TV hour began with a review of the four "lands" before a story from one of them would then begin. First that season there was Fantasyland, then Adventureland. They alternated for awhile. By December and the eighth episode, there was Frontierland, and so Davy Crockett was in that mix. But for weeks and months and-- it seemed like-- years, I waited and waited for the one I most wanted: Tomorrowland.
Consider that date: early 1955. The first rocket mission to space, the launch of the Soviet satellite Sputnik that shocked America, didn't happen until the fall of 1957, nearly three years later. The U.S., which had planned to launch a satellite during the International Geophysical Year of 1957, didn't accomplish this feat until 1958. The Soviet Union launched the first human into Earth orbit in 1961; later that year, the U.S. sent its first man into space in a sub-orbital flight. The first American to attain orbit around the Earth was in 1962. The first American mission that landed the first humans on the moon was in 1969.
Well into the 1950s, including that year of 1955, Americans generally just did not take space flight seriously. Though there were development programs ongoing, the predominant American attitude was that space travel was a nutty idea, a juvenile fantasy of no practical value, even if possible. That was also the belief of many in government, and many if not most scientists. Space travel was science fiction.
This book quotes astronomical artist Ron Miller: "Astronautics is unique among all the sciences because it owes its origins to an art form. Long before engineers and scientists took the possibility of spaceflight seriously, virtually all of its aspects were explored first in art and literature..."
"No one had considered the actual technological problems of space flight until Jules Verne," Miller asserted. Thanks mostly to weapons of war in the 20th century, scientists and engineers became deeply interested in such technological problems. But the goal of manned space flight for the purpose of exploration was still for dreamers.
This book singles out some of the ways that the public was prepared for space even before the reality began in 1957 with the launch of Sputnik I. Science fiction, including the movies like Forbidden Planet, and those Saturday morning TV shows in the early 1950s that as a space-happy kid I remember vividly-- Space Patrol,Tom Corbett, Space Cadet; Rocky Jones, Space Ranger--and even earlier, Captain Video.
But the authors emphasize the speculations and artistic rendering in the popular press in the 1950s (notably Collier's Magazine) and particularly the three programs produced by Walt Disney for the Disneyland anthology, beginning with "Man in Space." They made humans in space dramatic and real.
Walt Disney took space travel seriously, and he was personally involved in the research for these television programs. The company had a bit of experience in this kind of program, having produced "Victory Through Air Power," a 1942 film based on a book advocating a large role for air power in the Second World War, said to have influenced Winston Churchill, and through him, FDR. But these first Tomorrowland programs were ahead of their time. They discussed details of rocketry, space and space travel that most Americans didn't know, let alone children in the audience.
"Man in Space" was first of the series. The second, "Man on the Moon" was also broadcast before even a human-made satellite reached space. (And even though "man" was used in its general sense as "human," it pretty much was just men in space. Though the Russians sent the first woman into orbit in 1963, none of the US programs before the shuttle had women astronauts.)
Only the third program in the series, "Mars and Beyond," was broadcast after Sputnik, by about two months.
These were first seen in black and white, but shot in color. Color illustrations were lifted for books and magazine articles derived from the show.
"Man in Space" is introduced by Walt Disney, who refers to space as "the new frontier" (JFK's campaign slogan in 1960 became The New Frontier.) The bulk of the program is a history of rocketry and animated illustrations of possible perils of humans in space, introducing the concept of weightlessness. Rocketry pioneer Willy Ley is among those who explain various concepts.
Some of the rocketry history sacrifices accuracy for the sake of humor, but explanations of how rockets work and what might happen in space were new to most of the audience (and helped govern depictions of space trips in subsequent fiction films.) I remember in particular that this is where I learned Newton's third law of motion, which as this film put it means "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction." It's still just about all the physics I know.
The history of rocketry leads up to the V-2, the last German rocket built in World War II. Several blast-offs of this handsome rocket are shown, probably launches of some of the 75 V-2s the US captured and brought back after the war to essentially create the US rocket program. Many launches of a dazzling array of differently designed rockets follow.
