David Attenborough joined the BBC’s fledgling television service in 1952, fronting Zoo Quest, the breakthrough wildlife series that established the international reputation of the BBC Natural History Unit at Bristol. The first of these, Zoo Quest for a Dragon, established Attenborough as an intuitive performer, so prepossessed by his fascination with the subject at hand and unconcerned for his own dignity in front of the camera that he seemed to sweat integrity. A sense of daring has always surrounded him with a glamorous aura: even in this early outing, the massive Komodo dragon, object of the quest through Borneo, looked as ferocious as its name portends, and Attenborough’s presence seemed to prove not only the reality and size of his specimens but a kind of guarantee that we too, as viewers, were part of this far-flung scientific endeavor, the last credible adventure in the period that witnessed the demise of the British Empire. Moreover, Zoo Quest engaged, albeit in an entertainment format, a far higher level of scientific seriousness than more child-oriented and anthropomorphic competitors from Europe and the United States. Perhaps only Jacques Cousteau was so resistant to the temptation of cuteness.

Despite this rare skill, shared only by a handful of his fellow scientists (mainly in weather reporting), Attenborough was promoted to senior management at the BBC, where he served for 15 years. As controller of BBC 2, he oversaw (and introduced on screen) the arrival of color on British screens on July 1, 1967, and is credited with turning BBC 2 around from an elite ghetto to an attractive, varied, and increasingly popular alternative to the main channels. His skill as scheduler was evidenced in the “common junctions” scheduling policy, which allowed announcers on the two BBC channels to introduce a choice of viewing, a practice that opened the corporation up to charges of un fair advantage from the commercial broadcasters and contributed indirectly to the pressure for a fourth, commercial channel. Attenborough introduced popular sports like snooker as well as The Forsyte Saga, and he pioneered the blockbuster, personality-presenter documentaries like Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation, Jacob Bronowski’s The Ascent of Man, Alistair Cooke’s America, J.K. Galbraith’s The Age of Uncertainty, and his own Life on Earth. Common to these expensive— and to that extent, risky—projects was a faith in television as a medium for quite complex historical, cultural, and scientific ideas. Even those series that were less popular achieved the talismanic status of the kind of programs license fees should be used to make. Promoted to deputy controller of programs for the whole network, third in the BBC’s hierarchy, he was hotly tipped for the post of director general but abandoned management because, he said, “I haven’t even seen the Galapagos Islands.” However, he continued to speak passionately in defense of the public service ethos in many public forums.

Life on Earth, for which over 1.25 million feet of film were exposed in over 30 countries, subsequently sold in 100 territories and was seen by an estimated 500 million people worldwide. Though he has always claimed modestly that photographing animals will always bring in an audience, the accumulated skills of naturalists and wildlife cinematographers, as well as enormous planning, are required to reach remote places just in time for the great wildebeest migration, the laying of turtle eggs, or the blooming of desert cacti, scenes that have achieved almost mythic status in the popular history of British television. The multimillion pound sequels to Life, The Living Planet and The Trials of Life, the former concentrating on environments and ecologies, created, through a blend of accessible scholarship and schoolboyish enthusiasm, the archetypal middlebrow mix of entertainment and education that marked the public service ethos of the mature BBC. Throughout the trilogy, the developing techniques of nature photography, allied with a sensitive use of computer-generated simulations, produced a spectacular intellectual montage, driven by the desire to communicate scientific theories as well as a sense of awe in the face of natural complexity and diversity. Though it is possible to be irritated by the lack of concern for the human populations of exotic countries, symbolized by the absence of local musics from the soundtrack, Attenborough’s combination of charm and amazement has been profoundly influential on a generation of ecologically aware viewers.

The Private Life of Plants, devoted to the evolution and adaptation of flora worldwide, was another spectacular success in the old mold. It has been followed by further focused series on The Life of Birds, The Life of Mammals, and the scientific and aesthetic triumph of The Blue Planet. From dangling in the rainforest canopy to revealing unseen wonders of the deep oceans, Attenborough, now in his 70s, retains his drawing power and credibility. 2000’s State of the Planet summarized a generation’s ecological commitment. Approaching 80, the age he has announced for his retirement, Sir David is said to be preparing another blockbuster on the Life of Insects. Honored by the academy, respected by his peers, and loved by audiences, Attenborough’s imminent retirement leaves the BBC with a major problem in finding a replacement. Competitors have largely dispensed with on-screen presentation. Attenborough may be not only the first but the last of a disappearing species.