Genesis Of The Superheroes
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by Arnold
T. Blumberg
We all need heroes. That was never more apparent than when
our illusions of American security were shattered on September 11, 2001 and
heroes emerged from all walks of life to rescue and rebuild in the wake of those
horrible events. For too long beforehand we seemed to be in the business of
deconstructing our heroes, dragging them down into the dirt and leaving them
behind as we trampled forward without them to guide and protect us. But we as
Americans and as human beings have now rediscovered the value of heroes, real
heroes, and we’re lucky that they bear no grudges. They’re back to help us
through once again – in fact, they never really left.
But what of the
fictional heroes that once meant so much to us? They never left either, and for
comic book fans, they have remained a potent vehicle for taking endless flights
of fantasy into the stratosphere. At a time like this, it behooves us to look
back at the dawn of an important heroic age – a time when our desperation and
imagination merged and the resulting chemical reaction produced a type of
character never before seen but inspired by generations of storytelling
stretching back to the days when men gathered around the campfires and spun
tales of adventure and allegory. It was the 1930s in the United States, and the
superhero was about to fly into view.
A LONG LINE OF HEROES
For as long as humans have shared stories and longed for a better
world, heroic characters have existed to symbolize and protect our highest
ideals. In the ancient world, Gilgamesh, perhaps the world’s first true
“superhero,” served as an icon of power and wisdom. Predating the epics of Homer
and the Bible itself, the tale of Gilgamesh, ruler of Uruk, chronicles the
adventures of the first god/hero or superhero and lays the groundwork for the
comic book superheroes millennia later by conferring divine abilities and
faculties onto a human being. The superheroes of today merely draw on the
mythical archetypes of the past, and Gilgamesh is the first and greatest of
these hybrid heroes, a human with a mortal father and a goddess
mother.
Many centuries later, Robin Hood (first referred to in the
writings of William Langland in 1377) offered a very different – but very
significant – twist on the notion of a hero, operating outside the law but
honoring a higher set of morals as he battled tyranny with his band of merry
men. His outlaw status is something we shall examine further in a moment, as
well as our tendency to envision him in a particular, consistent mode of dress.
While Robin did not maintain a “secret identity” per se, that concept would
enter the vernacular by 1903, when Baroness Orczy introduced the world to Sir
Percy Blakeney, also known as the Scarlet Pimpernel. Osten-sibly a perfect
English gentleman of means and morals, Blake-ney hid another face which he
donned to combat the forces of evil. This familiar device would become
commonplace soon enough, but it would take a special medium to provide the
fertile ground wherein all of these individual elements could germinate and
blossom into the prototype superheroes of the post-WWI era.
In the early
1900s, a strong sense of morality, instilled by generations of fiercely
religious communities fervently upholding their cherished ideals, began to give
way as the country witnessed the return of the battle-weary veterans of WWI.
Confronted with the most incredible horrors ever seen at that time, Americans
found themselves slowly inured to ugliness and evil, and a tougher sense of
justice replaced the old morality.
Street-wise, city-bred kids growing
up on US streets in the 1910s and ’20s wanted some-thing more potent than the
arrested adventures of previous fantasy characters. They wanted action, a quick
and dirty solution to the hardships of the time, and a more honest depiction of
the terrors that lurked around every corner. The Roaring Twenties brought with
them a new education in the power of evil and the profit in crime. The horrors
of war were all too vividly remembered; gangsters defied Prohibition by running
liquor under the noses of the federal authorities; a booming stock market and a
runaway economy led to a wanton hedonism that spread across the nation’s
burgeoning urban centers with abandon. The New Immorality kicked the door wide
open for a different kind of medium with a rough-hewn sort of hero. The pulps
were born.
PULP FICTION
Today, many believe that
the pulps were the predecessors of the comic books of the 1930s and beyond, but
the two storytelling forms existed side by side for many years. The blending of
the two is the crux of our exploration, but at this point, the pulps were a
unique entity unto themselves, depicting adventure, violence, racial intolerance
and misogyny in equal measure. The detective stories that were in vogue years
before gave way to heroes who plied their trade in the seedy back alleys of the
early American cities, mingling with the very sordid types they fought in an
effort to make the streets safe for law-abiding citizens. Many of these
so-called heroes were actually thieves and swindlers who disguised themselves as
wealthy men and infiltrated the upper classes to steal from corrupt millionaires
and outwit the forces of “good.” In a clever reversal of the formula, these
rogue heroes resembled that crusading Robin and his merry band, and their
adventures certainly inspired the heroes that followed a decade or so
later.
