As astronauts on board Apollo 17 carried out a momentous mission in December 1972 — the first Moon landing by a scientist-astronaut, Harrison Schmitt, and the last opportunity (so far) for humans to walk on the lunar landscape — a young Robyn Williams found himself taking a giant leap into the broadcasting unknown.
Earlier that year, the 28-year-old science (honours) graduate from the University of London had turned up at the ABC Science Unit looking for a job and, luckily, in what he calls a "sliding doors" moment, science journalist Max Bourke (future head of the Australia Council and founding director of the Heritage Council) had just resigned, and Williams was hired as a "gopher".
"They needed a gopher because during the Apollo missions that year — Apollo 16 launched in April — they wanted someone to collect facts for the broadcasters. For example, 'If you put the rocket next to the AMP building at Circular Quay, which will be higher?' That sort of thing," Williams recalls.
"We'd be on air for about 24 hours a day. The ABC cleared the decks and we went live everywhere. We got messages from the astronauts on the Apollo. And then they landed on the Moon, and I thought, 'Holy shit, this is happening, they're actually doing it.' It was very exciting."
While studying in the UK, Williams had done some part-time acting, appearing as an extra on BBC television shows such as Doctor Who, Monty Python's Flying Circus and The Goodies — and working alongside stars such as Tom Jones, John Cleese, and Peter Sellers — but he had no on-air radio broadcasting experience.
His work had been behind the scenes during the space broadcasts. Then, as the voices of the astronauts on Apollo 17 were aired on the ABC, Williams was suddenly presented with a sink-or-swim moment.
"[Director of the ABC Science Unit] Peter Pockley had been on air, brilliantly, for hours and he looked through the glass of the radio studio to where I was sitting, feeding him information, and he said, 'OK, I'm going off now. Come in, sit there, there's the switch, take over.' And that was my training!" says Williams.
"But the point about doing five years of TV [previously], where I was often on live TV doing very simple things — like making sure you didn't fall over the furniture or get in the way of the dancers — I knew how to deal with a live situation and perform how you're supposed to. I'd learned how to concentrate, and I just thought, 'Well, I'm just in a room and I'm talking to one person out there'.
"We were doing the first phone-ins [from listeners] on the ABC. Only the commercial stations had done phone-ins at that stage and the ABC didn't have the equipment, so we used an army field telephone. I just concentrated on how to switch [callers] on and off and I was just so genuinely excited."
Creating a radio show that lasted 47 years
It was the launch of a remarkable 50 years of broadcasting on the ABC.
After his on-air debut during the Apollo broadcasts, Williams worked on innovative radio programs produced by the Science Unit, including a three-hour episode of the "Investigations" series called The Media Game, which he later described as "the worst radio disaster I have ever experienced".
Featuring media baron Kerry Packer and a line-up of leading journalists and editors, it provided a mortifying lesson on the danger of mixing alcohol and live radio, as Williams recalled in his book, Here Come the Philistines, published in 1989:
"I faced this line-up with experience of only one programme as a 'live' presenter and with no formal training whatsoever. I was assured that, on a signal from me, all present would attack Kerry Packer, and all I would have to do was interrupt now and then as a restrained but civilised mediator. No-one warned me of the quiet time needed before you present such a mammoth broadcast; instead, I was running to the pub to fetch scotch for the distinguished company who wanted more than the little wine we had thought of. Once under way, it was clear that more than one guest had become 'tired and emotional', and far from attacking Kerry Packer, they turned to attack me as representative of that snooty ABC, which dared criticise the commercial media. Paddy McGuinness took to opening beer cans as explosively and as close to the microphone as he could manage. The resulting shambles was appalling beyond belief. But the very odd thing was: we were not taken off. [General manager] Talbot Duckmanton even sent a note of congratulations. We assumed he had got the date wrong, had not heard the disastrous edition, but meant it for the launch. Then a nice man from management gave me a pep talk … and on we went."
That he was urged to simply move on from such a spectacular failure was indicative of a spirit of radical experimentation and unbridled creative energy that, Williams recalls, throbbed at the ABC at the time.
"The Science Unit had the most extraordinarily bright people, everyone was an intellectual star, personally wonderful," he says.
"The ABC had then something called the Radio Action Movement, [a group of staff] which included heads of department, and it was all about loosening up the stodgy old stuff, going for big ideas and seeing where new technology could take us — what could be done using satellites.
"We were inventing programs, such as Lateline, that would take over the airwaves, sometimes for hours — we'd interview Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir — overseas — together about existentialism.
"The famous in far-away places were touched by calls from well-read broadcasters in Oz — like Pierre Vicary [later a star in disguise in Tony Jones's thriller novels] who spoke fluent French, and others, such as Malcolm Long, who brought formidable intellects to the airwaves.
"It was never before like this. The world opened up. We were breaking the rules and also being very cheeky."
