Did the Apollo Moon Landing Put a Dagger in the Heart of Science Fiction?
Forty years ago this week, science fiction
writers were media celebrities—at least for a
few hours. When Neil Armstrong stepped on
to the surface of the moon on July 21, 1969,
his “giant leap for mankind” was not just a
fulfillment of President Kennedy’s promise of
a lunar expedition before decade’s end. It
also validated the starry-eyed dreams of a
legion of pulp fiction writers.
Long before NASA was founded, the ABCs of
sci-fi (Asimov, Bradbury, Clarke) and others
of their profession had been chronicling the
exploration of the universe in works of
imaginative fiction. The moon landing was
their shining moment, and the public
recognized it as much as did the writers
themselves. When the TV networks sought
out talking heads for their coverage, science
fiction writers were on the top of their list.
At the moment that Eagle landed, Arthur C.
Clarke was sitting next to Walter Cronkite.
Earlier that day, the writer told millions of
viewers, during an interview with Harry
Reasoner, that the space mission was a “down
payment on the future of mankind.” After
the moonwalk, Cronkite engaged Clarke and
Robert Heinlein in their favorite activity—
speculation about the future. The sci-fi
veterans could hardly have been more
optimistic. Heinlein refused to put limits on
where space travel might lead. “We’re going
out indefinitely,” he proclaimed.
ABC countered with Isaac Asimov and
Frederik Pohl, pulp fiction veterans,
interviewed by Rod Serling. Ray Bradbury,
for his part, had always been more partial to
Mars than the moon in his writings, and he
proved to be the spoilsport of the day.
Bradbury walked out on David Frost’s Moon
Party, a peculiar British TV concoction which
countered the news coverage of the historic
events with strange entertainment, featuring
everything from Englebert Humperdink to a
discussion on the ethics of the lunar landing
involving A. J. P. Taylor and Sammy Davis,
Jr. Bradbury was so moved by the Apollo
landing that he was in tears. The irreverence
of Frost’s coverage was more than he could
bear.
Of course, on this night Mr. Bradbury had no
shortage of invitations. After leaving Frost’s
“party,” he took a taxi to CBS’s studio, where
the author was interviewed by Mike Wallace.
“This is an effort to become immortal,”
Bradbury proclaimed. How? “We’re going to
take our seed out into space and we’re going
to plant it on other worlds and then we won’t
have to ask ourselves the question of death
ever again.”
The grand predictions made that day proved
premature, to say the least. Sure, the Apollo
program was a success—even dodging a bullet
with the aborted Apollo 13 trip to the moon,
which unexpectedly turned into the most
heroic chapter in the space race saga. But
Apollo proved to be the end of manned lunar
expeditions, and not the beginning of the age
of space exploration. Who would have
guessed that, after Apollo 17 in 1972, no more
astronauts would travel to the moon. Here is
one measure of how quickly things changed:
a decade later, when people spoke of the
moonwalk, they were usually talking about
Michael Jackson’s dance steps.
Few people suffered from this turn of events
more than science fiction writers. The whole
sci-fi community should have been crying
along with Ray Bradbury on July 21, 1969.
As space exploration disappeared from the
front pages, sci-fi lost much of its glamour and
most of its readers. I would guess that half of
the stories in this genre during the period
leading up to the Apollo landing dealt with
outer space. ...
Read entire article at Ted Gioia in http://www.conceptualfiction.com
writers were media celebrities—at least for a
few hours. When Neil Armstrong stepped on
to the surface of the moon on July 21, 1969,
his “giant leap for mankind” was not just a
fulfillment of President Kennedy’s promise of
a lunar expedition before decade’s end. It
also validated the starry-eyed dreams of a
legion of pulp fiction writers.
Long before NASA was founded, the ABCs of
sci-fi (Asimov, Bradbury, Clarke) and others
of their profession had been chronicling the
exploration of the universe in works of
imaginative fiction. The moon landing was
their shining moment, and the public
recognized it as much as did the writers
themselves. When the TV networks sought
out talking heads for their coverage, science
fiction writers were on the top of their list.
At the moment that Eagle landed, Arthur C.
Clarke was sitting next to Walter Cronkite.
Earlier that day, the writer told millions of
viewers, during an interview with Harry
Reasoner, that the space mission was a “down
payment on the future of mankind.” After
the moonwalk, Cronkite engaged Clarke and
Robert Heinlein in their favorite activity—
speculation about the future. The sci-fi
veterans could hardly have been more
optimistic. Heinlein refused to put limits on
where space travel might lead. “We’re going
out indefinitely,” he proclaimed.
ABC countered with Isaac Asimov and
Frederik Pohl, pulp fiction veterans,
interviewed by Rod Serling. Ray Bradbury,
for his part, had always been more partial to
Mars than the moon in his writings, and he
proved to be the spoilsport of the day.
Bradbury walked out on David Frost’s Moon
Party, a peculiar British TV concoction which
countered the news coverage of the historic
events with strange entertainment, featuring
everything from Englebert Humperdink to a
discussion on the ethics of the lunar landing
involving A. J. P. Taylor and Sammy Davis,
Jr. Bradbury was so moved by the Apollo
landing that he was in tears. The irreverence
of Frost’s coverage was more than he could
bear.
Of course, on this night Mr. Bradbury had no
shortage of invitations. After leaving Frost’s
“party,” he took a taxi to CBS’s studio, where
the author was interviewed by Mike Wallace.
“This is an effort to become immortal,”
Bradbury proclaimed. How? “We’re going to
take our seed out into space and we’re going
to plant it on other worlds and then we won’t
have to ask ourselves the question of death
ever again.”
The grand predictions made that day proved
premature, to say the least. Sure, the Apollo
program was a success—even dodging a bullet
with the aborted Apollo 13 trip to the moon,
which unexpectedly turned into the most
heroic chapter in the space race saga. But
Apollo proved to be the end of manned lunar
expeditions, and not the beginning of the age
of space exploration. Who would have
guessed that, after Apollo 17 in 1972, no more
astronauts would travel to the moon. Here is
one measure of how quickly things changed:
a decade later, when people spoke of the
moonwalk, they were usually talking about
Michael Jackson’s dance steps.
Few people suffered from this turn of events
more than science fiction writers. The whole
sci-fi community should have been crying
along with Ray Bradbury on July 21, 1969.
As space exploration disappeared from the
front pages, sci-fi lost much of its glamour and
most of its readers. I would guess that half of
the stories in this genre during the period
leading up to the Apollo landing dealt with
outer space. ...