Strange New World Just Ahead, or: How to Make a Vulcan Feel at Home (Part 2 of 15)

2. The Evolution of Gene Roddenberry

I watched the 1960s on my parents television

--Ann Beattie

Gene Roddenberry created Star Trek, and was involved in some way in its various TV and movie incarnations right up to his death in 1991 at the age of 70. During that time, he or his creation was often described in the press as "optimistic", a view I'm not sure jibes with his own output on the show. Determining who did what on a TV show can be a bit tricky. Scripts are constantly re-written, and when you have a "producer", an "executive producer", and an "associate producer", as well as a "story editor", anyone of them can have a say on the finished product. Still, going by the names in the credits, I have some idea of who did what.  Roddenberry was the line-producer, or as it's called in the trade, the "showrunner", meaning he made the day-to-day decisions, for the first two pilots and ten subsequent episodes, after which he promoted himself to executive producer, which he remained for the rest series' three-year run. As a writer, his name appears on 11 episodes, including the first pilot, though in some cases he only contributed the story whereas someone else wrote the actual script. Let's see what we have:

Pretty scary stuff, for starters. The first two Star Trek episodes the public-at-large got to see were "The Man Trap" and "Charlie X", the second of which Gene Roddenberry provided the story. These are essentially little horror films. Extremely effective horror, but since when do we look toward that genre for optimism? "The Man Trap" concerns a beautiful woman who is in fact a hideous monster who sucks salt out of humans, the first in a long line of aliens on the show and in future movies that can change their appearance. Doctors looking to encourage their patients to limit their salt intake should prescribe this episode. "Charlie X", like the show's second pilot "Where No Man has Gone Before", again features a human endowed with God-like powers, this time a moody teenager named Charlie who'd been marooned on a planet since age 3. Rescued by the Antares, the crew members of that starship seem all to eager to transfer the lad to the Enterprise, speaking highly of him as they do so. The praise is to no avail, as the Antares blows up soon after. It takes awhile for Kirk and Co. to discover that it's more than hormones bothering this kid. Actually, hormones do play a part, as the teen becomes smitten with Yeoman Janice Rand (Grace Lee Whitney, the show's resident sex symbol for the first half of the first season, until it was decided that a different scantily clad female a week might work better.) He even turns another girl--one closer to his age that Kirk had fixed him up with--into a lizard as a gift for Rand. Possibly expecting flowers and candy instead, she spurns Charlie's advances, and is immediately disintegrated. An angry Charlie then goes on a rampage through the Enterprise, making more people disappear, turning others old, and--this still sends shivers down my spine--completely wiping out a young woman's face! Kirk, meanwhile, is at a loss of what to do, and Spock's no help, as Charlie's got him quoting poetry. The Thalians to the rescue! The ancient alien race had endowed Charlie with the powers as a survival skill. Now they undue all the damage (including re-materializing Rand) and decide to take Charlie back home with them, much to Kirk's protestations, as he still feels the unruly adolescent can be rehabilitated. Good luck finding a social worker willing to take that one on, not if they want to hang on to their eyes, nose, and mouth. Still, it hard not to feel sorry for Charlie as he gradually vanishes, crying out as he leaves:

"Oh, please, don't let them take me. I can't even touch them! Janice, they can't feel. Not like you! They don't love! Please, I..want..to..stay!"

From one kind of horror to another.

The remaining eight episodes Roddenberry directly oversaw in that first season aren't quite that chilling, but only the aforementioned "The Cobermite Maneuver" (not aired, perhaps tellingly, until another line producer took over) treats the Unknown as anything other than a nasty surprise. It's not for nothing you have to boldly go where no man has gone before. Monsters, the criminally insane ('Dagger of the Mind"), mad scientists ("What Are Little Girls Made Of?"), enemy aliens ("Balance of Terror"), and pimps lurk around every asteroid. Actually, "Mudd's Women", the one with the pimp, ends rather sweetly, but as it deals with prostitution, assumes outer space has a seamy as well as a scary side. As for future technology, the transporter malfunctions and we get a good (but wimpy) and evil (but macho) Captain Kirk! All Roddenberry's fatalism, as exciting as it was to watch in the comfort of one's own living room, couldn't help but have a negative impact on the way the character of Spock was written. If aliens couldn't be trusted, why trust him?

Before he became a TV writer, Roddenberry (above, center) was a cop. He worked for the Los Angeles Police Department from 1949 to 1956, around the same time another TV writer-producer (as well as actor) Jack Webb was extolling it as the very finest law enforcement had to offer in the radio and TV versions of Dragnet. Roddenberry, at first a motorcycle cop, was promoted to sergeant in 1951, and eventually became a speech writer for LAPD Chief William H. Parker. A policeman can have a skewed perspective. They deal with criminals much more than the average person (assuming the average person doesn't live in a crime-ridden neighborhood.) As Robert Ryan tells Ida Lupino in the 1951 film On Dangerous Ground: "You get so you don't trust anybody." Cops tend to be conservative in the dictionary sense of the word. Sometimes in the political sense as well.

Though it has fans across the political spectrum, Star Trek has often been described as a "liberal" show, due to such factors as women serving along side men on the Enterprise, a multicultural crew, and that Earth in the future, when it's mentioned at all, is now at peace. I think this is basically true, but it's a highly qualified liberalism.

13 years before Star Trek first went on the air.

Six years before Star Trek first went on the air.

 Three years before Star Trek first went on the air.

Roddenberry indeed may have had an enlightened view toward women. A former secretary of his, D. C. (Dorothy Catherine) Fontana, wrote many episodes, served as story editor for the second season, and was involved with several later Star Trek incarnations, including a Saturday morning animated version. That was behind the scenes. On-screen, the show's famous opening informed us that the Enterprise gang was going "...where no MAN has gone before". Now, you can chalk that up to the times (the same times that led Fontana to use initials and sometimes male aliases, such as Michael Richards), except that Star Trek is often lauded for being ahead of its time. Less than 21 years ahead. That's when Star Trek: The Next Generation changed "man" to "one". It is true that on the original series women were allowed to serve alongside men on the Enterprise, as long as they were beautiful, had great figures, and wore thigh-hugging mini-skirts. You may have objected to me referring to Susan Oliver as a "hot chick" when describing "The Cage" in Part 1 but the show pushed female pulchritude wherever it could, the various women Kirk and crew encountered on alien planets tending to dress like they came right out of a Victoria's Secret catalog. I don't want to make too much a big deal about this. The entertainment industry has always excelled at providing us with an endless parade of beautiful females, and, with less fanfare, handsome males. If we're honest with ourselves, it's one reason why we go to movies and watch TV. And, lest we forget...

...there was a Sexual Revolution going on at the time. A revolution that Star Trek couldn't help but reflect, even if the only thing NBC's Standards and Practices would allow was not the picture immediately above but merely the suggestion that Captain Kirk got some needed satisfaction on a regular basis, and especially during sweeps. I myself think the Sexual Revolution was a good thing, even a progressive thing. However, if you're not careful, the gains of one progressive movement...

 ...can sometimes interfere with those of another. How careful was Star Trek? Read on.