Not once however is it mentioned that the V-2 was used to rain terror and destruction down on England. V-2 meant "Vengeance Weapon 2" in retaliation for the Allied bombing of Berlin and other population centers. Over 3,000 were launched against Allied targets, mostly London, killing some 9,000 people. Some 12,000 people died in forced labor camps making these rockets.
The London Blitz at first consisted of attack by German bombers, and then the V-1 rockets. Londoners learned to listen for the V-1 and for the silence after the motors cut out--if it sounded close, then the bomb was apt to fall nearby. The V-2 however was supersonic--the bomb arrived before the sound was heard, making it even more of a terror weapon. In Thomas Pynchon's famous novel
Gravity's Rainbow set in London during the V-2 bombing, one of the characters seems to have precognition of where the bombs will land.
The reason for the Disney film's silence on the uses of the V-2 was simple: Wernher von Braun was one of the chief German scientists who designed the V-2 but by 1955 he was working for the US government on its military rocket programs. And about a half hour into the 49 minutes of this show, he appeared on camera to explain his design for the rocket that would take Americans into space.
Then comes the animated first launch of man into space. The style is hyper-realistic, with a dramatic music score. It's only about ten minutes but for me it was unforgettable. (The illustration at the top is from this segment.)
In broad outlines, it does predict what the launches were like that I later watched avidly on TV, from the first Explorer satellite launch through Mercury and Apollo manned launches. But a lot of very big details were off. Von Braun was way too ambitious--he has a four stage rocket topped by a winged aircraft to return the 6-man crew to this "isolated atoll in the Pacific." The first Russian and US spaceflights were three stages and had crews of one. US Gemini had two, and Apollo three. The Disney animation also made it a night launch, which was more dramatic, but there wasn't a US night launch until deep into the Apollo program.
Probably the funniest detail for those who watched the real launches is that the crew on the Disney program wasn't taken to the rocket until 20 minutes before launch. Watching the real launches I recall those poor astronauts sitting strapped-in for hour after hour, through the long countdowns, through launch holds and scrubbed missions.
"Man in Space" was directed by Disney animator Ward Kimball, who also appeared as a kind of host (as he would at times in the following two programs.) The voice-over narrator is Dick Tufeld, familiar from lots of Disney productions but also as the voice of the robot in
Lost in Space (Danger Will Robinson!) on TV in the 60s (and later reprised on
The Simpsons.)
"Man in the Moon" was first broadcast just about midway through the second season, on December 28, 1955. It starts with animation illustrating the human conception of the moon throughout history, narrated (as is the rest of the film) by Hans Conreid, a famous face as well as voice of the 50s and 60s, frequently in Disney productions.
From a fanciful history of stories the program moves onto the science. It's unfortunately noticeable now how casually Walt Disney himself mentions that the universe is at least 4 billion years old. A mention like that (though with a larger number) in the 2014 version of the
Cosmos series was loudly attacked by fundamentalists, but in 1955 this caused no controversy. In a program built on science, it was perfectly natural.
The basic astral mechanics and the then-current knowledge about the solar system is well told with animation of various kinds, though details like the number of moons of the outer planets are now far out of date.
Then von Braun appears again to talk about the process of a human voyage to the moon. Again he's thinking very big, ultimately about a craft that carries ten. But a major part of this process is the construction of a space station, as an embarkation point for the huge moon-bound craft. The space station itself is immense--much larger than today's International Space Station. And it is in the now classic shape of the wheel.
The circular space station with a hub in the center and spokes to the sides was already becoming a space travel icon, in science fiction novels like Arthur C. Clarke's
Islands in the Sky, published in 1952 as part of the Winston series of juvenile s/f novels, or in films and TV shows like
Rocky Jones, Space Ranger (1954),
culminating in Kubrick's
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968.)
