A Super Man

Originally published March 1, 1996, in Comics Buyer’s Guide #1163

John Adams died on July 4, 1826. There was an irony over his passing on Independence Day. The further irony was his last words: “Thomas Jefferson still survives.” What he did not know was that Jefferson died the same day—under the impression that Adams was still alive.

I doubt that Burne Hogarth or Jerry Siegel died with each other’s names on their lips. Nevertheless, there is a certain “double whammy” feeling when two of this industry’s “forefathers” pass away on the exact same day. One is upsetting; two becomes numbing.

I can’t claim to know Hogarth personally, never having had the opportunity or honor to meet him. Siegel, however, I met once, and it was a memorable moment.

It was at a San Diego Comic-Con, many years ago. I was still working for Marvel in the sales division, as a matter of fact. It was still fairly early in my career in comics, and was constantly in need of reining in my fannish instincts. Because, you see, I was encountering all sorts of people whose work I had admired for many years, and I constantly had to repress my urge to say, “Would you sign this? Could I get your autograph?”

I had to work with these folks, and somehow I just didn’t think that it would be a particularly cool thing to do, reverting to autograph hound at a moment’s notice.

I was walking around, taking a break from promoting upcoming Marvel titles, and I happened to cruise past the DC table. And seated there was Jerry Siegel.

He was chatting with a few fans, but otherwise there was no autograph line to speak of.

I couldn’t believe it. This was Jerry Siegel, co-creator of Superman. While fans were lumped into lengthy lines, waiting for the flavor of the month to sign a comic book, this was one of the two guys upon whose shoulders the industry had been built.

And hardly any line.

I felt it important not to be in fan geek mode, particularly at a major industry gathering such as the SDCC.

But it was Jerry Siegel.

I edged over, trying to make sure that no one was watching me. I grabbed up some sort of promotional comic book that DC was giving out and thrust it to him. I acted no differently than I’m sure many of you have acted in such situations: I blathered something about it being an honor to meet him and gushed and got him to sign the comic book and shook his hand, and then walked away and wondered just how big a jerk I’d made of myself.

I went back to the Marvel table, looking at the comic. Walt and Louise Simonson were also at the Marvel table. (Might still have been Louise Jones at the time, I’m not sure. There was a while there when Weezie was considering doing some conventions as Louise Jones and others as Louise Simonson, and bad mouthing herself at each of the conventions. You know—she’d be there as Louise Simonson, writer, complaining about that cretinous editor, Louise Jones, and vice versa. I don’t think she ever got around to it. But I digress…)

Anyway, it was eagle-eyed Weezie, I believe, who spotted the signature and said, “Whose autograph did you get?”

Well, I figured that was that. My fanboy faux pas of copping an autograph—particularly an autograph from the rival DC table—was now going to be common knowledge.

“Jerry Siegel,” I admitted.

Their eyes widened.

“Jerry Siegel is here?” Louise gushed.

“Where? Where is he?” Walt asked, already halfway to his feet.

“Over there, at the DC table,” I said, pointing.

“Come on, let’s go!” said Weezie eagerly, and they grabbed their program books and bolted over to the DC table to get Jerry Siegel’s autograph.

This made me feel a hëll of a lot better, because if seasoned veterans like Walt and Weezie could go into autograph-hunter mode, then my own behavior was pardonable.

It was all about perception, really.

It puts me in mind of how Superman was perceived. Actually, what puts me in mind of it is a phone call I got from a reporter for a Jewish publication. Upon Siegel’s demise, the reporter called and wanted to find out from me—well, I don’t know what he wanted to find out. I wasn’t home when he called. I returned his call, but he never phoned me back.

I figure that what he wanted to know was my thoughts from a Jewish perspective, what with Jerry Siegel being Jewish and all (something I’d never given any thought to, really. I’d just thought of him as Superman’s co-creator, and his religious habits had simply never crept into my considerations.)

Although the reporter never called back, it got me to thinking—thinking about any possible Jewish perspective or point of view that might be reflected in Superman.

I’ve always considered Superman to be the perfect example of teenaged wish fulfillment. The teens are a miserable time, when one is desperately trying to gain control over a world that denies it to him. (Not that it gets any better as an adult, but adolescence is the first real introduction one has to the ongoing struggle for power.)

Superman was a symbol of control. In the beginning, his powers were much more modest: able to leap 1/8 of a mile; nothing less than a bursting shell could penetrate his skin. As the world became more complex, his powers grew proportionately.

But it’s not just teens who feel a lack of power. Few times in the history of mankind were Jews, as a race, disenfranchised as they were by Nazi Germany—deprived of property, family, livelihood, human dignity and, finally, human life. It was from this period of ultimate insult to the Jewish race that Superman was born.

I’m not saying that the character burst forward as a result of Jewish pride. I’m not saying that Superman was an answer to every indignity, every slur, every dirt done to every Jew throughout history—or even to the Jewish Siegel during his to-that-point-short lifetime. I’m not saying that because I simply don’t know. Superman could be a fictional testament to an entire race seeking empowerment. He could be the incarnation of teenage desire for control. Or he just could have been a really neat idea. I don’t know. And since Siegel is gone, I’ll never have the opportunity to ask him.

But here’s the interesting thing.

In the early 1950s, Frederic Wertham—in his infamous Seduction of the Innocent—held Superman up as the incarnation of (get this) Nazism.

Yes, that’s right. Wertham considered Superman to be representative of totalitarianism and oppression. For example (page 381): “Television has taken the worst out of comic books, from sadism to Superman. The comic book Superman has long been recognized as a symbol of violent race superiority. The television Superman, looking like a mixture of an operatic tenor without his armor and an amateur athlete out of a health magazine advertisement, does not only have ‘superhuman powers,’ but explicitly belongs to a ‘super-race.'”

He picked up on the control vibe endemic to the character, but because he viewed everything through the distorted lens of his comics hatred, he saw it as an inherently negative thing. Wertham didn’t buy into the concept of teenage angst incarnated as a can’t-fail do-gooder. Nor did he perceive any symbolism of a downtrodden race striving for control over its life.

Instead what he saw was a symbol of strength that was 100% threat. It didn’t matter that Superman was a do-gooder. It was irrelevant that he used his powers for truth, justice, and—well, you know. Wertham believed that simply because the potential for misuse was there, Superman was inherently a negative role model. Taking that reasoning to its logic conclusion, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams—as presidents—could potentially have misused their power and, consequently, could be considered negative role models.

So I find it ironic that a young Jewish boy helped create a character who—barely a decade later—was equated with the most hated and destructive enemy of the Jewish people in this century.

I would have liked to know Siegel’s views on that, as well.

If we learn anything from Siegel’s life, it’s that perception is sometimes more overwhelming than any intention. DC saw Superman as a cash cow. Wertham saw Superman as the enemy of young minds. And Siegel and Shuster saw him as—well—however they saw him.

Perception can elevate you to heights of praise, or it can toss you down into a pit of blame and vituperation. Anything is possible.

Then again, when it comes to Superman, I think we knew that already.

(Peter David, writer of stuff, can be written to at Second Age, Inc., PO Box 239, Bayport, NY 11705. He finds it amusing that in Forrest Gump, Gary Sinise as Lieutenant Dan Taylor tells Tom Hanks, “If you’re ever a shrimp boat captain, that’s the day I’m an astronaut.” Well, Hanks became a shrimp boat captain, and the very next movie they were in together, Sinise was an astronaut.)