The last original Star Trek episode to air had an arguably anti-feminist slant as well as a "story by Gene Roddenberry" in the credits. Answering a distress signal from an archaeological planet that's been devastated by disease, Kirk beams down and finds that one of three survivors is an old flame from Starfleet Academy days, Dr. Janice Lester. Seems they split up when Kirk got to be a starship captain and she didn't. Trapping Kirk in an alien body-switching machine that she found as part of the dig, he becomes she and she becomes he. A rather radical response to thwarted ambition. Could it be that Lester suffers from gender dysphoria, that she's what was once known as transsexual, now defined as transgender, à la Chaz (Chastity) Bono, Caitlyn (Bruce) Jenner, or if you go far enough back in time, a Bronx youth named Christine (George) Jorgensen? That Lester's a man trapped in a woman's body, and this is a kind of high tech gender reassignment surgery, once known in the vernacular as a "sex change operation", that she's just performed on herself and an unwilling James T. Kirk? Except that throughout this episode she-as-he acts hysterically, or, in male chauvinist jargon, as "a typical woman", while he-as-she remains calm and resolute, i.e. stereotypically masculine, in the face of mascara-blush-and-lipsticked danger. So, in this episode's rather unique view, is Lester's real problem that she's a woman who wants to be a man but is trapped in a (stereotyped) woman's personality? I'm not even sure what that means. She could be merely a crossdresser, the alien machine the only way to get her hands on Kirk's clothes. Maybe we're better off with thwarted ambition, after all. Of course, an evil male who flunked out of the academy might behave in the same abominable manner. As a woman, however, Lester can always blame sexism. With some justification. The future here is portrayed as being just as disadvantageous toward women as the era in which the episode aired, which contradicts the more feminist view of Star Trek. As Roddenberry only wrote the story and not the actual script, and maybe wasn't around to oversee things, this originally could have had a feminist message, and that message itself got reassigned. The episode as a whole doesn't really tell you if a subservient role for women is a good or  bad thing. Once he's a man's man again, Kirk states, "Her life could have been as rich as any woman's. If only... if only..." If only what? If only Starfleet had been less sexist? Or she had stayed in the kitchen? That's not a force-field but a glass ceiling that's got hold of the Enterprise.

12 years before Star Trek first went on the air.

Three years before Star Trek first went on the air.

 

The show's on firmer ground when it comes to multiculturalism. On board the Enterprise you had a black female communications officer (Lieutenant Uhuru, played by Nichelle Nichols), an Asian senior helmsman (Sulu/George Takei), a Scottish engineer (appropriately named Scotty/James Doohan), starting in the second season, a Russian navigator (Chekov/Walter Koenig), and, of course, a Vulcan First (as well as Science) Officer. That may seem to put the show ahead of its time, until you consider the times. It was the Civil Rights Era, and that was starting to effect what you saw on TV. Bill Cosby may be a controversial figure nowadays, but a year before Star Trek first went on the air, liberals applauded the comedian as the first black man to co-star (opposite Robert Culp) in a dramatic series, I Spy. And while Hogan's Heroes may seem a couple notches below Star Trek on the profundity scale, it premiered the same year as I Spy with its own multicultural cast, which included a Brit, a Frenchman, and an African-American. The last was Ivan Dixon as Kinch,who usually did more in an average episode of his series than did Nichelle Nichol's Uhura in Trek. However, Nichols did have a groundbreaking moment that may have trumped every one of Kinch's espionage missions. She and Shatner shared network television's very first interracial kiss. Not that the characters they played wanted to as they were forced into it by a bunch of telepathic voyeurs. As for a bright future where the different races, and ethnic groups now got along as one, that was true as long as they were races and ethnic groups that had originated on Earth. In outer space they showed the same fears and distrust of the aliens they encountered as a suburban cop does toward a teenager in a hoodie. Nor was the alien they encountered every day on the deck of the Enterprise immune to such xenophobia, as Spock often faced verbal abuse by one character in particular, whom I'll get to in a later installment. This abuse may have been in the interest of good drama (and occasional comedy), which I'll also get to in Part 3, but it did make the future a bit less open-minded (but maybe more believable.) New worlds, new civilizations, new prejudices.

 Four years before Star Trek first went on the air.

Two years before Star Trek first went on the air.

War and Peace. In interviews he gave in the decades after the original Star Trek went off the year, Roddenberry insisted that Starfleet (a subsidiary of the Federation) was not a military organization and the Enterprise was not a military craft, photon bombs and phasers notwithstanding. Except that in "Errand of Mercy" the Federation and the Klingon Empire are on the verge of war, a war only averted when a God-like alien species called the Organians force a peace treaty on the would-be combatants. Despite the treaty, a state of cold war exists between the two sides for the rest of the series, as it also does between the Federation and its other major foe, the Romulans. True, peace on Earth is often alluded to on the show, meaning peace between the nations of the world, but seeing as our small blue planet has given up at least part of its sovereignty to belong to this Federation, and thus its citizens always facing the possibility of some sort of military action, I'm not sure that's something we should get all sentimental over. Not unusual for a man born in the 1920s, Roddenberry had his share of war, namely World War II, flying some 89 army combat missions in the Pacific Theater. Much later, in 1964, when he got a chance to produce his first dramatic series, The Lieutenant, he had it take place in a stateside Marines Corp base. In one episode the title character, William Rice (Gary Lockwood) defend his choice of a career in the military by stating that "as long as there is a need for a cop on the beat there will be a need for what I do."  Despite his protests to the contrary, and I do take those protests seriously, you think maybe military veteran and former cop Roddenberry saw part of the Enterprise's mission as not just exploring but policing outer space, always on alert in case war were to break out? Many episodes would lead you to think so.

In "A Private Little War", (teleplay by Gene Roddenberry) the Enterprise is on a peaceful enough mission to a primitive planet where the people still live in tribes, and the most advanced weapons are bows and arrows, mostly used for hunting. Or so Kirk and co. thought. They discover that one of those tribes now have flintlock rifles, a good thousand years ahead of schedule, and that has put a rival tribe at a disadvantage. The question of how one group of natives obtained such weapons is answered when a Klingon ship is sighted within the planet's solar system. The story then takes a rather bizarre turn as Kirk is chased by a white gorilla with a scaly back and a horn on its head. The good captain eventually dispatches the beast with his phaser, but not before getting bit in the arm. Following this, a sorceress administers a treatment that's in fact a love potion that temporarily robs Kirk of his free will. Meanwhile, back on the Enterprise, Spock is in sick bay getting slapped silly by a dumbfounded Nurse Chapel, who's only following a substitute doctor's orders. Once all this nonsense is over with, Kirk finds that the Klingons have supplied the one tribe with even more advanced weaponry and he now needs to do the same with the rest of the planet's inhabitants, lest there be a flintlock gap, adding ruefully that they're "serpents for the Garden of Eden. Beam us up, Scotty, we're very tired." Should we interpret Kirk's need for a nap as a pacifist statement? Don Ingall's original story is said to have been a allegory about the Vietnam War, going so far as to describe one character as a "Ho Chi Minh-type". Roddenberry's rewrite downplayed Vietnam (though one character does refer to the 20th century brush wars that "went on year after bloody year."), but kept the emphasis on the arms race, the Klingons a stand-in for the Russians. Ultimately, the message seems to be, if the bad guys do it, then so do we. In 1967, that was a reasonable enough stance to take. It's how the government saw it back then, as well as the mainstream press. So mainstream, in fact, did the message really need to be concealed in a science-fiction allegory so as to dodge network interference, ostensibly the reason Roddenberry created Star Trek in the first place?