It was in this fertile environment, in 1975, that The Science Show, a one-hour program discussing a broad range of scientific issues, developments and debates — plus staging a few controversial pranks, more on the outrage over the fossilised beer can later — was born.
In his definitive history of the ABC, This Is The ABC, Ken Inglis wrote of how groundbreaking it was at the time:
"More than its predecessors The Science Show became a vehicle for scepticism about what scientists were doing to the rest of us and for discussion of the political context in which they worked. Williams was sharp, well-informed, humane and funny, and The Science Show became Radio 2's most popular programme. It was a brilliant essay in the intellectual use of radio."
Some 47 years later, The Science Show is still on air on RN with Williams, now aged 78, still at the helm. It's one of the longest-running programs on Australian radio — and the world.
"The Science Show was to be a program of ideas — not just a clunky vehicle for a thousand facts. We were ALREADY drowning in factoids," says Williams.
The first episode of The Science Show covered the threat of climate change and Williams despairs at the decades of lost opportunity for action while people, politicians and vested interests doubted the science.
"We interviewed [energy expert and science writer] Lord Peter Ritchie-Calder [at the 13th Pacific Science Congress in Vancouver] and he gave the figures for fossil fuel pollution of the atmosphere and said, 'This is going to cause, without question, chaos in our atmosphere. It is extremely serious.' And here we are, [almost 50 years later]. I find it terrible."
In 1984, Williams started hosting a second, shorter science program, Ockham's Razor, now presented by Tegan Taylor. He does a segment about science on the ABC News Channel each week. He's conducted countless interviews with scientists on ABC TV programs such as Quantum and Catalyst, narrated the acclaimed Nature of Australia documentary series in the 1980s and appeared in the World Safari with David Attenborough program, broadcast live in 15 countries in 1986.
"People forget how innovative Robyn was," says Dr Norman Swan, friend and colleague of four decades.
"He created a show unlike anything else on the ABC and brought humour, a light touch and cultural richness to the task of communicating science. The Science Show brought out Australian scientists and showed them how important public communication is to their endeavours."
Robyn Williams is particularly proud of the program's role, led by "fearless journalist Matt Peacock", in tackling the deadly threat of asbestos and of raising awareness of the dangers of lead in petrol.
The Science Show has championed the work of emerging and little-known scientists, interviewed celebrities — including Sting, Cate Blanchett, Paul Hogan, John Cleese, regularly featured the late satirist John Clarke — and occasionally made headlines for broadcasting outrageous hoaxes.
The first was interviewing a made-up, two-time Nobel Prize-winning scientist, Sir Clarence Lovejoy, who could analyse politicians for a deficiency in megalomania. "Gough Whitlam had no such difficulty," the program reported. It ended up landing Williams and his fake scientist an invitation to appear on The Midday Show.
Another hoax, in 1980, reporting on the "discovery" of the fossilised beer can in western NSW and questions it raised about the origins of humans, triggered a protest by the temperance movement which didn't get the joke.
"I interviewed Jak Kelly, professor of physics at the University of NSW — and father of Quantum presenter Karina Kelly — on the nature of the beer can, which he dated to be at least 60,000, perhaps even 100,000 years old," recalls Williams.
"We buggerised a real beer can and put it on display in the foyer of the Australian Museum and I indicated it raised the possibility that Australia was the birthplace of modern man with 'Homo micturans', or pissed person, who was actually walking upright and then was drinking, fell over and gave rise to the apes and that's how reverse evolution happened.
"And it upset the temperance movement, who wrote officially to the head of the ABC saying, 'We don't care about the fossilised beer can's ancientness, it will only encourage drinking and that was a bad thing!'"
The day Norman Swan saved his life
To have clocked up 50 years on radio is impressive, but Williams, himself, is more in awe of his ability to stay alive.
He had a series of three cardiac arrests in 1988 — flatlining for 47 seconds on one occasion — and survived bladder cancer in 1991 and colorectal cancer in 2015.
"No-one in my immediate family has lived beyond 60, and I'm 78," says Williams.
"My father died at 57, going down the pit as a coal miner [in Wales]. My mother died at about 60. My younger brother died at 60. I am here because of my very good friends, my partner Jonica [Newby], and Norman [Swan], who is on a plinth."
When Williams was taken by ambulance to a Sydney hospital after collapsing at a meeting of the Australian Museum Trust in 1988, Dr Swan, a health broadcaster and a qualified doctor, rushed to his friend's side and then saved his life.
"Robyn had had a cardiac arrest which wasn't necessarily recognised by the people who were looking after him at the hospital," recalls Dr Swan.
"They were about to discharge him, and he was looking terrible. I obstructed the discharge and said, 'You can't send him home.' They got very angry with me and left me alone with Robyn in the ward and then he arrested again. And I just hit him on the chest really hard, which is what you do when you're desperate, and he came around. I did probably save his life on that occasion, and I got to hit him which is what I'd always wanted to do!"
