Richard Hatch dies of pancreatic cancer, age 71.
As a teenager in the late seventies, someone that loved to read anything from Bram Stoker to Heinlein, Battlestar Galactica was a big deal. It’s broad & sweeping glory, for the time, captured the imagination of so many. It’s characters, played by wonderful actors in the melodramatic way common to the period were something to behold. Hatch’s character, Captain Apollo, was a role model & the actor was indeed a paragon of everything that was cool in America in the seventies. The feathered, generous hair & athletic bravado. Handsome, indeed, to the ugly duckling that was me.
When you’re a kid, these things are important. Television was important, stories were important. At least, they were to me. The latest music wasn’t my life. The Beatles didn’t do it for me. After a day of my childhood, I might have turned on my transistor radio to listen to Led Zeppelin or whoever was playing; but it was my immersion before sleep in the stories of the time & the TV dramas that defined the culture to which I adhered. Of course, I wasn’t necessarily athletic myself, unless one counts swimming. So, for me it was TV, books, rock music & whatever puppy love balderdash that happened to be cooking in my stupid little head.
Among all these little boyhood nothings, Richard Hatch was firmly in place as one of my ongoing icons. I will miss being on the same planet with this man. Whoever he truly was, he was A okay with me. He’s headed to the stars now. Infinity receives another occupant.
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