If "A Private Little War" is about maintaining a balance of power, then "The Omega Glory"--this time both story and script by Gene Roddenberry--is about an imbalance. Searching for a missing starship, the Enterprise comes across a parallel Earth (one of several during the show's run) in which the Communists have won the Cold War, and the Americans, the "Yangs", are now hunter-gatherers living in the jungle. The victors, the "Kohms", are little better off as they live in a village, albeit one with no electricity or any modern convenience. The Kohms, incidentally, look Asian, an indication that Mao Tse-tung and Ho Chi Mihn may have given Roddenberry more than a few sleepless nights. Except the Cold-War victors are now having sleepless nights themselves, as their modest village is under siege by the Yangs (Yankees). A rogue Starfleet commander (one of several during the show's run), now sides with the Kohms, causing Kirk, somewhat inadvertently, to take up with the white savages, whom are in fact freedom-fighters, except that they're totally clueless about what freedom actually means. It's just a word that's been passed down through the centuries that they unthinkingly revere. Along with an old American flag and a copy of the Declaration of Independence that they ritually brandish while mangling the words to the Pledge of Allegiance ("Ay plegli ianectu flaggen, tupep like for stahn...") Even though time has proven this bit of paranoia wrong in at least one respect--if we Americans end up living in caves in the jungle, it's obviously not the communists that are going to drive us there--I find this episode compelling nonetheless. For all his later reputation as an optimist, Roddenberry knew how to craft one helluva post-apocalyptic dystopia (not for the last time, either--Genesis and Planet Earth, two unsold pilots of his that aired as made-for-TV movies in the 1970s, both took place in the aftermath of a nuclear war.)

When talking about war and peace and Star Trek, we shouldn't overlook this fellow, Captain James Cook (1728-1779). What does a real-life historical figure from the 18th century have to do with the fictional exploits of a bunch of fictional people living in a fictional future? Just this. It's how Gene Roddenberry derived the name "James Kirk". Furthermore, Cook left this entry in his diary: "Ambition leads me not only farther than any other man has been before me, but as far as I think it possible for man to go" which Roddenberry simplified to "where no man has gone before." In 1966, and perhaps these days as well, Cook was best known as an explorer who discovered (i.e. mapped) in whole or in part the Hawaiian Islands, the Southern Sandwich Islands, Australia (the eastern half), New Zealand (he was the first Westerner to circumnavigate it), Southeastern Alaska, the mouth of the St. Lawrence River, and thousands of miles of a then-uncharted South Pacific, along the way making numerous contributions to botany, biology, and anthropology. It's easy to see why Roddenberry might want to model his fictional protagonist on Kirk. However, what Roddenberry may not have known (though I suspect he did) is Cook didn't just discover strange new lands and new peoples, but, acting as a representative of the Royal Navy, claimed them for the British Empire, claims that occasionally came at the end of a musket or cannon. In fact, Cook was killed when he attempted to hold a Hawaiian king hostage. Now, Captain James Kirk never did anything of that sort. Still, like his quasi-namesake, he rarely came across a strange new culture ("The Return of the Archons", "A Taste of Armageddon", "This Side of Paradise", "The Apple", "A Piece of the Action", "A Private Little War", "Patterns of Force", "The Omega Glory", "Spock's Brain", "The Cloud Minders") that he didn't think could use a little improvement.

Ten years before Star Trek first went on the air.

 

 Nine years before Star Trek first went on the air.

Two years before Star Trek first went on the air.

On January 14, 1967--halfway through Star Trek's first season--somewhere between 20,000 and 30,000 people showed up for The Human Be-In that was held in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park, a stone's (or stoner's) throw from the low-rent neighborhood of Haight-Ashbury. What exactly was this Be-In? A few months earlier, California had banned lysergic acid diethylamide, a psychoactive drug better known as LSD that allowed those taking it to visit strange new worlds without having to first book passage on a starship, and so this was a protest of sorts, though pictures of the event shows very few people carrying signs. Mostly they're dancing and appear to be having a very good time. Maybe that was their way of protesting. Whatever they were doing, it caught the attention of the national, and even international, media, which tentatively portrayed the event as a humorous sideshow to the serious issues of the day. There was a problem, though. What to call all these young people? Well, just calling them young people sounds OK to me, but perhaps that wasn't good enough copy. According to the writer Tom Wolfe, who kept close tabs (no pun intended; he was strictly an observer) on this scene, a good many of those young people liked to refer to themselves as acid heads. That wouldn't do for a family publication. Nor would another term they like to use, freaks. Newspaper Readers might get the mistaken impression that 20,000 Siamese twins, hermaphrodites, and bearded ladies had shown up in Golden Gate Park. A 50-years old local columnist by the name of Herb Caen came up with a suitable alternative: hippies, and the term stuck beyond a Madison Avenue copywriter's wildest ad campaign. Within a few weeks, "hippie" had become a household word, even used by those who wouldn't let a hippie in their tool shed much less their house. The only people who weren't using the term were the hippies themselves, and even they eventually had to give in rather than disappoint all those teenage runaways now arriving weekly in Haight-Ashbury by the busloads, thanks to all the publicity the low-rent neighborhood had gotten (indeed, it soon became the most famous low-rent neighborhood on the planet.) Though he certainly helped popularize it, Caen didn't actually invent the term "hippie". The words "hip" and "hep"--both meant you were in the know--had been in use in the African-American community since the early 1900s. White kids were introduced to the terms via swing music during the '30s and '40s. As a minority of those white kids got older, especially if they were artistically inclined, or maybe were just different from anybody else (otherwise, what's the point of a subculture?) they moved to places like Greenwich Village, or North Beach in San Francisco (before rents went up and they all had to relocate to the more affordable Haight-Ashbury) where, since the middle of the 19th century, they were called bohemians. Not that that's what the Bohemians called themselves, at least not in the beginning. Those who didn't like artists, or people who were just different, sarcastically compared such folks to Gypsies, in the mistaken belief that the latter group had originated in Bohemia. Yet that label had gotten old by the middle of the 20th century, and so a few Bohemians took to calling themselves hipsters ("angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection" as one young poet put it.) "Hippie" was coined around the same time, probably by some unsung beatnik. Not that the unsung beatnik would ever have called himself a "beatnik" (at least not until the teenage runaways began arriving in Greenwich Village and North Beach by the busloads.) That term, too, was coined by the enterprising Herb Caen, though a friend of Jack Kerouac's by the name of Harold Huncke had come up with the "beat" part a decade earlier. So many terms, so many ways to attract teenage runaways, so many ways to scare the hell out of Middle America.