While the heroes of the pulps and the rogue offshoots represented
aspects of the superheroic world to come, there is little doubt who might have
served as the single most important template for all that was to follow. As
heroes traded in their fedoras and six-shooters for masks and capes, writer
Frank Lucius Packard conceived a costumed crime fighter who would infiltrate the
ranks of the underworld to overthrow the plans of evildoers. The Adventures of
Jimmie Dale, first appearing in novel form in 1917 though serialized years
earlier, followed the adventures of Dale’s alter ego, The Gray Seal, and offered
a blueprint for superhero success.
While not possessing the superhuman
powers once seen in the mythological epics of old, The Gray Seal did maintain a
secret identity and even a hideout known as “Sanctuary,” a clear precursor to
the Fortress of Solitude favored by pulp star Doc Savage (and later a certain
Kryptonian immigrant), the Sandman’s hidden lab and, of course, the legendary
Batcave. The Gray Seal was a direct ancestor of Bruce Wayne’s shadowy persona in
many ways, utilizing his trademark facility with disguise to defeat an
ever-expanding rogues’ gallery of colorful villains. Add a dash of Zorro to the
mix, with his millionaire resources and recurring iconography, and you have the
Dark Knight himself.
And the march of heroes continued. As the protean
comic books focused on cartoonish characters and light-hearted tales, the pulps
generated excitement with a never-ending parade of illustrious adventurers all
jockeying for their moment in the spotlight. Lester Dent crafted the
“grandfather” of the superheroes in Doc Savage, whose gadget-filled,
globe-trotting adventures set the groundwork for decades of stories to come.
Grant Stockbridge’s Spider, another playboy turned vigilante meted out a
vicious, bloodthirsty justice with his wits and twin .45 pistols. Curtis Steele
sent Jimmy Christopher, AKA Operator #5, on assignments that culminated in a
pre-superhero epic dubbed “The Purple Invasion Saga,” heralding the massive
super-story arcs of the future.
The jungle lord Tarzan swung onto the
newspaper pages in 1929 from the pages of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ novel. Hal
Foster, later the creator of Prince Valiant, lent Tarzan’s adventures a
realistic tone. A new decade arrived, bringing with it a radio show that, in
1930, marked the debut of “The Shadow!” William Gibson wrote the first Shadow
tales in pulp form, describing the fearsome foe of crime as a master of disguise
with two .45s ever at the ready (shades of the Spider).
The superhero
era was still a decade away, but pulp heroes and adventurers like The Gray Seal,
Zorro and the Scarlet Pimpernel exhibited many of the familiar aspects of the
archetypal superhero, pushing the boundaries of fantasy by adopting costumed
identities and battling criminals with style. No one had ever seen their like
before, but there was still an infusion of power, of raw energy, lacking in
these early characters. Before the superhero would be born, pulps would blend
together with their comic book cousins, and the divine spark of the mythological
heroes would lift their pulp descendents to loftier heights, up to the clear
blue skies where a real, living hero named Charles Lindbergh was waiting to
bring about the dawn of a new era in fantasy and reality. It was time to
fly.
PARALLELITIES
In such a troubled time,
parents must have wondered who their children could look up to, only to have the
answer zip out of the clouds as kids of all ages craned their necks to catch a
glimpse of their new hero. By the time their eyes turned earthward again, their
world had changed. Newspapers, radio, film – all media were consumed with
flying, the men who dared the skies and the airplanes that took them there. And
with the arrival of a real-world hero who could reach the lofty heights and
inspire children to dream, the fictional heroes of the pulps and comics took to
their planes and braved the air currents as well. What else could they do? A
“normal” human being had bested them at their own game.
Even Dick Tracy,
an unlikely choice for a pilot, leapt into the cockpit for a while as fantasy
characters and their eager creators desperately tried to cash in on the airplane
craze. Where the heroes of the pulps offered a distraction from a world weighed
down with fear and anxiety, along with the reassurance that justice would
inevitably prevail, the high-flying heroes of the ’30s and ’40s provided a
potent escape from those concerns, a chance to utterly ignore the pull of
gravity and soar to a happier, more exciting world. These adventurers enthralled
their youthful readers, whether they were truly young or merely young at heart,
and delighted a generation desperate to turn away from the worsening world
situation threatening to engulf them. Children dreamed of flying like Lindbergh,
piloting a gleaming plane and finding the answers to all of life’s problems, and
the flying heroes had those answers. Their escapades not only entertained but
inspired the next generation of creators, some of whom would take the next
logical step – eliminate the airplane – ironically bringing about the end of
their own heroes’ reign.