It's not surprising that von Braun would gravitate towards the space wheel, for according to Sam Moskowitz's s/f history
Explorers of the Infinite, its first appearance was in a novel by German writer Kurd Lasswitz in 1897, which was republished many times well into the 1940s at least. Several aspects of von Braun's design are descendants of concepts published by German scientist Hermann Oberth in 1923. An Austrian writer named Noordung and two German scientists named von Pirquet and Gail pioneered other ideas adapted into this design, including how the crew would live on the space station, all decades earlier. It's likely von Braun would have been aware of all of these as he worked on the German rocket program. To these concepts Von Braun added an atomic power plant.
The dramatization of the actual voyage from the station to the moon is the most elaborate of the series. It involves animation but also models, and live actors and sets. The models and sets are particularly interesting--the spacecraft are all white, while the interiors favor primary colors. It's all surprisingly 1960s Trek-like.
The technology however is dated to the point of nostalgia. The on-board computer for instance gives a new meaning to "dial-up." There's a little drama aboard when a micro-meteor hits a fuel line and a space walk is necessary. The craft doesn't attempt to land (as the first Apollo didn't) but does a single orbit. There's a little s/f involved when it crosses the dark side of the moon and launches flares to reveal unusual surface features at right angles, perhaps suggesting built structures, but nothing is said about it and the moment passes.
Mars and Beyond was first broadcast on December 4, 1957. It's narrated by Paul Frees, an actor who did a lot of voice-over work for many decades (he was everybody from the unseen millionaire on
The Millionaire to Boris Badenov on
Rocky and Bullwinkle.) His most prominent s/f appearance was in the 1953 George Pal version of
The War of the Worlds: he was the first of the narrators, and played a role as a radio announcer. As this program begins he seems to be trying to sound like Orson Welles, but by the end he's using the portentous voice he employed when talking about Mars in
The War of the Worlds.
This show begins with animation about human conceptions of the nature of the stars and the cosmos and life on other planets. The concepts are often so weird that the animation gets wildly creative. At times it seems very Cubist, as if Picasso is the strangest thing the animators could think of. There are also suggestions of such later animations as
Yellow Submarine.
To suggest the variety of possibilities for life on other planets, the show tells the story of Earth's own history, from carbon atoms to proteins to organic compounds in the primordial sea. "Now with time as the main ingredient the evolution of life is inevitable." Visually arresting enough for children, the script is surprisingly sophisticated and eloquent. While the accompanying images sometimes go off on playful tangents, the narration is carefully scientific. Again, it's sad to compare what was uncontroversial for a family audience in 1957 compared to the regressiveness of today.
The program's attention finally turns to Mars, and the question of whether humans could exist there--a question, the narration states, that arises because of human overpopulation and depletion of resources on Earth. This is 1957! (Which is getting close to the time that the correlation between fossil fuel burning, higher CO2 in the atmosphere and the warming of the global temperature is being determined.)
There's also the question of what kind of life could exist on Mars. Some of the forms discussed are silicon based lifeforms, and creatures that eat through rock. Years later, similar creatures would appear in one of Star Trek's best known stories.
There's talk of fuels and drives for the Mars spaceship. Someone with a firmer grasp of propulsion will have to check me but I think one they describe is the equivalent of the ion drive that also appears in science fiction. In any case, the von Braun design is atomic-powered. It has a big circular dish at the top and a kind of airplane-looking landing craft underneath.
This is a much briefer depiction of a trip of a six ship convoy, beginning at the space station (which we've seen in animation being built) and ending with speculation as to what the craft will find on the surface (though a planet totally devoid of life isn't among the speculated possibilities).
The "beyond" part is briefer still, as a flying saucer--apparently of advanced electro-magnetic drive to neutralize gravity--zips off towards the infinite, looking like the opening of
Forbidden Planet (or perhaps the end of
The Day the Earth Stood Still) with small saucers disappearing into the belly of a much larger mothership (
This Island Earth to
Close Encounters of the Third Kind.)
This is the spaciest of the series, with imagery that suggests some of the wilder parts of
2001 a decade later (which maybe why they didn't surprise me?) It also has the most eloquent script. Its description of the possible lifeforms on Mars is the most imaginative I've ever seen illustrated. Think of what they could have done with the tools of today.