However, it wasn't what you called them, or what they called themselves that mattered. It was the sheer visibility that was so unsettling. Sure, there had always been Bohemians, but nobody gave them much mind until their numbers all of a sudden seemed to increase a thousandfold (thanks, no doubt, to post-World War II birth rates.) Difference had never loomed so large. The mainstream media could no longer treat it as a comedy side show. It WAS the serious issue of the day. In one respect, though, it still was a sideshow. They were freaks, as least as far as the non-freaks in the (soon-to-be prefixed as "silent") majority were concerned. Long hair on men was especially frowned upon. As was facial hair. Combine the two and you have what to 1967 Mainstream America would have resembled a bearded lady. That some of these strange, new people might differ from each other went unnoticed. Eventually, the hippies, Yippies, flower children, folkies, mods, Jesus freaks, back-to-nature hedonists, campus radicals, Weathermen, fugitives, hustlers, rioters, flag burners, bra burners, draft card burners, draft dodgers, doves, panhandlers, dope peddlers, Merry Pranksters, junkies, Transcendentalist Meditationists, Marrakesh backpackers, hitchhikers, organic farmers, communal dwellers, THE END IS NEAR (or NIGH) picketers, rock stars, rock concert promoters, sitar players, groupies, dee-jays, Sunset Strip go-go dancers, exhibitionists, Satanists, underground newspaper publishers, underground cartoonists, health store owners, head shop owners, cellar cafe owners, coffeehouse (but not coffee shop) owners, street performers, Off-Off-Broadway producers, avant-garde stage directors, experimental film directors, free-form poets, cut-up novelists, pop artists, potty-mouth comedians, Marvel superheroes, graffiti artists, New Journalists, public intellectuals (unless your last name happened to be Buckley), vegetarians, American Southwest desert nomads, gay liberationists, Maoists, Che Guevara admirers, Hell's Angels, Black Panthers, Black Muslims, dune buggy drivers, Volkswagen drivers, any Oregonians not employed by the logging industry, and last, but certainly not least, teenagers, were all filed (or lumped together) under a heading fraught with sociological meaning: The Counterculture.

Though many of its adherents would find much to like about the show, Star Trek wasn't always kind to the Counterculture. Peacenik  graffiti is one sign of the insanity that's overtaken the crew in "The Naked Time". An extraterrestrial love-in is overtaken by bad vibes in "This Side of Paradise". Much more odious, though, is "The Way to Eden" in which a bunch of hippies led by a defrocked academic (think Timothy Leary) knock out the crew of the Enterprise with a supersonic blast (think "Purple Haze") and hijacks the ship to a supposedly paradisaical planet called Eden (think Haight-Ashbury) where one of the young bohemians succumbs to a poisoned apple (think bad trip.) This episode could have been written by Rush Limbaugh, but it wasn't. He was still in high school. It may not have even been written by someone who thought of themself as conservative. Actually, D.C. Fontana (b.1939) wrote the first draft, but had her name taken off when it was re-written by an older fellow by the name of Arthur Heinemann, who got his start in show business by story-boarding Disney animated features in the 1940s. Roddenberry was phoning in his executive producer duties by this time, so maybe had nothing to do with this one. But I'm not sure he would have had a problem with it, even though he considered himself a liberal.

34 years before Star Trek first went on the air.

You have to remember that in the mid-60s, an over-30 liberal was much  different than a liberal of any age in 2015. There were liberals, including the one that was then in the White House, who supported the Vietnam War. If you associate liberalism with the Democratic Party, as many do, well, it was a Democratic Convention in Chicago that Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin and a host of other peace protesters converged on in 1968. And it was the Democratic mayor of Chicago, Richard J. Daley, who sent helmeted police officers to said convention to bust heads. I don't know what Roddenberry thought of that, but many Democrats born the same year as he (1921) would have approved. These Democrats would have come of age during the Great Depression. The New Deal would have been their liberalism. Once all those long-haired, dope-smoking, draft card-burning, loud music-listening radicals showed up, there was suddenly something to fear other than fear itself. 

 Of course a person can change, their views can evolve. Take a look at this ad that appeared in the back pages of a Star Trek fan magazine. Please read the small print:

Brotherhood of Man? Union of the unlike? Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations? Are you sure this isn't love beads they're selling?

Soon after Star Trek began, Roddenberry and future wife Majel Barrett started a mail order catalog company on the side to market merchandise based on the show, such as toy phasers, toy tricorders, etc. In the case of the IDIC pendant, it's said Roddenberry dreamed that up at least a year before the above ad appeared, and used his executive producer privileges to shoehorn it and the accompanying philosophy into the third season episode "Is There No Truth in Beauty" over the objections of much of the cast and crew who saw it as crass commercialization. Aw, c'mon! A Presidents Day sale is crass. "Infinity Diversity in Infinite Combinations" has resonated with generations of Star Trek fans, and more than anything else is responsible for giving the show its liberal cred.

 Well, maybe there was some commercialism involved. Like any science-fiction series, Star Trek's small but loyal fan base skewed young, and Roddenberry must have intuited that at least some of the young fans were the long-haired types that "The Way to Eden" had warned about.  That episode itself had hedged its bets by having Spock give a closing word of encouragement to the future bohemians ("It is my sincere wish that you do not give up your search for Eden. I have no doubt but that you will find it, or make it yourselves.") With its freaky planets and freakier aliens, Star Trek may have been as close to a psychedelic experience as you could get on network television in 1968 (a psychedelic experience that led to brief recording careers for two of the series star players, neither one of whom ended up at Woodstock, but, hey, it's the mind expansion that counts) I've spent much of this post so far focusing on Trek's reactionary streak, but there was, depending on what producer was calling the shots, an idealistic,  pluralistic streak as well, one that's proved much more enduring, that survives in even the most reactionary of reboots. That idealistic streak isn't really represented in any of the scripts that Roddenberry wrote himself, but in the end he was won over by it. Read these statements he made in the years, decades, after the original series went off the air, and tell me he doesn't come across as some kind of hippie guru:


“Star Trek was an attempt to say that humanity will reach maturity and wisdom on the day that it begins not just to tolerate, but take a special delight in differences in ideas and differences in life forms. […] If we cannot learn to actually enjoy those small differences, to take a positive delight in those small differences between our own kind, here on this planet, then we do not deserve to go out into space and meet the diversity that is almost certainly out there.”

"I'm in a period of growth and expansion. I'm taking long, hard looks at the world and what's happening in it, analyzing and thinking. I'm trying to become acquainted with the universe--with the part of it I occupy--and trying to settle, for myself, what my relationship with it is."

 "Reality is incredibly larger, infinitely more exciting, than the flesh and blood vehicle we travel in here. If you read science fiction, the more you read it the more you realize that you and the universe are part of the same thing. Science knows still practically nothing about the real nature of matter, energy, dimension, or time; and even less about those remarkable things called life and thought. But whatever the meaning and purpose of this universe, you are a legitimate part of it. And since you are part of the all that is, part of its purpose, there is more to you than just this brief speck of existence. You are just a visitor here in this time and this place, a traveler through it.”

Groovy! But back in the '60s, Roddenberry blinked.

