Heroes of the Golden Age

By Andrew Colman

The first super-hero age in comics was a triumph of circumstance and timing, a cultural behemoth just waiting to emerge that gained prominence so rapidly that it was immediately accepted by all with virtually no backlash (that as it turned out would rear its head a decade later). Despite the revolutionary aspect of super-hero comics’ Golden Age, the characters that appeared in the new genre’s original episodes instantly became figures of stability and safe familiarity, rather than change. However the heroes that continued after that era proved to be the exception rather than the rule after the late ‘40s cull of those legions of super-imitators that rode on Superman’s coat-tails. Those that managed to retain their own titles some seventy years later are, needless to say, distant cousins of their wholesome, indomitable former selves, who were of course avatars of American might, justice and survivalism. Even Superman and Wonder Woman have fallen prey to regular reboots and overhauls, along with the early ‘80s dictum that all super-powered beings must be imbued with cynical arrogance, and exist in a gritty, value-less, midnight milieu filled with murderous lowlife and bureaucratic ruthlessness.

Which brings us back to the Golden Age itself, a now wondrously archaic yet classic period containing rafts of forgotten characters who never transcended their lacklustre premises or origins, or who fell prey to company politics. In recent months several second tier characters, such as Fox’s Samson, Nedor’s Black Terror, and Gleason’s Daredevil have been resurrected by Jim Krueger and Alex Ross for Project Superpowers, an imprint which focusses on bringing back timelocked, copyright-free super-heroes from such defunct publishers. Plus AC Comics have brought back another pulp/Golden Age hero, the Green Lama. Could this be a beginning of a sea-change in super-hero comics, introducing a shift to a lighter, more comical form of storytelling? These characters, still well-known by aficionados and serious collectors, represent (despite the inevitable refits) the distinct oddness, anarchic, pulpish grandeur and most importantly fun to be found in that bygone, hothouse era. Not to mention the focal point of a generation of kids who had yet to be entranced by television.

As cultural commentators would point out, super-heroes were very much part of the continuity of Homeric romanticism, and civilization’s unconscious need for heroes–the burgeoning, upstart country that was America in 1937 had its folklore, but few, if any, myths. Ironically, as it turned out, it was a group of callow Jewish outsiders who would provide them for the country’s children–kids producing super-hero comics for kids. Of course, such academic concerns were merely grist to the pragmatism of publishers and the factory-like studios they controlled.

The super-heroes that were created under such deregulated, workhouse conditions were borne of expedience and the need to shift units, which meant that many of these characters and their titles were considerably less pure and flawless than they were to become in the 1950s and 1960s. Such super-patriots as Captain America, The Shield, The Fighting Yank, American Eagle or Major Victory were, due to the need of publishers to tow the line in America’s war effort, regularly battling caricatured creatures that vaguely resembled enemy soldiers. Alex Schomburg, the Pieter Brueghel of Golden Age artists, frequently dazzled the reader in Marvel Mystery Comics with intensely drawn covers showing Cap savagely beating (or even shooting) yellow, buck-toothed, dwarfish Japanese or absurdly square-jawed Germans. Bill Everett delineated a gigantic Sub-Mariner about to destroy New York on one of his covers. And Carl Burgos’s Human Torch was unafraid to burn his foes, something his Silver Age counterpart would never have done. Not to mention MLJ’s The Hangman and Shield-Wizard Comics often depicting scenes of gratuitous gore in their splash pages that all but pre-figured the pre-code horror books of a decade later.

Of course, there were many Golden Age super-heroes who embodied all-American values, not least the first and most significant of such characters, Superman. Despite his alien origins he was the late ’30s ideal, a bold, brash figure that both transcended and borrowed from all previous adventure heroes, universal in his appeal, regardless of his title’s innate simplicity and lack of sophistication. Plus he was also human in his guise as Clark Kent, lending him a weakness with which the powerless reader could identify. It is more than likely that anti-heroes such as the brazenly megalomaniacal Sub-Mariner were created as an antidote to such an epoch of escape or revenge fantasy. In any case, as a template for nearly all future four-color superbeings, Superman was unassailable–he had a secret identity (even though his heroic side did not wear the mask), a backstory ripe for constant refitting and tinkering, and a suitably patriotic costume. And of equal significance, a supporting cast of archetypal characters, including a love interest who, despite her apparent intelligence, couldn’t spot that her colleague was more than he seemed. This formula continued well into the Silver Age, including Marvel’s super-hero titles. It wasn’t merely happenstance that kick-started the super-hero age–here was a character that satisfied a need and defined the zeitgeist. He was all-powerful, administered rough justice, but never abused his power. Such noble individualism was a great panacea for a country approaching imminent conflict.

