follow an act like Tim’s, said he’d sing a song he knew from when he was young, a song by Schubert. And after much hesitation and running his hand through his hair and ducking his head and shuffling his feet and running his hand through his hair again and grumbling a bit about the microphone and scuffing the floor a bit more (was he nervous?) he finally did so--a capella. Well done, Robert.

All good things come to an end and I felt elated yet at the same time somewhat lost and sad when they all left the stage. We left the hotel where we had been treated impeccably by the staff and organisers, where we had come close to our dreams; we stowed Denise’s life-size cardboard cutout of Chakotay in the back of the car and headed back to Amsterdam, each wrapped in our own reverie, only to surface every few miles or so with "do you remember…" and "what about when he said …." and "didn’t you love it when ….". Denise really was the best con-mate I could have possibly ever have hoped for!

I’ve been asked whether I enjoyed the con--well, if you could see the smile which is still on my face and the laughter still in my eyes right now you'd have your answer. It was, for me, absolutely fantastic. Some slight disappointments (I didn’t get to give Robert a hug, which I dearly would have liked to do; or get to go for a long walk with him through Edenesque countyside and engage in delightful conversation; or perhaps a candle-lit dinner--dream on, Mieke, dream on!), but I did get to ask him questions during the forums (or should it be "fora"?), and on the whole I'm absolutely delighted with the whole experience. I have the feeling that not just Robert, but Tim and Kate and the others are--um--familiar to me now that I've really met them and know them better and understand more about them as real people and not just as screen idols. And this despite the fact that I am more than aware that, as there were 3,000 "people" (read: Klingons, Cardassians, Vulcans, androids and even a walking transporter beam) present, that they wouldn't recognise me from a bar of soap...

And as for whether Robert was as I expected--yes, I think so. I've read practically all there is to read about him on the web (with the help of the ORB, naturally!), so I had a pretty good picture of what he was like (nutty, engaging, serious, frivolous, etc. etc. etc.!). What was unexpected, however, was that I had thought that going to a convention like this would cure me of my crush on Robert and all such silliness--I have, after all, a wonderful partner and a very fulfilling and exciting life--but I'm even more totally and completely sold on the man. I hadn't expected him to be so wildly, naturally attractive. Ah, well…

The cat sits on the windowsill, making wistful-cat-noises at a solitary pigeon outside. I watch the spring rain fall softly on the gables and roofs of the narrow Amsterdam houses and I think "ich bin ein Ferengi…", and I smile as I sip my tea.