As local MC this year for the Cerebral Palsy Telethon, Leonard Nimoy was a Vulcan no longer. He'd taken off his pointed ears, kept yakking bout astrology and the greening of America, plus he did not say "logical" or "fascinating" once or knock off a couple of the gimp kids with his phaser (inferior beings, harmful to their race) Nevertheless, the fans kept on trekin" cuz they wouldn't let him be. Ya couldn't begin to count all the Mr. Spock jokes and how many times kids asked, "Where's yr pointed ears?" and Lebnard just grinned (only answer he could think of) like he was doing an Alpo commercial. Sure, lotsa autographs (he'd do em for money), and kids wanted him to sign his "X" on their copies of his albums (circa "67 loOe generation when Sky" Saxon ruled the roost) or scribble doodah on his book of love poems (includes a McKuenesque beauty called—"Jack Webb Dies In Pots of Puking Stink"). And the fun was watching Leonard trying to escape that MR. SPOCK IMAGE. (Wants to get outa the bubblegum card trip into the world of REAL ACTING, like in dinner theaters.)

Obviously all that Star Trek racket is just peaking. The demand is so huge that a movie is in the works, the Star Trek Convention was a blockbuster, and models of the Starship Enterprise are being manufactured faster than potato chips. What's more, cities everywhere may be recycling Mickey Mouse Club and You Bet Your Life (to name two of the more worthless), but Star Trek is the only re-run on the tube, I betcha, outranking even the news in ratings.