But to do that, the worlds of the pulps and
the comics would have to merge. The pulps had been restrained for years, unable
to expand distribution due to resistance to their flagrant flaunting of the New
Immorality. The “Bible” mentality still guided the newspaper syndicates, and
most importantly the advertisers, both in print and on radio. They were enjoying
a boom in interest thanks to the cartoon characters who were perceived by many
adult purchasers of the newspapers as free “extras” to entertain their children
(and themselves as well).
While the newspapers and the cartoons enjoyed
such success, the comic book reprint giant Cupples & Leon was sinking fast.
While C&L faltered, George Delecorte Sr., owner of Dell, and George Janosik
in some form of partnership with Eastern Color tried out his innovative The
Funnies in 1929 thru 1930. David McKay began issuing slightly slicker looking
Mickey Mouse and Popeye editions. However, a looming question had arisen in the
early 1930s.
Why should anyone spend a quarter on 52 pages of black &
white funnies which they could get in the paper for free and in color on Sunday?
At Eastern Color, Harry Wildenberg, general sales manager responsible for
keeping the printing presses printing, along with his ace team of salesmen Max
“Charlie” Gaines and Lev Gleason, the latter two to become major comics
publishers in their own right in a few years following a few years of
experimentation, found a major answer in the summer of 1934 by introducing eager
young readers to its 10 cent 68 page Famous Funnies.
The growing number
of comic book reprint titles could not be supported by the amount of existing
newspaper comic strip inventory – and besides, the best material was being
handled by each syndicate themselves with King, Popular and Tip Top Comics. This
forced a growing number of early comics publishers to acquire original material,
albeit at only $5 for finished pages in the early days, which is what publishers
generally paid to secure the cartoon characters from the papers.
Two
parallel forms found their point of convergence. As the notion of independently
sold comic books took hold and grew throughout the 1930s, the pulps moved in for
the kill, converting much of their material to comic book form after the
Depression and its aftermath had left yet another door wide
open.
SELLING A DREAM
“In olden days, a glimpse
of stocking was looked on as something shocking, but now, God knows, anything
goes,” sang Cole Porter in 1934. Times had indeed changed, as had the pulps, and
now they were freed from their restrictive moral prison. All of the elements
introduced in decades of heroic tales blended into one, and the genesis of the
superheroes was nearly complete. There is one factor left to consider, however –
merchandising.
The explosion of character toys between the 1900s and the
1930s was no accident. Savvy marketers had an established path to travel in the
years after the debut of The Brownies. Along with other early comic characters,
their creation can rightfully be considered a watershed event in pop culture, as
it linked comic characters and merchandising.
There was at the time a
small but eager number of entrepreneurs hungry for the opportunity to turn
characters that previously existed only on paper into three-dimensional products
made of plastic, balsa wood, celluloid, metal and other materials. They
understood that if a character worked in one medium, such as pulps, that
character could also work on radio or films or comics, and a character that was
used to sell cereal could also sell bread or milk. Whether it was The Shadow,
Mickey Mouse or some other character, by the time such a creation first appeared
to the public, some businessman was eager to produce the toy rings, yo-yos,
dolls, decoders, and hundreds of other types of toys based upon it, looking for
that one special item that would hit the big time. For these enterprising
individuals, there could be no better character to exploit to its fullest
marketing potential than the superheroes who were now, finally, about to appear
on the scene.
A SUPERHERO ARRIVES
1938 saw the
arrival of costumed heroes to the comic book pages. In Ace Comics #11, published
in February, the Phantom – created by Lee Falk – appeared for the first time
(not yet in purple togs, but in a brown outfit). Debuting two years earlier in
the newspapers, the Phantom fought evil in much the same way as Zorro and The
Gray Seal before him. He was human, but possessed of enhanced abilities and
unwavering bravery. He was a masked hero that still lacked that one magic
spark…and, of course, the ability to fly. In June 1938, two young men provided
that spark, bringing their vision of a super-powerful guardian of justice and
morality to the pages of Action Comics #1. Is it any wonder that this strange
visitor from another planet arrived by hurtling through the air in a rocket,
faster than any airplane could or would travel?
Superman was introduced
to the world that day, and in the months and years to come, he would be joined
by an ever-growing universe of superheroes, each more colorful and inventive
than the last, each offering readers both young and old for generations to come
the chance to slip those surly
bonds and join their favorite heroes in
the skies. And so the children flew. They were primed for it in 1938, inundated
with the very notion of Superman, and ready to fuel his career and his
accompanying merchandising empire.
