Edward Gross - So Say We All: The Complete, Uncensored, Unauthorized Oral History of Battlestar Galactica

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FROM MARK A. ALTMAN

Steven A. Simak , without whom this book would not be possible and who is the biggest Galactica fan I know. He provided incalculable help and assistance in completing this volume. Cant tell you how many times I went to his house and watched Mission Galactica on Super 8. Of course, his wonderful mom Nildas baked ziti didnt hurt either.

My parents, Gail Altman-Orenstein and Michael Altman , who let me stay up waaaay late to see how it all ended on September 17, 1978. (Spoiler alert: the Colonials escaped from Carillon, it was a cookbook and Begin and Sadat signed the Camp David Peace Accords.)

Those who believed that there may yet be brothers of man who even now fight to survive somewhere beyond the heavens; our intrepid editor, Brendan Deenen , and Tor Books publisher and founder, Tom Doherty .

And, of course, all the charter members of The Galactic Club of Science Fiction (Kevin Costello, Ira Altman, Kenny Feinleib, Wayne Meyers, but not you Lance Schulman) in 1978 that nurtured my love of science fiction movies, television, novelsand especially Battlestar Galactica for many years to come.

The East Coast Altmans : Ira , Becky , Tyler , and Emily , because they got left out of all the other books and I never heard the end of it.

Ed Gross , the best collaborator one could ever wish for, despite the fact that I keep trying to get out, but he pulls me back in

Finally, and most importantly, Ella and Isaac , my own Colonial Warriors.

And Naomi , because she still tolerates me after all these yahrens.

FROM EDWARD GROSS

Ronald D. Moore , whose enthusiasm for this project mirrored the authors, and without whom this book would never have been possible.

Our Tor editor, Brendan Deenen , and Tor publisher, Tom Doherty thanks for believing in Galactica as much as we do.

My coauthor, Mark A. Altman what an incredible ride this has been; I appreciate your collaboration and your friendship.

My wife, Eileen , who, in a turn of a sports phrase, became a Galactica widow throughout the writing process. It was a long haul, but we got through it. I love you.

Our sons, Teddy , Dennis , and Kevin ; daughter-in-law, Lindsay Saier ; and, taking up the hey you could be next positions, Nicole Plaia and Yumi Matsuyama . Our own personal ragtag fugitive fleet on this journey through life.

Fleeing from Cylon tyranny, the last battlestar, Galactica, leads a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest: a shining planet known as Earth.

I see the party is not a huge success with all my children.

BY Mark A. Altman

There are very few things about middle school (or, as we fashionably called it at the time, junior high school) that I can still recall. It was, in fact, four decades ago, so you can hopefully forgive me for my rather vague recollections. I sure do remember Ms. Radiloff, my toweringly tall and delightful science teacher, who was prone to breaking into bouts of the now very politically incorrect Randy Newman song Short People (Got No Reason to Live) in the middle of class. I recall Mr. Rubin, my rather dour science teacher, and his uncharacteristically impassioned lessons about quasars, which were apparently quite in vogue at the time (along with, of course, black holes), and Mrs. Rosen, my septuagenarian typing teacher, whom I will forever be indebted to for teaching me to type at warp speed on an old IBM Selectric; and, of course, I remember the loathsome Lance Schulman, who revealed to me that Darth Vader was Luke Skywalkers father in the Marvel Comics adaptation of The Empire Strikes Back before I saw the movie. Fuck you, Lance, wherever you are.

But the thing I do recall better and more clearly than anything that happened during those halcyon three years attending Roy H. Mann Junior High School in Brooklyn, New York, during the late seventies, long before Brooklyn was remotely cool, is Monday mornings. What was it about Monday mornings that even now continues to resonate in my ever-depleting synapses? Well, it was gathering in the schoolyard during lineup in the morning to discuss Battlestar Galactica from the previous night. And perhaps there is no more vivid memory of those years than our shared horror at President Jimmy Carter for interrupting the broadcast of Saga of a Star Worldjust as the Galactica crew was arriving at Carillonto speak to the nation about the Camp David Peace Accords. To an eleven-year-old, this all seemed extremely trivial compared to the fate of the survivors of the Twelve Colonies of Man, who were desperate to elude the clutches of the devious Cylons and survive an interstellar genocide. Thankfully, my parents let me stay up way past eleven oclock to see how it all ended, for which I will be eternally grateful.

Back then, I certainly didnt get the fact that compared to Star Trek , with its laudably optimistic, liberal, progressive politics (occasional right-leaning missteps like A Private Little War notwithstanding), Galactica was far more militaristic and neoconservative in its viewpoint. Its the liberal President Adar, played by Lew Ayres, who seems to be a thinly veiled Jimmy Carter analogue, who is easily tricked by Baltar into disarmament, and who pays an apocalyptic price for his navet (shades of SALT IIin fact, the series even inspired much outrage from the Soviet Union, which accused the show of trying to poison relations between the United States and the USSR). And its the politicians, like the gluttonous and self-serving Sire Uri, who are as devious as the metallic automatons hell-bent on humanitys destruction.

* * *

But none of that mattered to me back in 1978; my friends and I sure dug Battlestar Galactica a lot. Yes, even as preteens, we knew it wasnt nearly as literate or allegorical as Trek or as smart and sophisticated as The Twilight Zone, and the science was an utter mess with galaxies being confused with solar systems constantly and ships traversing the galaxy from week to week at sublight velocities among other things, but at a whopping $7 million, the pilot really delivered on its promise to be Star Wars for the small screen. With its glorious Frank Frazetta artwork in TV Guide beckoning you to watch along with its story of swashbuckling spacefarers, malevolent mechanical Centurions, and a robot dog, this was a show that promised a lot and, for the most part, delivered. It was cool. As an eleven-year-old, I was utterly entranced with the magnificent space vehicles designed by Star Wars Ralph McQuarrie, the stirring Stu Phillips orchestral score, and the even more stirring Maren Jensen.

Battlestar Galactica was also the show that prompted me to publish my first magazine, Galactic Journal, a fanzine that my junior high school friends and I started (and was covertly mimeographed by my mother at work, plowing through gallons and gallons of ink in the processthanks, Mom!) and continued to publish till our college days, now completely typeset and printed in full color, with a substantially increased circulation. Our premiere issue, in 1978, had a drawing of a Colonial Viper on it, sketched by Galactic Club charter member Kevin Costello, still a dear friend. Man, we loved that show a lot.