Still, I think his transformation from hard hat to flower child  was a sincere one. For one thing, he made some of the above comments during the Reagan Administration. The Star Trek franchise--as it's come to be known--still skewed young, but the young were no longer so much into peace and love. Threats to the American way of life were now to be taken seriously. Also, there was now competition for those young minds from the Star Wars franchise, and as the title indicates, those movies weren't about peace negotiations. Star Trek now had its own movies (of which Roddenberry had minimal involvement) and took note of this cultural shift by replacing  the transcendent opening theme music from the original series with John Philip Sousa-like marches, and the Enterprise crew's pullover shirts and mini-skirts exchanged for Marine Drum and Bugle Corps uniforms. In that more martial atmosphere, Roddenberry could have easily touted the '60s show--with enough episodes to back him up--as a paean to the national security state, but chose not to.

(Then again, Reagan had his own Age of Aquarius moment, didn't he?)

Roddenberry finally got a chance to put his latter day idealism into motion when Star Trek: The Next Generation came along in 1987. Though he doesn't seem to have been involved in the series on a day-to-day basis, as Executive Producer he had a large say over what happened in this new update. He decided this generation's Enterprise should be family-friendly, so he allowed children aboard (fans of TNG--ever notice how the kids disappear whenever the starship's in any real danger?) He also wanted as little violence as possible, never mind the original series rather high mortality rate ("He's dead, Jim.") In fact, Roddenberry now wanted the Federation and Starfleet to be so utopian in nature that he sent memos to showrunner Rick Berman and others forbidding any arguing on the bridge of the Enterprise, never mind that some of the most entertaining moments of the original series had Spock and another character sniping at each other like two plaintiffs standing before Judge Judy. This led to a rather bland first season that often had Captain Picard and his crew sitting around a big table as if they were Board of Directors for a company that manufactures mothballs, calmly discussing various options no matter how dire the threat. The following is a mere approximation (meaning I made it up), but should give you an idea of what I'm talking about. Imagine it's Captain Picard speaking:

"Well, it now appears that the gelatin monster is about to consume this ship whole with us in it. Data, do you have any ideas how best we can extract ourselves from this
predicament?...Hmm...Interesting...Thank you, Data. Now, let's hear from you, Worf...Hmm...That is indeed a novel solution. I will definitely take it under consideration, but first let's hear from Counselor Troi. Oh, I see La Forge has his hand up..."

(No reflection on Patrick Stewart, a wonderful actor. It's just what he had to work with early on.)

Does Star Trek even need to be utopian? Don't get me wrong. I've got nothing against utopias. I wouldn't mind living in one someday.  It's just not all that conducive to drama, that's all. Can't Star Trek have an idealistic point-of-view but at the same time show a warts-and-all future? Most who have seen it would agree the popular '70s sitcom MASH had an anti-war message. Yet it didn't take place in Switzerland, but 1950s Korea . Be it comedy or drama, a utopia shouldn't be an established fact but a goal, one that takes a bit of time to achieve. Five years, say.


Also, if you present the Federation/Starfleet as being utopian in nature, and anything bad or unsettling as coming from the outside, you may end up making a compelling argument in favor of imperialism, whether you meant to or not.

I know I've been kind of hard on Roddenberry, but I actually think he was a very talented guy. Several episodes with his name as writer--"The Cage"/"The Menagerie", "Charlie X", "Mudd's Women", "Breads and Circuses" and--dubious as I am about its politics--"The Omega Glory", as well as an episode he did not write but directly oversaw as line producer, "The Cobermite Maneuver", are among the best the series has to offer. (There's also the somewhat awkwardly constructed "Assignment: Earth", actually an unsold pilot for another series, that had Kirk and Spock along for the ride. I'll talk a little bit about that one in a future installment.)  But in trying to figure out what made Star Trek Star Trek, and, more specifically, what made Spock Spock, how did he go from the vaguely antagonistic character of "Where No Man Has Gone Before" to the more noble figure he eventually became, I feel I have to look elsewhere.  Of course, I do give Roddenberry credit for creating both Star Trek and Spock. I should have mentioned it earlier, but Spock is said to have been based on someone Roddenberry actually knew. No, he was never abducted by Vulcans. The fellow he knew was an Earthling, William H. Parker, chief of the Los Angeles Police Department from 1950 to his death in 1966. Parker was known for his taciturn style, a style that admirer Jack Webb infused into his famous Joe Friday character. Indeed, the program Friday appeared on, Dragnet, which ran first on radio from 1949 to 1957, and then on TV from 1950 to 1959 (there was also a late '60s version), and even made into a movie, was on the whole pretty logical and unemotional. Every character in it, including the guy arrested for disturbing the peace, talked in a flat monotone. Spock seemed like Jerry Lewis by comparison. As his speech writer, however, Roddenberry knew Parker better than Webb did, and seems to have had mixed feelings about him, mixed feelings that could explain his gradual shift from just-the-facts-ma'm-just-the-facts propagandist to New Age philosopher. Remember me telling you in Part 1 that it was a female character played by Majel Barrett in the first Star Trek pilot who was originally supposed to be logical and unemotional? When his time came to immortalize Parker, Roddenberry gave his old boss a sex-change operation. Freud would have had a field day.

Nine episodes into the first season, Roddenberry decided to promote himself to executive producer, relieving him of the day-to-day grind of running the show.  And it was his replacement, an ex-Marine a decade-and-counting past the age of 30, who may have been the true hippie guru of Star Trek.

Next: A Different Gene

Strange New World Just Ahead, or: How to Make a Vulcan Feel at Home (Part 1 of 15)

Space...

...the final frontier.

These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise.

Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds...

...to seek out new life and new civilizations...

...to boldly go WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE!

(cue ethereal female harmonizing)

Star Trek, I thought, was a very inconsistent show, which at times sparkled with true ingenuity and pure science fiction approaches, and other times was more carnival-like, and very much more the creature of television than the creature of a legitimate literary form.

--Rod Serling

KIRK: We're on a thousand planets and spreading out. We cross fantastic distances and everything's alive, Cochrane. Life everywhere. We estimate there are millions of planets with intelligent life. We haven't begun to map them. Interesting? 
COCHRANE: How would you like to sleep for a hundred and fifty years and wake up in a new world? 
KIRK: It's all out there waiting for you...

--"Metamorphosis"

SPOCK: It is my sincere wish that you do not give up your search for Eden. I have no doubt but that you will find it, or make it yourselves.

--"The Way to Eden"

Leonard Nimoy 1931-2015

"I went through a definite identity crises. The question was whether to embrace Mr. Spock or to fight the onslaught of public interest. I realize now that I really had no choice in the matter. Spock and Star Trek were very much alive and there wasn't anything I could do to change that." 

Nimoy grew up in Mattapan, at the time a Jewish neighborhood on Boston's West Side.

Nimoy had a bit part in the classic 1950s science fiction thriller THEM! It must have been an itty-bitty bit part, because I've seen this film several times, and for the life of me don't remember him being in it. He WAS uncredited, so I wouldn't have known to look.

Throughout the 1950s and '60s, Nimoy made many one-shot appearances on various TV shows, such as The Virginian and The Man from U.N.C.L.E, as did some future costars of his (look carefully.)

In 1964, Nimoy appeared on an episode of The Lieutenant (imagine that women as a nurse in a miniskirt), a series produced by a man by the name of...

...Gene Roddenberry, who had written for such 1950s-early '60s series as Highway Patrol and Wagon Train. The Lieutenant lasted just one season, and he now had an idea for a new show, one that would take place in the future, and in outer space.