"I was so, so lucky he was there that day," says Williams, who suffered a third cardiac arrest after being transferred to intensive care. He was then moved to a specialist cardiac care hospital.
"I remember it seemed like the ceiling came down and then I woke up and asked, 'What happened?' Norman gave some sort of medical explanation. He was very business-like because when he turns into a doctor he is business like. I was a bit teary. We've been tremendous mates, never had a row and there's a strong bond there."
Positive and negative developments over 50 years
After each health scare, Williams has powered on. "There's an awful lot of work to do," he says.
In addition to his on-air work, he's received seven honorary doctorates from: The University of Sydney, The University of NSW, University of South Australia, The University of Queensland, The Australian National University, Macquarie University and Deakin University.
He's a visiting professor at the University of NSW, adjunct professor at The University of Queensland and has had two fellowships at Oxford University, one of the world's leading academic institutions.
Williams was the first journalist elected as a fellow of the Australian Academy of Science in 1993. He has also served as president of the Australian Museum Trust, chairman of the Commission for the Future and president of the Australian Science Communicators.
He's been awarded an AM and an AO, and has been proclaimed a National Living Treasure. Oh, and he's also written 10 books.
Throughout, Williams has been driven by a fascination with all things science and a desire to excite the public about it and the importance of science in their lives.
"Science is you. It relates to your life and your welfare and that's why it's important," he says.
"For example, we're doing this interview and I've had a reasonably good night's sleep, which is good because, if I didn't sleep, well, my voice is bad and I get crotchety — that's a scientific thing.
"This [video conferencing technology] in front of us is a development of science that is enabling us to talk across our computers.
"If I look out my window, I can see a pasture which is full of hundreds of different sorts of insects all living in the most wonderful relationship with the plants around them, and every now and again a larger creature pops up.
"I relish the natural relationship of a zillion things and I wonder where did all this come from? How does the balance get maintained?
"If you farm the Amazon, you change the weather. Science connects everything and, if we don't understand the interrelationships and look after them, we're stuffed. So, I think if you communicate effectively and interestingly, most people will like science."
Chennupati Jagadish, president of the Australian Academy of Science, has applauded Williams' contribution to science communication.
"Over 50 years, Robyn has provided enormous opportunities for scientists and science communicators to express their views, extending public understanding of science, and greatly raising the level of scientific debate within the community Professor Jagadish says.
"Robyn's interviewing skills are legendary. With his microphone and headphones always at the ready, Robyn shows a real depth of understanding about how what came before impacts what is happening now, across many areas of science.
"Robyn has also played a central role documenting the remarkable research and stories of many of the academy's fellows through our own Conversations with Australian Scientists initiative and has supported many academy events over the years.
"We are proud to call Robyn one of our own fellows and thank him for his unparalleled and ongoing contributions to raising the public's awareness of science."
Since covering the Moon landing half a century ago, Williams has witnessed mind-boggling scientific advances, but two things stand out: the growth of women in science and the decline in the broader community's scientific knowledge and critical thinking at a time when an unsourced Facebook post can triumph over peer-reviewed research published in a scientific journal.
"The rise of women in science has been extraordinary," he says.
"It keeps being blocked by the forces of darkness but the work that they do is, I think, often in lots of ways broader and more significant than the traditional sort of work of men.
"The other notable thing, which has been somewhat frustrating, is the proud ignorance of aspects of science.
"I tend to ask questions like: What did Henry Sutton do in Ballarat in 1885? He invented television. Who is the youngest person in history to win the Nobel Prize for science? William Lawrence Bragg, born in Adelaide, and the first person to have his broken arm x-rayed. Have you heard of Howard Florey? You only have to look at a $50 note — he invented penicillin and saved 400 million lives.
"Why don't people know this stuff and why it's important? I find it terrible that the support for science is not what it should be, which is why the figures in high schools for boys — the girls aren't so bad, they're doing quite well — but for boys, the performance in science, in all its formats, is not comparable to other countries in the OECD.
"In a program earlier this year on the book The Doubt Machine by Cecilia Tomori, I quoted the editor of the journal Science saying we've reached a new low in communication around the world.
"The standard has just collapsed and it's dreadful. There's a gigantic industry giving you uncertainty about truth because it's in their interests.
"And this is why I did the hoaxes all those years ago. If you listened carefully, there were clues, I left little hints that gave an indication there might be something tricky about this, that it shouldn't be taken seriously.
"[I'd like to do] a kind of Gogglebox in schools, based on critical thinking, where we ask students: What are you looking at [on TV]? Where did it come from? What does it mean? Is it bullshit? I'm hoping that will help disprove some of the crap."
Despite this disillusionment, Williams remains as enthusiastic as ever about producing his next show and there are no plans for retirement any time soon.
"There's always something coming up which I find most unusual, most exciting. I think it's wonderful."
