The Man of Steel reaches a milestone—and shows no sign of slowing down.
We live in an era when politicians seldom stay in our good graces for more than a few months, and sports figures are lucky if they hold their star status more than a season or two. All of which makes it remarkable that Superman has managed to not just survive but thrive for 75 years and counting.
How has he done it?
It starts with the wrenching story of his birth and the loss of his family, and his nurturing at the hands of a parade of young creators yearning for their own absent fathers. The first was Jerry Siegel, the youngest child of Lithuanian immigrants in Cleveland, Ohio, who was devastated when his dad died during a robbery in 1932. While there was no bringing back his father and role model, Siegel—who for years had been going to sleep with a pencil and paper by his side, waiting for just the right middle-of-the-night muse—finally did bring to life a hero who could run fast and jump high but also, as we see early on, fend off a robber. Who would publish this fanciful tale? How about Jack Liebowitz, a hardheaded comic-book entrepreneur whose dad died just after he was born and who needed a champion?
While many baby boomers discovered that costumed hero in the comics, even more got to know him when he hurtled onto their television screens in the 1950s. Whitney Ellsworth, the man who wrote, edited and produced nearly all of those shows, was just 14 when he lost his 45- year-old father to a heart attack. George Reeves, TV’s original Clark Kent and Superman, didn’t even know who his real father was until he was in his 20s. Who better to create the ultimate childhood fantasy figure than men whose childhoods were marred by tragedy?
Superman’s rivals, too, were more than they seemed, and more than just fantasy. Many were real-world menaces, which made the Superman stories timely and authentic. He stood up to Hitler and Stalin before America did. The Metropolis Marvel used his radio broadcast to expose the savagery of the Ku Klux Klan, and in comic books he frequently upended slumlords and wife-beaters.
Another key to his success is the way the Man of Tomorrow has evolved over the decades. The superhero never revealed how he voted, but during the Great Depression he was a New Dealer hell-bent on truth and justice and, in a reversal, during the Reagan Revolution he was a patriot trumpeting the American way. For each era he zeroed in on the threats that scared us most, using powers that grew or diminished depending on the need. So did his spectacles, hairstyle, even his job title. Each generation got the Superman it needed, the hero who checked its pulse and tapped into its dreams. Superman, always a beacon of light, remained a work in progress.
Yet if change helped him fit in, his constancy has reeled fans back. Nobody has a more instinctual sense of right and wrong than Superman. He sweeps in to solve our problems, no thank-you needed. He is neither cynical like Batman nor fraught like Spider-Man. For the religious, he can reinforce whatever faith they profess; for nonbelievers he is a secular messiah. The more jaded the era, the more we have been suckered back to his clunky familiarity. So what if the upshot of his adventures is predictable: The good guy never loses. That is reassuring.
So will he continue to thrive in this new millennium, and will we continue to be drawn to his story and to him?
Why wouldn’t we be? Heroes such as Doc Savage, Ty Cobb and even Teddy Roosevelt can become dated— interesting reflections of their eras but not ours. Others like Sherlock Holmes, Babe Ruth and Franklin Roosevelt still resonate, touching something primal. Superman defines that archetype. Part of it is the irresistible allure of taking flight. Part of it is the seduction of the love triangle and the hero’s secret identity. Part of it is just being 10 years old again.
The more that flesh-and-blood role models let us down, the more we turn to fictional ones who stay true. With them, and especially with Superman, it is about the possibility—of getting the girl, saving the world (or at least Lois and Jimmy) and winning, every time. Jerry Siegel— who couldn’t get the girl, save the world (or even his father) or make much of anything go his way—understood that he was us, and that his hero could be ours, too.
Superman will endure as long as we need a champion, which should be until the end of time.
Larry Tye is the author of Superman: The High-Flying History of America’s Most Enduring Hero.
Originally published in the October 2013 issue of American History. To subscribe, click here.