No, not that show. These days it seems almost sacrilege to mention these two science fiction series in the same breath, but in their initial 1960s runs, Lost in Space was the more popular.




1. Future Plans

According to the many interviews he gave during his lifetime, Gene Roddenberry wanted to use science fiction (a genre he had been a fan of since childhood) to explore social issues such as racism, sexism, militarism, and more basic philosophical concerns as what does it mean to be happy. All this thematic exploration would take place in a starship (a common sci-fi trope) that itself was exploring a small section of the Milky Way galaxy. I guess that, then, was the ultimate theme of the show: the Unknown, and what exactly should be done about it. We are the Enterprise, and outer space is simply what the rest of the day has in store for us.

The problem for this series, dubbed Star Trek, and, really, any TV show, movie, novel, or comic book with a space ship--excuse me, starship--that has the improbable knack for traveling at speeds faster than that of light, is that any civilization that could create such a thing would be pretty goddamn strange itself. I mean, think about it, that far in the future, who cares about other planets? The Earth should be fucking awesome enough, right? Or if it's not fucking awesome enough that far in the future, then it would still be awesome for defying expectations. Except at that point it becomes harder for the viewer to identify with the citizens of such a strange world as they go out seeking places even stranger. That  problem could be solved simply by having the show take place in 1966, except that the Americans and the Russians were having a hard enough time reaching the moon, much less Omega IV or Minara II.

To get around all this, Roddenberry downplayed Earth's own futuristic technology whenever he could. Sure, the USS. Enterprise had a machine that could disassemble a person's molecules and then put them all back together on a planet far below, but on the starship itself, everybody still used elevators! Earth, at least on the original series, was never visited, and only mentioned in terms 1966 audiences could relate to. Like, a central character who grew up in Iowa once had a treehouse as a kid  (whether that treehouse was built with wood and nails or some undiscovered element mined from a Beta Quadrant mining colony and held together with synthetic tachyons is unknown.) And no matter how many planets, races, and civilizations that are discovered between the present day and hundreds of years henceforth, Russian and Scottish accents still survive. Comforting.

Roddenberry didn't stop there. To emphasize that humans that far in the future would still be undeniably, recognizably, human, he decided to contrast Earth's native species with a crew member from another planet. Originally half-Martian--that the red planet had sentient beings still seemed possible in the 1960s as the popularity of a certain sitcom starring Ray Walston would indicate--he then had the foresight to hedge his bet by having this crew member come from a fictional world outside our solar system called Vulcan. With a name like that, you'd think this alien was made out of rubber. No, he just had pointy ears. Roddenberry felt the actor who would play him, Leonard Nimoy, was alien-looking enough. Really, he once was quoted a saying that. Nimoy took the job anyway. Actors go where the work is.

 Next up, the alien needed a name.

Roddenberry claimed never to have heard of the guy, 18,000,000 copies notwithstanding.

The first pilot film for Star Trek was titled "The Cage". Almost-but-not-quite-a-movie star Jeffrey Hunter (The Searchers, King of Kings) plays Christopher Pike, captain of the aforementioned Enterprise. A distress signal leads the starship to a planet in a relatively unexplored part of the galaxy. A landing party led by Pike himself beams down and finds human survivors of an expedition  that went missing 18 years later. Among the survivors a hot chick (Susan Oliver) who lures a wary but understandably intrigued Pike into a cave where he's captured by a bunch of bulbous, varicose vein-headed aliens. From there Pike finds himself in several different scenarios, all taken from various events from his life, except this time he's reliving them with the hot chick. Pike eventually figures out that these are illusions created by the aliens--called Talosians--themselves, who want him to breed with the hot chick so they'll have a race that will help them restore their dying civilization. The Talosians then access the Enterprise computers and find that the human race has a record of fleeing oppressive conditions--maybe they saw footage of the Rio Grande--and therefore unsuitable as slave labor. The landing party is allowed to return to their ship, but the hot chick, who is quite real but once we see what she actually looks like is no longer hot having been pulverized by the earlier crash landing and then put back together the wrong way by the Talosians who had no idea what she looked like (though you'd think they could have simply used their telepathic powers to find out.)

As for Nimoy's Mr. Spock, he's not seen too much in the pilot, and when he is, he seems like some dude you might run into at a sports bar, pointed ears notwithstanding (which you might not even notice if you've had too many jello shots). He's also quite emotional, grinning like an idiot at one point. Maybe he's had too many jello shots. The cool demeanor we've come to associate with the character is instead embodied in Number One, the Enterprise's second-in-command, played here by Majel Barrett (Roddenberry's soon-to-be-wife) who, though apparently human, seems much more alien than Spock. A readjustment would be in order.

A readjustment brought about by NBC executives, who turned down the pilot, finding it "too cerebral" and "too intellectual" . Too cerebral and too intellectual for network execs used to watching I Dream of Jeannie or Flipper maybe. "The Cage", later shown in truncated form as the two-parter "The Menagerie", was a beautifully shot, sensitively told tale about the seductiveness of memory that, sure, had some intelligence behind it, but also scattered violence and a hint of sex that '60s audiences would have dug. And besides, it's all precipitated by an alien abduction. Since when is that plot device too intellectual? Rather than reject this series out of hand (especially if it made them look too dim-witted in doing so), the NBC bigwigs asked Roddenberry for a second pilot, a first for the network.

Unfortunately, Jeffrey Hunter's contract didn't obligate him to a second pilot, and so he opted out. The youthful-looking actor would spend the rest of the 1960s bouncing back and forth between TV and movies until he died from lingering injuries brought on by a freak explosion on a set in Italy. He was
42.

 
In Hunter's place Roddenberry obtained the services of an up-and-coming Shakespearean-trained (!) actor by the name of William Shatner, who had a small part in Stanley Kramer's 1960 film Judgement at Nuremberg (no, he wasn't a Nazi), and had played the central character in the classic (in hindsight) Twilight Zone episode "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet", the one where the guy on an airplane sees a gremlin. Roddenberry also decided to change the name of the character to James T. Kirk, an allusion to Captain James Cook, the real-life 18th century explorer who had discovered the Hawaiian Islands. Kirk's TV discoveries would be decidedly less idyllic. Roddenberry's later decision to show the "The Cage" in flashback form allowed both Pike and Kirk to be included in the Star Trek mythos, but they really did start out as the same guy.

A perhaps more significant change, at least for our purposes if not Mr. Shatner's, had to do with the Number One character played by Majel Barrett. The network bigwigs wanted her dropped. To his dying day, Roddenberry would claim this was sexism on NBC's part, that they didn't think a woman should have that large a part in an action-adventure series. However, Herbert Solow, an executive at Desilu (formerly RKO) studios, which produced Star Trek, has suggested the execs simply didn't cotton to Roddenberry's mistress (he was married to someone else at the time) in such a prominent role. More about Star Trek and women in a future installment. Hoping to salvage his show, Roddenberry let Barrett go (only to quickly bring her back as Nurse Chapel as well as the voice of the Enterprise's computer.) They don't really tell you in "The Cage" but Number One would seem to be a member of our species, you know, the human race. Yet she was logical and showed little emotion. Well, some homo sapiens are like that. In Earth vernacular it's known as "having something stuck up your ass."  Roddenberry thought maybe such traits would be more palatable in an alien. So the gregarious Spock of "The Cage" became the hard-nosed Spock of the second pilot "Where No Man Has Gone Before."  It made sense that if a guy's gonna come from a different planet, he may be different in other ways as well. It was now explicitly stated that on Spock's home planet Vulcan, people were logical and had no emotions, either because they were born without them or had done away with then through custom (over the years, various versions of Star Trek have proffered both explanations.) But what exactly does it mean to have no emotions? A venetian blind has no discernible emotions yet you don't expect it to act logically, especially when you're trying to open and close the damn thing. Well, in that second pilot, Spock does seem to have at least one discernible emotion, that of a sourpuss.