As America marched inexorably toward
war, superheroes burst onto the landscape in a plethora of guises, just as so
many had copied Lindbergh and his image of heroism years before. The Superman
juggernaut carried children (and adults) ever farther from the woes of reality
into a fantasy that was too enticing to ignore…until reality asserted itself
once more. 1941 brought terror into the hearts of Americans, and anger as well –
an anger that even a Superman could not defeat.
But then too,
superheroes served their purpose. It was as if they were created just in time to
perform a most important duty, to shore up our nation’s flagging confidence, to
fire our patriotic fervor and inspire children to believe in freedom and
justice. Soon, superheroes and super-teams – favorite heroes banding together
for a common cause (and a tidy profit) – would turn their efforts to fighting
the Axis forces both at home and abroad. The superheroes grounded us in reality
even as they carried us to the skies, the ultimate wish fulfillment in a time of
need, the greatest catharsis in a time of sorrow and fear. By the close of the
war, Americans would seek to bury their memories of war, turning their
attentions and their clocks back to a frontier long since forgotten. The
superhero would be swept away in favor of the cowboy and his trusty steed, and
the country would force itself back down to earth once again.
But that
was still to come. For now, the superhero was here to stay, bolstered by war
into an icon of unimaginable power. When the need was so great, the desire so
profound, we reached up into the skies and brought down heroes capable of
defending us. Then we let them catch the wind and fly once more, beckoning us to
join them as they soared higher than Lindbergh ever dreamed.
and the divine
spark of the mythological heroes would lift their pulp descendents to loftier
heights, up to the clear blue skies where a real, living hero named Charles
Lindbergh was waiting to bring about the dawn of a new era in fantasy and
reality. It was time to fly.<br><br><br><br><b>PARALLELITIES </b><br><br> In
such a troubled time, parents must have wondered who their children could look
up to, only to have the answer zip out of the clouds as kids of all ages craned
their necks to catch a glimpse of their new hero. By the time their eyes turned
earthward again, their world had changed. Newspapers, radio, film - all media
were consumed with flying, the men who dared the skies and the airplanes that
took them there. And with the arrival of a real-world hero who could reach the
lofty heights and inspire children to dream, the fictional heroes of the pulps
and comics took to their planes and braved the air currents as well. What else
could they do? A “normal” human being had bested them at their own
game.<br><br> Even Dick Tracy, an unlikely choice for a pilot, leapt into the
cockpit for a while as fantasy characters and their eager creators desperately
tried to cash in on the airplane craze. Where the heroes of the pulps offered a
distraction from a world weighed down with fear and anxiety, along with the
reassurance that justice would inevitably prevail, the high-flying heroes of the
’30s and ’40s provided a potent escape from those concerns, a chance to utterly
ignore the pull of gravity and soar to a happier, more exciting world. These
adventurers enthralled their youthful readers, whether they were truly young or
merely young at heart, and delighted a generation desperate to turn away from
the worsening world situation threatening to engulf them. Children dreamed of
flying like Lindbergh, piloting a gleaming plane and finding the answers to all
of life’s problems, and the flying heroes had those answers. Their escapades not
only entertained but inspired the next generation of creators, some of whom
would take the next logical step - eliminate the airplane - ironically bringing
about the end of their own heroes’ reign. <br><br> But to do that, the worlds of
the pulps and the comics would have to merge. The pulps had been restrained for
years, unable to expand distribution due to resistance to their flagrant
flaunting of the New Immorality. The “Bible” mentality still guided
the newspaper syndicates, and most importantly the advertisers, both in print
and on radio. They were enjoying a boom in interest thanks to the cartoon
characters who were perceived by many adult purchasers of the newspapers as free
“extras” to entertain their children (and themselves as well).
