Picard has a holiday because a set decorator hung a banner in the background of one scene. Kirk has nothing. The Original Series never invented a day for him, so there’s no prop to point at and no date to adopt.
What’s available is March 22, 1931, the day William Shatner was born in Montreal. He turned 95 in 2026. NASA has marked the date publicly. Fans have pushed for it on and off for years without it ever becoming a fixture.
I’d take it, because the man has earned a day on his own terms instead of on Kirk’s, and because what he did at 90 is more interesting than anything the character did.
Why Kirk worked and Picard did not
I watched the original episodes as they aired in 1966. I was six. When they went into syndication I watched them again, and that Christmas I got the first USS Enterprise model kit and built it, with the light kit inside. It was one of the first models I ever built and I can still see it.
So I’m not neutral about Kirk and I won’t pretend to be.
He was an excellent captain. Not a clever one. He often didn’t use his brains much, and the scripts regularly handed him a solution he hadn’t earned. What he’d was nerve. Put him in front of something that could destroy his ship and he made a decision, and the decision was usually to act.
Compare that with Picard, who in Q Who convenes a meeting in the observation lounge while a Borg cube quietly repairs itself. That’s the difference between the two captains in one image, and it’s why the character built on nerve outlasted the character built on judgment. Audiences forgive a captain who’s wrong and decisive. They don’t warm to one who’s right and slow.
Who is William Shatner beyond Captain Kirk?
He was 35 when Star Trek premiered, which surprises people. Before that he took a commerce degree at McGill and then went to the Stratford Festival in Ontario to do Shakespeare, which is where the delivery comes from. The pauses that everyone imitates are stage technique, brought to a medium that didn’t want it.
He spent decades being mocked for it. The line readings became a punchline, then a genre of impression, then a shorthand for overacting. He wasn’t defended by critics and he didn’t defend himself. He kept working.
Then at some point the assessment turned over. What had been read as ham started being read as a specific choice, and the reason it turned over is that nothing else on television sounded like it. Distinctiveness is durable in a way competence isn’t. A hundred actors could have played Kirk adequately and nobody would be doing impressions of them sixty years later.
What happened when Shatner went to space?
In October 2021 he flew on Blue Origin’s suborbital NS-18 mission, becoming at 90 the oldest person to reach space. The man who had spent fifty-five years pretending to look at stars finally did it.
He came back and couldn’t stop crying on live television. In interviews afterward he described not understanding why until hours later, and taking days to work out what the reaction really was.
What he concluded was that he was in grief. Looking out at the black he described seeing only death, and looking back at Earth he saw both its beauty and what’s being done to it. He’s been blunt about it since, calling the loss of a planet’s worth of evolution beyond tragic.
That’s not the expected reaction. The expected reaction is wonder. Every account of spaceflight before his ran through awe, perspective, the fragility of the blue marble as an inspiring thing. Shatner went up and came back bereaved.
The craft lesson: the true reaction is rarely the expected one
This is the part worth taking into your own work.
When a writer sends a character through a life-changing experience, the instinct is to write the emotion that the situation calls for. Triumph at the summit. Awe in space. Relief at the rescue. Those reactions aren’t wrong, exactly. They’re just the ones the reader supplied for themselves before the scene started. That means the scene delivered nothing.
Shatner’s reaction is better than any of them because it’s wrong in a way that turns out to be right. Grief in space makes no sense until you hear the reasoning, and then it makes complete sense and cannot be unheard.
There’s a second thing in it that’s easy to miss. He didn’t know what he was feeling at the time. He cried first and understood days later. That delay is how strong emotion really works and almost nobody writes it, because it’s inconvenient. It’s much easier to have a character name their feeling in the moment so the reader knows what to think.
Let the character be confused by their own reaction. Let them arrive at the meaning late, in an ordinary place, with nobody watching. That’s where the real version of the scene lives.
Generations and a death that was not earned
My favorite of the Star Trek films is Generations, which puts me in a small minority. Most people rank it near the bottom. I like it anyway.
What I cannot forgive is how it kills Kirk. He goes out under a collapsing bridge on a nothing planet, in a fight that doesn’t matter, for a character the audience has no investment in. The man had sixty-plus hours of television and six films behind him and they gave him a death that could have belonged to anyone.
A death has to pay off the life. That’s the whole job, and it’s the reason I wrote a full piece on writing character deaths that matter. Generations is the clearest example I know of getting it wrong with everything in place to get it right.
The other thing he said about legacy
Around the release of his documentary You Can Call Me Bill in 2023, Shatner was direct about his own mortality. He said he’d refused documentary offers for years and said yes to this one because his time is limited and there are grandchildren who will outlive him. He wanted something of himself left where they could find it.
He was also dismissive of the idea of legacy in the usual sense. His argument was that statues come down, graveyards get ransacked, headstones fall over, and enormous stars are forgotten inside a generation. What survives, he said, is good deeds, because a good deed keeps moving outward.
I keep coming back to that because it cuts against the whole reason most people say they want to write a book. The book as monument is a bad reason and it doesn’t survive contact with time. The book as a thing that changes what somebody does is a different object entirely, and it’s the only version that outlasts the author.
That’s close to what I ended up saying about how Warner Bros. dismantled Looney Tunes. The work outlasted every executive who mishandled it, not because it was protected, but because it was good enough that people went and found it.
Why there is no Captain Kirk Day
People search for it.
Captain Picard Day on June 16 exists because The Next Generation put a banner on screen. First Contact Day on April 5 exists because the films fixed a date in 2063. Both had something concrete for fans to grab.
The Original Series gave its audience nothing of the kind. It was made in the sixties on a schedule that didn’t leave room for that kind of world-detail, and the writers were solving the week’s episode instead of building a calendar.
So Kirk has no day, and the closest anchor is the actor’s birthday. There’s something appropriate in that. Kirk was always more Shatner than most captains are their actors.
How to mark March 22
Watch The City on the Edge of Forever, which is the best hour The Original Series produced and contains the only piece of acting in the run that nobody has ever parodied.
Or read something aloud badly on purpose. Big pauses, wrong stresses, full commitment. It’s harder than it looks and it’ll teach you something about how much of performance is nerve.
If you write, do the exercise. Take the biggest moment in your current project and write the reaction that doesn’t fit. Not a contrary one for effect. The one your character would have, worked out honestly, arriving late and in the wrong place. Then see whether the scene got better.