As with "The Cage" the second pilot concerns a missing spacecraft, the S.S. Valiant, not seen in 200 years. Belatedly deciding that it's time to find out what went wrong, the USS. Enterprise heads out to the (fictional) Galactic Barrier, a ring of energy surrounding the Milky Way. Captain Kirk may have wished that it was fictional in his own make-believe universe as well, as the Barrier ends up killing 9 crew men, damages the Enterprise's systems, and knocks helmsman Gary Mitchell (played by Gary Lockwood, star of Rodenberry's short-lived The Lieutenant and soon to be seen in another sci-fi classic 2001:A Space Odyssey) and ship psychiatrist Dr. Elizabeth Dehner (a young Sally Kellerman) unconscious. Once they both come to, Dehner seems normal, but Mitchell, eyes all aglow, finds he has ESP and other psychic skills, which grow stronger which each passing minute. Spock (whose own ESP-like talents go unmentioned) immediately decides Mitchell is a danger to himself  and others and demands Kirk keep him confined to his quarters or some place for his own good. As Mitchell's an old friend from academy days, Kirk is reluctant to do anything but reminisce with him about classroom hijinks. Mitchell soon soon develops psychokinesis, the ability to manipulate matter, and declares himself a god, at which Kirk, as his superior officer, takes umbrage. Unfortunately it's now long past time to confine him to his quarters, or anywhere else on the Enterprise. Spock thinks a more lethal solution may be in order. Compounding matters, Dr. Dehner's eyes are now beaming like a pair of Day-Glo cuff links, too. Not wanting to kill a friend, Kirk decides to maroon Mitchell (after he's been tranquilized) on an uninhabited planet. At this point you may think the next best step would be to just shove Mitchell into a transporter, beam him down, and then get the hell out. Except there's an unmanned lithium-processing station down there, which they need access to in order to repair the Enterprise's damaged engines. Mitchell, meanwhile, breaks through his force field holding cell, kills a crew man, and gets ready to kill Kirk as well, even creating a headstone for him. A now all-powerful Dehner, meanwhile, has fallen for Mitchell, or has at least decided birds of an omnipotent feather should stick together. Kirk somehow appeals to her sense of humanity. She tries to talk sense into Mitchel, and is fatally injured for her trouble. A mortal Kirk and the Godlike Mitchell then engage in battle, which Kirk, or course, wins, as he'll win all his battles through 79 episodes and 6 movies. 7 if you don't mind how that last one ends. NBC execs were happy enough that he won the battle in the second pilot (by causing a landslide) and picked up the series.


Now about Spock's debut as an emotionless Vulcan. I think it's more accurate to say he lacks positive  emotions. Fact is, he's just boiling over with anger and resentment in the second pilot, stomping around the Enterprise, barking orders at subordinates, practically barking orders at Kirk, his superior, and generally acting like he's just escaped from the Asylum for the Pathologically Spiteful. What a dick!

What's odd, though, is how this all ends. After Kirk finishes describing the whole chain of sorry events into his Captain's Log, adding that the now-deceased Mitchell was under a kind of sickness and shouldn't be held accountable for his actions, Spock, who didn't seem to have much use for the helmsman throughout the entire pilot, states that he "felt for him, too." A pleased Kirk tells Spock that "there's hope for you yet." Given that Spock read the entire situation correctly whereas the Enterprise captain almost let the whole thing spiral out of control, I think it's the latter who's badly in need of hope. So what exactly is the moral of this story other than people with Godlike powers shouldn't be allowed to act Godlike? Shortly after 9/11 I recall seeing New York Times Columnist Thomas Friedman on some talking head news show claiming that it was a good thing then-Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld was on our side, because he was a little bit psycho and we needed someone like that in the War on Terror. I think the subsequent debacle in Iraq may have proved we could have done without Rumsefeld's psychosis. Still, the idea is an old one. In a world, and maybe a galaxy, full of evil, we need to be as ruthless as the bad guys in order to survive. In this episode, then, Spock is a kind of Dirty Harry of outer space, and logic is his .44 Magnum. "I know what you're thinking, punk: 'did he ask six Socratic questions or only five? Well, punk, in all the confusion I forgot myself, but you have to ask yourself, 'since I dropped out of the 7th grade and have no idea who Socrates is, is it my lucky day?' Well, punk, luck is illogical!"

Whether because Nimoy declined to play him that way, or Roddenberry thought it might be too off-putting, Spock was never depicted in a such a heavy-handed manner again. In the next show filmed (though it wouldn't be aired until about halfway through the first season) "The Cobermite Maneuver", one of the best episodes of the entire series, Spock is more the even-tempered Vulcan that we know him best. Not that it does him any good. The Enterprise encounters a giant spaceship that looks kind of like the ball that's lowered on Times Square every New Year's Eve. Faced with imminent destruction, Spock compares the situation to chess, and suggests that they're on the verge of being checkmated. Kirk, though, comes up with a better comparison: poker. He bluff's their unseen foe into backing off, and when he eventually does see him, discovers that it's a friendly little boy with an adult voice. As for the chastened Spock, he can only remark, "I'll have to learn more about this 'poker'"--a philistine card game having proved superior to a more intellectual diversion. And so it goes for most of the first half of the first season. When Spock is at his most easygoing, he's wrong. When he's right, he's unbearable.

Spock is seemingly wrong, wrong, and more wrong in "The Galileo Seven", which originally appeared about midway in the first season. The Enterprise has to make the usual emergency medical supplies to the usual plague-ridden colony, when they notice unusual quasar-like phenomenon from a group of stars they're passing by. Since part of the Enterprise's mission is to investigate anything unusual, Kirk decides to send a party of seven commanded by Spock in the Galileo shuttlecraft to check out the phenomenon, while the Enterprise proceeds on course with the intended delivery, the idea being that they'll come back and join up with them in a few days. Well, the phenomenon causes the Galileo to get blown off course and they crash land on the wrong planet. Having lost much of its fuel, the only way for the shuttlecraft to blast off back into space is if just four people return in it. Rather than pick straws to sees who stays behind, Spock decides to pick the unlucky trio himself, a solution the rest of crew sees as not so much logical as arrogant. A bunch of towering, even-more-hirsute-than-normal cave men show up and kill one of the crew members with a spear, sparing Spock 1/3 of his difficult decision. More squabbling follows about who should officiate at the dead man's funeral. Or rather, who shouldn't officiate, as Spock wants no part of it. He's reminded that it's in fact his duty as commander. He reluctantly agrees, but only after the shuttlecraft is repaired. He also finds the murder weapon of anthropological interest, a thought he really should have kept to himself. More Spock logic follows, leading to disaster or hard feelings or both. Somewhere along the way the restless natives kill another crew member. The surviving team could just scare the cave men off (or kill them) with their phasers, but they need the ammunition, i.e. energy packs, to generate enough propulsion to get the Galileo off the ground. With five now locked in the shuttlecraft (the plan to leave any more behind forgotten), and with the cave men hitting the vehicle with spears and pounding it with rocks, Spock muses out loud (and to unexpected comic effect) about how his over-reliance on logic has endangered him and everyone else:

SPOCK: Strange. Step by step, I have made the correct and logical decisions. And yet two men have died.
CREW MEMBER: And you brought your furry friends down on us.
SPOCK: I do seem to have miscalculated regarding them, and inculcated resentment on your parts. The sum of the parts cannot be greater than the whole.
CREW MEMBER: A little less analysis and more action. That's what we need, Mister Spock. 