Of equal if not more importance to the children handing over their dimes at the street-corner newstand were the stories, drawn, in Superman’s case, quite capably by Joe Shuster, whose draughtsmanship owed at least a little to superior illustrators such as Hal Foster. Not that Supes’ readership demanded quality, but knockabout action, the dispatching of America’s foes, feats of strength, and plot-driven stories, even if they (heaven forfend) lacked continuity and featured too much of that meddlesome Lois Lane. And the war, when it serendipitously kicked off, provided believable enemies for such an ubermensch, pitting him against tanks, bombers, U boats and Axis spies.

After Superman’s first appearance in 1938 the inevitable bandwagon started, as other publishers sprang up overnight or switched demographics as they jostled for a piece of the new action. Remarkably, the first of these actually outsold Superman throughout the 1940s. Fawcett’s Captain Marvel stole a march on his competitor with a much more lightweight, down to earth approach that was unapologetically aimed squarely at seven year olds. The scripts and characterization were irreverent and humorous, practically satirizing the harshness and immediacy that was endemic elsewhere. The focus of the Big Red Cheese’s titles was mainly on his alter ego, the naïve, trusting Billy Batson, and a cast of utterly innocuous supporting characters, including the villains, such as Dr. Sivana (an aging mad scientist) and Mr. Mind (a worm). The series benefitted from main artist C.C. Beck’s solid, cartoonish pencils, which evoked a childlike fantasy version of America–there was no love interest here. This, plus Mac Raboy’s brilliantly iconic work on offshoot titles such as Captain Marvel Jr. and Master Comics, immediately installed the Marvel Family as the top selling funnybook brand.

Perhaps Captain Marvel succeeded because Billy Batson, a boy barely into his teens, was his own sidekick. Children would no doubt have adored the transformation from a character much like themselves to an adult lantern-jawed being of infinite power that existed in an unthreatening world. For the more discerning or mature reader, there were darker characters who were the descendents of pulp mavens, differing mostly due to gimmickry and spandex. Batman, who first appeared in DC’s Detective Comics, may have had superficial similarities to his company cohort Superman but the two were poles apart. Superman was the altruistic, self-appointed guardian of humanity, whilst Batman, initially a shadowy mysterious figure before Robin arrived, was motivated entirely by revenge, his persona far more intriguing in its duality. DC’s decision to make a non-superpowered hero its second major character gave the company depth and cemented its position in the marketplace. Here was a gothic character steeped in history and legend, an updated, more visceral Shadow or Spider whose natural habitat was the urban baroque of Gotham City. With the mandatory addition of a sidekick eleven issues after his debut Batman may have temporarily lost his edge but gained thousands of readers, many of whom were happy to see their protagonist show them, via Robin, how to think rather than bludgeon ones way out of a problem.

DC, and its other leading competitor Timely (who were to become Marvel in the early ‘60s) continued to explore the potential of both super-hero types in their expanding range–National, in 1940 introduced the Spectre in More Fun #52. This super-entity brought Batman’s theme of meted vengeance to its logical conclusion–the character effectively being an emissary of God exacting punishment, having been killed by the underworld in the series opener. Created by Superman scribe Jerry Siegel and the great Bernard Baily, The Spectre was a bone-white force of nature that was anything but idealized. He, along with the equally fog-shrouded crime avengers Dr. Fate and Hourman, would (somewhat ironically) play a large part in DC’s first super-team, the Justice Society Of America, who first appeared in All Star Comics #3. The JSA, America’s first super-collective, which featured such stalwarts as The Atom, Hawkman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern and The Flash, is still fondly remembered by Golden Age fans and has often been resurrected by DC.

For Timely and other super-hero publishers such as Nedor, the emphasis during the war years was on patriotism and confronting a particularly misanthropic foe. In the end, Captain America would always supercede heroes like the Black Terror, despite their similarities. Although Cap began his career punching Nazis whilst draped in the stars and stripes, leading creators Simon and Kirby brought in a necessary self-deprecating humour to his adventures, with stories that encompassed espionage as well as battle. His origin tale fitted in perfectly with the war effort, both involving transformation and the need for an everyman super-soldier. It was this symbolism (not to mention his name) that saw him make a highly emotional return to the medium some twenty years later in Avengers #4. Fan reaction was immediately positive to this event, proving that such icons, despite lengthy absences, would always have a place in the hearts of comic readers. America still needs such heroes.

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