For magazines, an ‘extraordinary
voyage’ from fiction to fact

You just can’t have science fiction without the science. That’s why we mark the true beginning of the sci-fi history of the moon at 1865, when, as a scientific revolution is sweeping the planet, Jules Verne publishes the classic De la terre a la lune, From the Earth to the Moon.

Verne’s "extraordinary voyage" first sees the light of day in a magazine -- Journal des Debats politiques et litteraires. The same thing happens in England. When H.G. Wells writes a "scientific romance" in 1897, his War of the Worlds is serialized in Pearson’s Magazine.

"It was an experiment," he says, "Science fiction authors were scarce. There were not a dozen worth mentioning in the entire world."

In 1911, Gernsback begins to serialize his sci-fi novel Ralph 124C41+. Sales of Modern Electric soar to 100,000. The series "caused so much comment and brought so much mail," Gernsback says, he "found necessary to continue the genre."

By 1922, his magazine — now titled Science and Invention — carries such stories each issue. But what to call them? In August 1923, Gernsback puts out a special "scientific fiction number" of his magazine.

A genre is born.

Gernsback’s mission: "to publish only such stories that have their basis in scientific laws as we know them … ALL stories published in this magazine must pass muster before an authority. … this innovation will make new history in magazine publishing … It augurs well for the future of science fiction in America."

Depression and World War only fuel the fantasy fires of science fiction. Classics such as Wonder Stories give way to the corporate Startling Stories and then to a steady stream of astonishing, astounding, cosmic, dynamic, fantastic, marvel and super science stories.

But the rockets of World War II are real. By the early 1950s, the Golden Age of science fiction magazines has passed. Space enthusiasts want a more serious approach.

Enter the large-format, profusely illustrated weeklies typified by the Big Four: Life, Look, Collier’s and Saturday Evening Post. Americans spend at least two hours a week with their favorite. The weeklies are reaching tens of millions throughout the country. And they stay on the coffee table while the newspaper hits the trash and early TV shows are quickly forgotten.

As early as March 1946, Life features a "Trip to the Moon" with 11 spectacular color paintings by Chesley Bonestell, the father of American space art. Is this sci-fi, or is there a real chance we can go to the moon?

In 1949, 70 percent of those answering a Gallup Survey do not think America is going to the moon within the next 50 years. But two years later, an alert managing editor and an astute reporter begin to change everyone’s mind. In October, 1951, the Hayden Planetarium in New York City holds what it boasts is the "first" symposium on space travel. About 200 persons show up.

Gordon Manning, managing editor of Collier’s, notices. He sends a couple of reporters to cover the Hayden conference (not far from his office in New York) and then dispatches Cornelius Ryan a month later all the way to San Antonio for a second, more esoteric symposium.

There, Ryan is targeted by the U.S. Army’s German-American rocket expert Wernher von Braun, Harvard Observatory astronomer Fred L. Whipple, and UCLA physicist Joseph Kaplan.

Recalls Whipple:

"My most vivid memories … are of an evening of cocktails, dinner and an impassioned long-into-the-night discussion with von Braun, Joseph Kaplan ... and Connie Ryan ... That evening he appeared to be highly skeptical about any possibility of artificial satellites or space travel, dashing our hopes for wide publicity in the pages of Collier’s. ...The three of us worked hard at proselytizing Ryan and finally by midnight he was sold on the space program."

Ryan leaves San Antonio a few days later convinced that space should be looked at seriously. His editor calls space experts to an internal Collier’s gathering. The result? An incredible scoop, for 1952 — the correct prediction, flying in the face of public opinion, that America could indeed make it to the moon.

In eight feature issues, illustrated by Bonestell, Fred Freeman, and Rolf Klep, Collier’s quite literally lays out a blueprint for the conquest of space. The first space issue is dated March 22, 1952, and features articles by experts von Braun, Whipple and Kaplan as well as science writer Willy Ley, space medical expert Heinz Haber, and United Nations lawyer Oscar Schachter.

The headline: "Man Will Conquer Space Soon"

Write the editors:

"On the following pages Collier’s presents what may be one of the most important scientific symposiums ever published by a national magazine. It is the story of the inevitability man’s conquest of space. What you will read here is not science fiction. It is serious fact."

With a circulation of more than 3 million and an estimated readership of between 12 and 15 million, Collier’s space series seems bound to cause a stir.

And it does.

The rest, as they say, is history — from Disney’s own TV and theme park versions of the series to the Russian launch of Sputnik and the start of the space race.

In 1961, President John F. Kennedy calls for America to go to the moon by the end of the decade.

But by then, many of us know we will go. We have, in fact, already been to the moon -- in the most important way, the way all our journeys begin -- in our imagining, calculating minds.