Finally spaceborne, but thinking they're by now light-years away from the Enterprise with no hope of ever catching up, Spock jettisons the little fuel that is left and sets it aflame, in the desperate hope that this will get someone's attention. Turns out the starship was in the neighborhood after all, and they're all rescued. When Kirk remarks to Spock that his gambit seemed a bit illogical, Spock replies that in a situation like that, illogic was the only logical course. At which point the good captain and everybody else on deck has a good laugh.

Spock starts out the heavy, but definitely becomes more sympathetic as this story proceeds. Who among us hasn't tried to save face even as evidence of our incompetence accumulates? Who hasn't been laughed at without meaning to be funny? If you don't count "Amok Time" (where a Vulcan femme-fatale actually causes all the trouble) Spock is never this wrong again. More importantly, he's never this ruthless again. And he's not as ruthless as you might think in this episode, either. Although he seems somewhat callous at times, he alone rejects the idea of killing the hairy beasts, whose planet this is, after all. A nobler, much more heroic, ultimately iconic Spock emerges from the ashes of "The Galileo Seven". To explain how this happens, we'll have to go look at the two writer-producers who had the greatest impact on Star Trek.

Next: The Evolution of Gene Roddenberry

Coming Attractions (Part II)

"What the hell is taking so long?!"

"Patience, Doctor, patience."

Coming Attractions

Yeah, I know he left us, but there's a lot I want to say about this man and the memorable character he created, and I don't have all the time in the world--or Vulcan, for that matter--to say it in, so please be patient.


In the meantime, live long and prosper.

In Memoriam: Lesley Gore 1946-2015

When Lois Sasson confirmed on February 16 that her longtime partner, Lesley Gore, a non-smoker, had died of lung cancer at the untimely age of 68, feminists, freedom fighters, humanitarians and Catwoman lovers of all stripes mourned the passing of an iconic ally and inspiration.

--Peter Rothberg, The Nation  

"It's My Party" remains one of the most vivid evocations of adolescent heartbreak ever waxed--Quincy Jones produced the record, although you'd swear it was [Melrose Place producer] Aaron Spelling instead."

--AllMusic Critic Jason Ankeny

If you don't mind hearing it twice, here's a video Gore made of the song some 25 years later:

That looked like Mike Myers' Dr. Evil at the end, didn't it? I've checked and re-checked. The video is from 1989 (as if you couldn't tell that already from the clothes and the hair) and Evil didn't make his debut until 1997.

Now, I, or at least Peter Rothberg, promised you a freedom fighter:

Not exactly Che Guevara, but in that time and place...

You could savor every bitchy second of Lesley's triumph with her sequel "Judy's Turn to Cry".

--Music journalist Lillian Roxon

Now, the feminist:

Now, THAT'S Che Guevara (or Gloria Steinem.)

My take on the song was: I'm 17, what a wonderful thing, to stand up on a stage and shake your finger at people and sing you don't own me.

--Lesley Gore

Left unsaid is whether that was her middle finger that's she shaking (after all,the video was shot from the neck up.)

Now, for Catwoman lovers of all stripes:

Holy 45 rpm record, Batman!

The iconic alley and inspiration:

Afraid to go on American Idol? Hell, they've played her songs on that show!

Finally, the humanitarian:

Hey, she made people happy. What's more humanitarian than that?

Baritone Banter

Gary Owens 1934-2015

Gary Owens died a few days ago of complications from diabetes, a disease that had plagued him since childhood. In fact, he once overheard a doctor tell his parents that he probably wouldn't make it out of his teens! He did anyway, as an adult becoming a very popular afternoon disc jockey in Los Angeles. Actually, a suburb of Los Angeles: "beautiful downtown Burbank" a phrase first heard on his radio show. As I grew up in neither Los Angeles nor Burbank in the 1960s, I can't vouch for you just how funny or entertaining he may have been as a deejay, only that there's been many tributes on-line from Angelenos who laughed their asses off at his radio antics, which included asking the audience to "send in for yours", only to receive a postcard with nothing but the word "yours" on it.

What I can vouch for is a TV show I saw first as a kid and then decades later when it popped up on Nick at Nite. Before I tell you what it was, let me tell you how Owens came to be on it. He walked into the men's room at a popular LA restaurant and saw an acquaintance of his, a TV producer by the name of George Schlatter. As a joke, Owens shouted "George! The acoustics are great in here!", his rich baritone bouncing off the tiled walls. Now it just so happens Schlatter had a show in development, one composed almost entirely of blackout gags, i.e. short skits lasting less than five minutes, sometimes less than a single minute. Owens comic announcing would be the perfect linking devices for those gags. Of course that show was Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In:

Some of Owen's Laugh-In announcements not found on YouTube:

"This show was prerecorded earlier, because it didn't make much sense to prerecorded it later."

"The preceding was recorded earlier because we were ashamed to do it now."

"Meanwhile, later that evening..."

"What you're about to see is true. [the word "false" appears on screen, hands on clock moved back] Only names and faces have been left unchanged...to protect the innocent."

And, of course the phrase I mentioned earlier, first on his radio show, "Coming to you from beautiful downtown Burbank!"

A phrase later appropriated by the fellow above.

Owens did more straightforward announcing as well, including stints on The Wonderful World of Disney and America's Funniest Home Videos.

And he did cartoons. Unlike Mel Blanc or Daws Butler, Owens didn't have a hundred different voices at his disposal. Basically he had just two--dramatic macho posturing and comedic macho posturing.

His dramatic macho posturing.

Owens didn't do the tongue-in-cheek version of Space Ghost that aired on the Cartoon Network's "Adult Swim" in the late '90s. However, his own comedic macho posturing could be heard in plenty of other places.

Such as Roger Ramjet in the '60s...

Or, a decade later, as the Blue Falcon in Dynomutt, the Dog Wonder.

Back to announcing. One of Owens most recent gigs was doing the voice-over promos for a digital network devoted to reruns Antenna TV: "Classic television, but without that musty odor!"

One last tribute from a former Laugh-In cast mate:

"Gary will be greatly missed...His presence of optimism and joy will live on! He was a gift to us all."

--Goldie Hawn

  .