Via an interview with the Wall Street Journal in 2014: When I bought my home in the Bel Air section of Los Angeles in 1987, I was a little scared. I was single at the time—my marriage of 33 years had just ended—and I had been looking at modest places within a specific price range. My Realtor had suggested we see a house that had just come on the market: a one-story, 5,500-square-foot, white-plaster Spanish-Mediterranean from the 1930s. I fell in love with it instantly. The house had charm and was easygoing and very me. But there was a problem: The asking price was twice my budget.

I was dumbfounded. I had to have the house but didn't want to go broke. I asked my business manager what he thought. To my surprise, he said I could afford it. I had just directed my third film, "Three Men and a Baby," and more directing opportunities were lining up. But deep down, I was apprehensive. Bel Air seemed a little over the top for me.

You have to understand, I grew up in a tenement apartment in Boston. Being frugal was a part of who I was. What I actually could afford at that stage in my career hadn't really sunk in yet. Also, Bel Air was daunting. Back in 1956—when I was just out of the Army and married to my first wife, with a second child on the way—I needed income and drove a cab in Bel Air for about six months. I even picked up John F. Kennedy at the Hotel Bel-Air when he was a U.S. senator. He was going to the Beverly Hilton to give a campaign speech.
After I bought the house in '87, I moved in with my modest furniture from my last place in West Hollywood. My wife Susan and I were married at the house in 1989. The woman who had lived here before us was a developer and had done a good job of renovating the home. But the design was traditional—with red roof tile, terra-cotta tile floors and windows with multiple small panes. 
As Susan and I began collecting contemporary art, we made some changes. We had the walls painted white and installed black wood floors to make the art pop. We also added a black-tile roof, developed the grounds and built a second story above the garage for my photographic studio and darkroom. The studio has since been converted into workout space. Digital photography has made fussing over printing a bit archaic, and the fumes from the process weren't good for my chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.
About 10 years ago we redid the house. We installed a black-tile roof and sizable single-pane windows that let more light in and make us feel a part of the outdoors. Now you can see more of our backyard, which had originally been landscaped to feel like Tuscany but now feels more Asian. Out back we put in a contemporary Japanese tea house that's 15 feet by 40 feet. The floor was made with 18th-century New England barn siding. It's a meditative space that Susan uses for yoga.

When you walk through our front door, you step down into the living room, which has 15-foot ceilings, large exposed wood beams and a gas fireplace. Our kitchen is spacious. If we're having family over we'll hang around in there. Otherwise, we entertain at a dining table that accommodates 10. If we're having fewer guests over, we have a table in our family room that seats six.

My study-office is near the front of the house. There are full-size windows that let me see who's coming and going. I have a customized L-shaped worktable and a comfortable black swivel chair. Over the desk are photos and memorabilia from projects I've worked on. To my right is a gas fireplace and a mantle with three Al Hirschfeld drawings—two of me in "Star Trek" and one when I appeared on Broadway in "Equus." On shelves are a number of my photographs that are in several museums' collections.

There are no Spock uniforms in my closet, but I'm totally comfortable with the character now. There was a time many years ago when I was concerned that the three years I spent playing him on TV would overshadow my career. I'm grateful for Spock. As someone who grew up Jewish in Boston, I was always "the other"—an alien. So I get it.

Sitting on my desk is a small black box with a glass window. Inside is a pair of pointed ears. These are the ear tips I wore on final day of shooting for the TV show. I had them mounted. From time to time, I meet people who give me the "Star Trek" treatment. I don't mind. Fortunately, no one has asked me to beam them up lately.

Leonard Nimoy

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