The function of this series at the time was to excite the imagination while showing through scientific explanation that these age-old dreams of exploring outer space, the moon and Mars were within the realm of possibility in the near future. And as it turned out, with some modifications, some of them were.
Yet something about these programs apparently transcended their time, for they continued to play fairly often on the Disney Channel into the 21st century, long after most of their speculations became obsolete. I was certainly thrilled by them when they first appeared. Then I got to see the real thing--the first years of the U.S. space program, broadcast live on the commercial networks.
Adventureland
Many of the early episodes of the Disneyland series were
under the heading of Adventureland: “Nature’s own realm.” Once again, Disney made liberal use of prior
motion picture footage. Along with his
first forays into scripted live action in his company’s lean years after World
War II, Disney experimented with a series of seven half-hour “True-Life
Adventures” nature films, beginning in 1948.
He later ran these on Disneyland, accompanied by newer (and not always
related) material.
The first of these (“Seal Island”) comprised half of the
third episode of Disneyland in 1954.
The 1950 “Beaver Valley” was half of episode 10, and 1951’s “Nature’s
Half Acre” was half of episode 16 in February 1955. The last short feature in 1953, on the Everglades, was seen in
the second episode of the second season.
After that, between 1953 and 1960, Disney made seven
full-length nature films, and pieces of them appeared in the TV anthology—in
later years, before they were released to theatres.
On the plus side, Disney pioneered the use of time-lapse
photography, which could show the entire lifecycle of plants or insects, and
slow motion photography, which isolated delicate moments in the flight of bees
and hummingbirds, for instance.
But the Disney business was narrative, and the emphasis was
often on conflict. Predators and prey, or male animals clashing in the mating
season, had the action to keep viewers watching. While it’s true that a lot of activity in the wild is along the
theme of eating and being eaten, emphasis on predator/prey scenes also
unfortunately supported the standard metaphor of nature as constant warfare,
“survival of the fittest” in the grossest sense. The more subtle elements of survival, such as cooperation,
learning, sharing and negotiation, aren't fast enough to be considered watchable,
although these films sometimes did patch together narratives out of less
violent behaviors. Also unfortunately, like other nature films of the time,
events were sometimes staged, using trained animals in artificial
circumstances.
I grew up climbing trees. We weren't out in the country, but there was plenty of life around us--especially small creatures, from rabbits and squirrels on down. So even though these
were far from my favorite episodes, I was sometimes fascinated, for the camera
captured a lot of what I could not otherwise witness. I don't recall specifics, but these probably contributed to my later interest in ecology. For me, futuristic technology and space travel, and the importance of environment and the agency of all life on earth, were not contradictory interests or concerns. Tomorrowland and Adventureland coexisted, along with history (Frontierland) and Fantasyland. In these early days for me, they were all part of the world, as they remain. Perhaps in at least a partial way I have the Disneyland anthology to thank for that point of view.
Disney, TV and Reading
The rise of television in the lives of my Baby Boomer
generation was accompanied by outcries from parental and religious groups, and
decried by educators. Congressional
hearings were held on violence in programs with young audiences, and supposed vision
experts were seriously concerned about the fate of our eyes. Educators worried about addictive and
mindless content seducing us from our homework, and were afraid the constant
parade of imagery was ruining our capacity to read.
They weren’t entirely wrong about some of that, especially about reading. It would be another decade before Marshall
McLuhan became famous for detailing how different television is from
print.
Did TV images themselves discourage reading? Probably to some extent. It was easier to be stimulated--to get revved up--by TV, regardless of content. We read the moving images of TV at a faster rhythm that made slowing down to read words more difficult. The time spent watching TV that
previous generations may have spent reading was probably also a potent factor,
as well as TV’s seductiveness.
The Internet is known for slicing and dicing the
contemporary attention span, but long before the first emoji there was
television, charged with decimating our concentration. I’ve always maintained that attention spans
were shortened then, not so much by anything inherent in television, but by the bright distractions of
television commercials. Even in the
1950s, when there were fewer commercials and less of a TV hour devoted to them, and they were not so abruptly thrown in, they still distracted and disrupted attention to the narrative, with cumulative effects.