<br><br> While the newspapers and the cartoons enjoyed such success, the comic
book reprint giant Cupples & Leon was sinking fast. While C&L faltered,
George Delecorte Sr., owner of Dell, and George Janosik in some form of
partnership with Eastern Color tried out his innovative The Funnies in 1929 thru
1930. David McKay began issuing slightly slicker looking Mickey Mouse and Popeye
editions. However, a looming question had arisen in the early 1930s.<br><br>Why
should anyone spend a quarter on 52 pages of black & white funnies which
they could get in the paper for free and in color on Sunday? At Eastern Color,
Harry Wildenberg, general sales manager responsible for keeping the printing
presses printing, along with his ace team of salesmen Max ”Charlie” Gaines and
Lev Gleason, the latter two to become major comics publishers in their own right
in a few years following a few years of experimentation, found a major answer in
the summer of 1934 by introducing eager young readers to its 10 cent 68 page
Famous Funnies.<br><br> The growing number of comic book reprint titles could
not be supported by the amount of existing newspaper comic strip inventory - and
besides, the best material was being handled by each syndicate themselves with
King, Popular and Tip Top Comics. This forced a growing number of early comics
publishers to acquire original material, albeit at only $5 for finished pages in
the early days, which is what publishers generally paid to secure the cartoon
characters from the papers.<br><br> Two parallel forms found their point of
convergence. As the notion of independently sold comic books took hold and grew
throughout the 1930s, the pulps moved in for the kill, converting much of their
material to comic book form after the Depression and its aftermath had left yet
another door wide open.<br><br><br><br><b>SELLING A DREAM </b><br><br> “In
olden days, a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking, but now,
God knows, anything goes,” sang Cole Porter in 1934. Times had indeed
changed, as had the pulps, and now they were freed from their restrictive moral
prison. All of the elements introduced in decades of heroic tales blended into
one, and the genesis of the superheroes was nearly complete. There is one factor
left to consider, however - merchandising.<br><br> The explosion of character
toys between the 1900s and the 1930s was no accident. Savvy marketers had an
established path to travel in the years after the debut of The Brownies. Along
with other early comic characters, their creation can rightfully be considered a
watershed event in pop culture, as it linked comic characters and merchandising.
<br><br> There was at the time a small but eager number of entrepreneurs hungry
for the opportunity to turn characters that previously existed only on paper
into three-dimensional products made of plastic, balsa wood, celluloid, metal
and other materials. They understood that if a character worked in one medium,
such as pulps, that character could also work on radio or films or comics, and a
character that was used to sell cereal could also sell bread or milk. Whether it
was The Shadow, Mickey Mouse or some other character, by the time such a
creation first appeared to the public, some businessman was eager to produce the
toy rings, yo-yos, dolls, decoders, and hundreds of other types of toys based
upon it, looking for that one special item that would hit the big time. For
these enterprising individuals, there could be no better character to exploit to
its fullest marketing potential than the superheroes who were now, finally,
about to appear on the scene.<br><br><br><br><b>A SUPERHERO ARRIVES
</b><br><br> 1938 saw the arrival of costumed heroes to the comic book pages. In
Ace Comics #11, published in February, the Phantom - created by Lee Falk -
appeared for the first time (not yet in purple togs, but in a brown outfit).
Debuting two years earlier in the newspapers, the Phantom fought evil in much
the same way as Zorro and The Gray Seal before him. He was human, but possessed
of enhanced abilities and unwavering bravery. He was a masked hero that still
lacked that one magic spark...and, of course, the ability to fly. In June 1938,
two young men provided that spark, bringing their vision of a super-powerful
guardian of justice and morality to the pages of Action Comics #1. Is it any
wonder that this strange visitor from another planet arrived by hurtling through
the air in a rocket, faster than any airplane could or would
travel?<br><br> Superman was introduced to the world that day, and in the months
and years to come, he would be joined by an ever-growing universe of
superheroes, each more colorful and inventive than the last, each offering
readers both young and old for generations to come the chance to slip those
surly <br><br>bonds and join their favorite heroes in the skies. And so the
children flew. They were primed for it in 1938, inundated with the very notion
of Superman, and ready to fuel his career and his accompanying merchandising
empire. <br><br> As America marched inexorably toward war, superheroes burst
onto the landscape in a plethora of guises, just as so many had copied Lindbergh
and his image of heroism years before. The Superman juggernaut carried children
(and adults) ever farther from the woes of reality into a fantasy that was too
enticing to ignore...until reality asserted itself once more. 1941 brought
terror into the hearts of Americans, and anger as well - an anger that even a
Superman could not defeat. <br><br> But then too, superheroes served their
purpose. It was as if they were created just in time to perform a most important
duty, to shore up our nation’s flagging confidence, to fire our patriotic fervor
and inspire children to believe in freedom and justice. Soon, superheroes and
super-teams - favorite heroes banding together for a common cause (and a tidy
profit) - would turn their efforts to fighting the Axis forces both at home and
abroad. The superheroes grounded us in reality even as they carried us to the
skies, the ultimate wish fulfillment in a time of need, the greatest catharsis
in a time of sorrow and fear. By the close of the war, Americans would seek to
bury their memories of war, turning their attentions and their clocks back to a
frontier long since forgotten. The superhero would be swept away in favor of the
cowboy and his trusty steed, and the country would force itself back down to
earth once again. <br><br> But that was still to come. For now, the superhero
was here to stay, bolstered by war into an icon of unimaginable power. When the
need was so great, the desire so profound, we reached up into the skies and
brought down heroes capable of defending us. Then we let them catch the wind and
fly once more, beckoning us