Attention spans in childhood are already limited, however. Perhaps I was slow on the uptake, but even though I was reading books from the
library by the time I was 10, I was still having trouble stretching my
attention through a long novel in high school.
There were of course books I couldn’t stop reading. But some books stimulated me so much I
couldn’t keep reading them, while others made me sleepy, or I just got lost, even if I was interested.
Television was not alone in making books sometimes seem like a foreign
country: exotic and beckoning perhaps, but confusing, hard to understand, and
intimidating. So sometimes an entry point, or perhaps a bridge, was needed to
get into the book and its reality.
Written stories,
oral tales, are themselves bridges to many of Disney’s best-known
animations. But sometimes the Disney
version encourages going back across that bridge to the source.
For example, I knew
the basic story of Alice in Wonderland before seeing the Disney version, though I was too young to read the Lewis Carroll book at that time. Having some confidence from knowing the Disney version, I must have read it a few years later —all I
can remember is coming to the end of it and the thrill of seeing that there was
yet another Alice story to read,
Through the Looking Glass.
As I mentioned in the post previous to this one in this
series, I probably had an interest in the American Revolution from reading
about it, before I saw Disney’s Johnny Tremain. But that story inspired further reading,
probably including a stab at the source novel, Johnny Tremain by Esther
Forbes, from the public library. I
don’t specifically recall reading it, though, and a more recent reading
suggests why: the novel involves a much more complicated story, that goes on
past the events in the movie. I may not
have had the attention span for all of it yet.
Sometimes it took awhile before I was ready to walk over the
bridge. From Disney’s
20,000 Leagues
Under the Sea, I knew the name of Jules Verne, and the success of that
movie led to others made from Verne stories that I saw at Saturday
matinees. Actually reading Verne
required yet another bridge: the Classics Illustrated comic books. The first one I read was I believe the first
one ever, the cover of which I remember vividly: it was
From the Earth to
the Moon. (It looks like a 1950s rocketship but it's actually more of a bullet.)
The only Disney product I definitely remember leading
directly to reading was not from the Disneyland anthology but another
series. I was a bit too old for the Mickey
Mouse Club, but my younger sister Kathy watched it every afternoon, so I might see some of it in passing on the living room TV, still the only one in the house. One day I noticed a filmed story
beginning within the Mickey Mouse Club show, about two boy detectives,
Frank and Joe Hardy.
The story, called “The Mystery of the Applegate Treasure,”
was based on the first novel in the Hardy Boys series,
The Tower Treasure (though
it also borrowed elements from #36:
The Secret of Pirate Hill.) The serial, starring Tim Considine and Tommy
Kirk (both appeared in many other Disney stories) was broadcast in October
1956, every day for 19 episodes of fifteen minutes each. I was completely
smitten.
I asked my sister to alert me if there was another Hardy
Boys story (there was and she did: “The Mystery of Ghost Farm” was broadcast in 12 segments the following year. It begins with the beginning of #2 of the novels, The
House on the Cliffs, but quickly diverges.)
Meanwhile, I discovered the Hardy Boys series of books, and hit the public library for whatever was available at the moment, for they had other readers. These were the originals, the series that ran from 1927 into the
1950s, before the first 38 were revised (and many ruined) in 1959. As library books they were without the dust
jackets but with the brown letters on light brown covers. I
wrote about them in detail in my “History
of My Reading” series. (Or click on the Hardy Boys label.)
This bridge relationship of TV shows to books continued for
the rest of my life so far. Just a few
years ago, when I undertook to read Charles Dickens Bleak House—all
875 paperback pages—I did so after having seen the 2005 BBC miniseries, and I
borrowed the DVDs from the university library to watch after I’d read the
appropriate chapters, to make sure I had the characters and action straight in
my mind.
The theme of such bridges will recur in this series, which
now moves on beyond shows for children to other 1950s TV forms, beginning with the
variety show.
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